Moonbound: The Shadowed Beta's Daughter

CHAPTER 2

"Do you know what you did?"

My father's study door clicked shut softly. There was only one soft object in the room. Hall stoves failed to warm the air. He kept my arm. Like a horrible teacher, he led me to the center of the old, ragged blanket.

"I registered," I said. My voice was weak but steady. Little wonder.

"You agreed to do it." He finally let go and passed me. His touch-like look tension me.A list for Alpha reading. Servants of the King. Every driven person who can spot shortcomings. He halted in front of me. "Girl, you made everyone want to get them." On mine too.

Open register. My pack membership is based on age.

They were mindless repetitions of what he had said earlier. Mistake.

A flash in his frigid eyes—first astonishment, then darkness. He said, "You're *right*," which sounded horrible. "You drop a training dagger every time you face the Alpha's nephew? You, whose silent contribution matters most? He leaned in and spoke venomously quietly. They'll find that entry problematic. Funny thing. Or, worse, when I lost blood control.

Shame reminded me of a beloved garment. I grasped without thinking about tightening. But I still had training post splinters in my hand. I felt the ghostly feather on my fingers. The cape was too small.

The antique tapestry behind him showing wolves hunting in a beautiful, unified rage caught my attention. "I will fail early," I declared, and my lie failed. "No one will remember."

"Failure is a brand," he shouted. "Your failure is my brand." "Bram Blackclaw can't even teach his daughter to know her place." He left after gliding his palm over his desk's silky wood. At the second bell, go to the recordkeeper. Apologize to him. A foolish, feminine delight. You'll leave.

The order hung like iron.

My heart raced furiously, like it was lodged against my ribs. Now was the time. Return payment. Return of the dark, safe, and stifling. I decided to say "yes," therefore I spoke. The syllable hurt my mouth.

I noticed the empty line again. Tool for writing. He could write a name that wasn't his.

"Not at all."

Breath was word. A cool room mist.

Nothing moved him anymore. With a deep, terrifying reevaluation, not fury. Dad was gone. Beta didn't go. He looked colder than Stonehaven's frost when he turned.

"Give an explanation."

"I am going to fight." I felt lighter each time I said them. "I will fail in the first round without anyone knowing.""My name will be there. My way. Not as your kid. Similar to Aerys.

A terrible attempt. It was obvious to him.

He smiled softly, melancholy. Worse than screams. "That concludes it. Uncontrolled rage. Requesting a footnote. He stepped to the window and peered out at the busy yard. "Do you believe this is it? Your modest desire for recognition? His eyes were brilliant when he gazed back. Anger-prone kids shouldn't play Moonbound Trials. Political chessboards. Thorne will test pack strength with each participant. The King will watch us. Your name on that list is awful. Things appear out of control. It requires care we can't provide.

I was angry but slowly understood. It wasn't just shame. A larger, unclear balance was involved.

"Why?" Asking prompted the query. "What's close look?"

He wore mask. He didn't look at the window because he'd chosen. Do you want to pretend to compete? The first word is "Consequences."

Keys from his belt opened drawers at his desk. He removed a long, thin polished elderwood case. He opened and placed the clasp on the desk in front of us.

Inside was a black silk bed with eating equipment. They differed from others. The dark, smokey silver knife, fork, and spoon had moving wolves on the handles. They looked great. They were old. They felt heavy and gave off somewhat.

"Your mother's," he remarked coldly. A gift for the bride. You must use them. With every meal. Start with breakfast tomorrow.

I didn't understand, so I looked. Was this punishment? Long-standing family silver?

Holding the knife, he continued, "They are... heavy." It appeared like a weapon in his hand. Not even for battle. Made for an occasion. "Only for appearance." He cautiously returned it out of desire. "You will carry them." Use them in front of the pack. Those people will notice you. You will keep quiet.

How the pieces fit is terrifyingly certain. This wasn't reward. It linked. A obvious threat notice. *Remember your child. Imagine their previous owner. Remember rule-breakers' fates.

I whispered, "I don't want them."

He responded, "It's not about want," and the case clicked shut softly. The sound was a tomb closing. "Remembering is what it's about." History too. Your plans proceed. Moving on means taking the past with you. Leave now. You start working with the group today. "Be on time."

I'm sorry, I can't help.

Breakfast in the big hall was lively as people discussed the Trials. At the door, the elderwood case felt cold in my palms.

Walking to the food line, I felt eyes on me. I was treated like a celebrity."Is that really her?" "I heard she signed up..." "That's a joke, for sure."

I looked down and my old mask fell over my face. Yet it felt weak.

My usual table was empty when I opened the case. Silver seemed to be absorbing the torch's light, glowing sorrowful. I took the spoon. He was right. It felt uneven and heavier than it was, and the designs hurt my palm.

Sitting with my oatmeal. After grabbing the spoon, I felt a rush of stillness. There were talks. It caught their attention when Beta's average daughter held something dazzling.

Rowan stopped laughing at a table with talented youth. He peered at the silver with wide eyes, then flew to my face, seeming bewildered and puzzled. I gave him nothing.

Elderly fighters sat with Caelan. I felt his heavy, persistent gaze. Stayed facing them.

My dad was worst. He and Lord Thorne sat at the high table with several elderly men. He ignored me. He ignored me, drank tea, and discussed border police. His punishment was working. He made the pack witness by ignoring me. He couldn't speak, but the calm, shining silverware did.

The silver bellowed loudly when it touched the clay, proud of its owner. She owns it. Hers.

The black soup. Always hard to accept. The hefty spoon bound me to a ghost, an unknown past, and my father's merciless tyranny. I had been ambitious the day before, but now I was being politely humiliated.

After eating, the troop split off to complete their jobs. I stood to clear my bowl. My fingers shook as I held the heavy fork. Fresh, flaming fury, not fear. He showed me how to exhibit my shackles after my first misbehavior.

I carefully returned the tools to their case. My thumb passed a concealed hook on the velvet lining's bottom.

Small, secret space appeared.

A paper-thin hair strand was inside. Not my dark brown or father's black. Silver-white string was pure and vivid.

An old ribbon with one phrase sewn on in a meticulous, anxious handwriting:

Keep in mind.

The hallway vanished. The laughter, benches being dragged around the floor, and my dad's angry look made a loud, static sound. A secret message was hidden in his sentence. He didn't send.

By her.

Suddenly, my father's hold shattered, and a ghost murmured.