Reborn: I Rejected My Fated Mate and Ruled the Werewolf World

Chapter 5: Standing Up to the Vicious Stepmother

Night had fallen over Silver Moon City.

When Eira pushed open the heavy wrought-iron gates of her uncle’s estate, the great hall blazed with light, the air thick with unmasked, deadly tension.

Her stepmother, Vera, sat in the high-backed redwood armchair at the very center of the hall, its seat lined with plush velvet cushions. She wore an exquisitely tailored deep violet gown, a steaming cup of black tea in her hand, her face set in a frigid, unforgiving scowl.

Lila stood at her side, having just changed out of her soiled gown, her hand wrapped in bandages, her eyes rimmed red with feigned tears, looking for all the world like she’d suffered some unforgivable injustice. Along both sides of the hall stood eight hulking, fully armed Silver Moon Clan guards.

It was a setup, plain and simple—a trial, with her as the accused.

Eira slipped off her faded, worn cloak and hung it casually on the coat rack by the door. She didn’t even spare the mother and daughter at the center of the hall a single glance, turning on her heel and heading straight for the staircase leading to her bedroom on the second floor.

“Halt.”

Vera slammed her teacup down on the side table beside her, the sharp c***k of porcelain against wood ringing through the silent hall.

Eira froze mid-step, then turned around, her hands slipped casually into the pockets of her gown. “What’s the matter?”

“You have the audacity to ask what’s the matter?!” Vera shot to her feet, her carefully maintained face contorted with rage. “The entire Silver Moon City is talking about what you did at the ceremony today! Do you have any idea how much shame you’ve brought down on this family?!”

She stormed across the hall until she stood nose to nose with Eira, jabbing a finger at her face as she shrieked.

“Lord Kaelen only allowed you to attend the ceremony out of respect for the bond between our clans! You worthless waste, you can’t even awaken a wolf core—and you dared to tear up a fated mate bond in front of the entire continent? Who do you think you are?! You’ve ruined the Silver Moon Clan’s only chance to align with the Black Rock Clan, you cursed jinx!”

The surrounding servants immediately bowed their heads, murmuring their agreement in hushed tones.

“The young mistress has gone too far this time.”“Now the whole clan will be mocked for her actions.”“Even the second young mistress was thrown out by Lord Kaelen when she brought him soup—she’s clearly suffering for the first mistress’s mistakes.”

Lila stood back, dabbing at her dry eyes with a handkerchief, her voice sickly sweet and syrupy. “Mother, don’t be angry with sister. She must have just acted in the heat of the moment... Even though she’s the reason I was hurt at the outpost, I don’t blame her. Not really.”

It was the perfect fuel for Vera’s rage.

Vera’s face turned thunderous. She snapped her hand up, barking an order at the guards lining the hall.

“Seize this shameless little wretch! Tear off her gown and throw her in the dungeons! No one is to give her a single drop of water without my permission! She can rot there until she learns her place, and apologizes for what she’s done!”

The two nearest guards stepped forward at once, their hands reaching out to grab Eira by the shoulders.

Everyone in the hall waited, expecting Eira to drop to her knees with a thud, just like she had a hundred times over the past ten years, sobbing and clinging to Vera’s legs, begging for mercy.

But Eira didn’t even bat an eye.

She didn’t wait for their rough, calloused hands to touch her. She shifted her left foot back half a step, twisted her hips with brutal force, and drove the heel of her cloth shoe straight into the side of the nearest guard’s knee with pinpoint accuracy.

CRACK!

The sickening snap of dislocating bone rang out, and the two-hundred-pound brute let out a bloodcurdling scream, his massive body losing balance and crashing down onto the redwood side table beside him. The fine bone china tea set atop the table was crushed to powder, scalding tea spilling across the stone floor.

The second guard froze. He’d never in a million years expected this frail, useless young mistress to have such ferocity, such strength.

In the half-second he stood stunned, Eira’s right hand flashed into her pocket, drawing a sheathed dagger. She didn’t pull the blade free—instead, she drove the hard, weighted pommel of the sheath straight into the soft hollow beneath the guard’s Adam’s apple.

The guard clutched his throat, unable to make a sound, dropping to his knees and retching violently in agony.

The hall fell deathly silent.

Even Lila forgot to feign her tears, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the two hulking men writhing on the floor.

Eira slipped the dagger back into her pocket slowly, calmly. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her gown, and stepped forward, one slow stride at a time, until she stood directly in front of Vera.

“Are you done screaming?”

Eira’s voice was quiet, but it echoed through the cavernous hall, sharp and unyielding, ringing in every ear.

Vera stumbled back a step instinctively, her back slamming into the banister of the staircase. She stared up at her stepdaughter, her eyes cold and feral as a beast of the frozen tundra, and her mouth went dry.

“W-What do you think you’re doing? Daring to raise a hand in this house? You’ve lost your mind!” Vera shrieked, clinging to the last of her bravado.

Eira let out a cold, sharp laugh.

She slipped her left hand into the hidden pocket sewn into the lining of her gown, and pulled out a worn, blackened leather ledger, its edges frayed with age.

SMACK!

She hurled the ledger directly at Vera’s face, no mercy in the motion. The heavy volume struck her cheekbone, leaving a bright red welt, before clattering to the floor, its pages fluttering open.

“Throw me in the dungeons?” Eira stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “You might want to read what’s on those pages first. Then decide if you still want to lock me away.”

Vera clutched her stinging cheek, her gaze dropping to the floor. One glance at the writing on the open page, and all the color drained from her face, her arrogant sneer melting into a deathly, ashen white.

“Year 342 of the Starfall Calendar, High Moon Season. Sold three hundred jin of exclusive Mistwood Moonpetal Grass, for a total of five thousand gold coins. Deposited into private account at Windhaven Port Merchant Bank.”

“Year 345 of the Starfall Calendar, Low Moon Season. Embezzled two southern estates bequeathed to High Priestess Eirene, forged transfer documents, liquidated for eight thousand gold coins.”

Every single entry was immaculately detailed: date, location, sum, even the signature of the handler for every transaction.

“W-Where did you get this?! This is a forgery! A lie! A frame-up!” Vera’s finger shook violently as she pointed at Eira, her words slurring together, barely coherent.

“A frame-up?” Eira crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at her with cold contempt. “This bears the official seal of the Windchaser Caravan’s merchant bank. Do you really want to test me? I’ll drop this on the Elder Council’s table before the sun rises.”

She paused, her voice thick with unmasked threat.

“What do you think the Elder Council will do, when they find out the Chieftain’s wife has been leeching off this clan for a decade, hollowing out half the Silver Moon fortune, and stealing every last copper of my parents’ inheritance? Tell me—before the sun rises tomorrow, will you be cast out of the clan? Or hanged from the pillars of the Temple Square for your crimes?”

Vera’s legs gave out beneath her. She grabbed the banister in a white-knuckled grip, barely managing to stay upright instead of collapsing to the floor.

She’d locked this ledger in the hidden compartment in her bedroom! How had this worthless girl gotten her hands on it?!

At that moment, the study door on the second floor creaked open.

Tobias, Chieftain of the Silver Moon Clan, had heard the commotion downstairs, and now descended the stairs, his brow furrowed deep. He wore a loose silk robe, and his frown deepened when he saw the guards writhing in agony on the floor, and his wife, pale as a ghost.

“What is all this racket at this hour?!” Tobias snapped, his voice sharp with authority.

His gaze followed Vera’s, landing on the ledger lying open on the floor. He stepped forward, bending to pick it up. He flipped through just two pages, and his refined, gentle face turned livid with rage. He spun around to face Vera, his eyes blazing with unbridled fury and shock.

Vera closed her eyes, despair washing over her.

Tobias was a weak, vain man to his core. He could turn a blind eye to his wife’s petty cruelty to an orphaned girl in his household—but he would never tolerate a scandal this big, one that would ruin the entire clan’s reputation forever.

“Clean up this mess. You two—get out of here and see a healer!” Tobias roared at the injured guards.

Once the servants had all fled the hall, Tobias clutched the ledger in a death grip, and turned to face Eira. He stared at her face, which bore such a striking resemblance to the woman he’d once loved, and a storm of conflicting emotions raged in his chest: guilt, wariness, and above all else, a cold, gnawing panic that he could no longer control her.

“This matter ends here.” Tobias ground the words out between his teeth, shoving the ledger into the sleeve of his robe. “Eira, return to your room. You are not to leave this estate without my permission, not for the next few days.”

He didn’t dare punish her. This was the only way he could contain the scandal, keep it from blowing up.

Eira stared at the man who was her uncle in name only. In her past life, it had been his weakness and his willingness to look the other way that had led her, step by step, to her death in the Icebound Forest.

“Fine.” Eira shrugged, unconcerned. “But Uncle—you’d do well to keep your wife and daughter on a tight leash. If this happens again, copies of this ledger will be posted on every information board in the Windchaser Caravan’s trade network. For all the continent to see.”

With that, she turned and ascended the stairs, not sparing the three of them a single backward glance.

When she reached her cold, cramped attic bedroom, she turned the key in the lock, sealing herself inside. She didn’t light the lamps. By the pale silver moonlight streaming through the window, she knelt down and dragged a dusty, worn wooden chest out from under her bed.

It was the only thing her mother, Eirene, had left her before she died. In her past life, she’d always thought it held nothing but a few old gowns, and had never looked inside closely, not even in her final moments.

Eira lifted the lid of the chest, and pulled out the old linen gowns one by one, setting them aside. When her hand brushed the wooden base of the chest, her fingertips caught on a slight raised ridge in the wood. She dug her nails into the seam, and pulled hard, lifting the hidden false bottom of the chest free.

Nestled in the hollow beneath lay a cold, silver medallion.

Eira picked up the medallion, turning it over in her hands. Its face was carved with a full moon, the craftsmanship ancient and intricate. She flipped it over, and by the light of the moon, four ancient Silver Moon runes were etched into its back, clear and sharp.

Moonwarden’s Oath.

Eira’s breath caught in her throat. The wolf core in her chest thrummed to life once more, a searing, hot pulse echoing through her veins, as if answering the medallion’s call.