UNPLANNED REBIRTH: MARRIED TO MY STEPSON

Chapter Seven — Wolves at the Table

The smell of roasted meat and spiced wine curdled in my nose.

Breakfast in my father’s hall had always been less a meal and more a battlefield— knives clinking against plates like weapons, words sharper than steel. It had been years since I sat at this table, yet nothing had changed.

Malrik lounged at its head, swollen with power and wine, goblet already half-empty before the sun had properly risen. Around him, advisors and sycophants filled their bellies with meat, laughing too loudly at jokes that were not funny.

And beside him sat Selene.

Her face was calm, lips pressed into a neutral line, but her hands were folded too tightly in her lap. She wore the title of Luna like a collar forced around her throat. Every time Malrik leaned toward her, I saw the faint stiffening of her shoulders, the way she tilted just enough to keep his touch at bay.

I told myself I remained here to keep his greed in check, to remind the hall that Malrik was not the only Ravaryn wolf with teeth. That was true. But another truth dug deeper into my ribs: I did not want to leave her alone in this den.

I could not admit that. Not even to myself.

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“Son.” Malrik’s voice rolled down the table, too loud, too casual, sharp with warning. “You linger longer than expected. Have you decided to remember where you belong?”

Laughter snickered from the courtiers. I set my knife down carefully, letting the silence stretch before I answered.

“I belong where power can grow,” I said. “Lately, that is not here.”

The laughter died.

Malrik’s eyes narrowed, hard and dark, a predator sizing up prey. “And yet you sit at my table again, eating my food, drinking my wine. Why, Kael? Why return now?”

I could have told him the truth: that his empire was rotting and I wanted to watch it crumble from within. That Selene’s presence tethered me here in ways I did not want to name. Instead, I smiled, slow and sharp.

“Because someone has to keep you from choking on your own excess.”

A murmur rippled around the table.

His goblet slammed down, red wine spilling like blood across the tablecloth. “You speak as if you’re already Alpha.”

“Perhaps because you rule as if you’ve already lost,” I shot back.

The hall stilled. For a moment, it was only the sound of fire snapping in the hearth and the hiss of my own breath.

Selene’s gaze flicked between us, her calm mask cracking just enough for me to see the worry there.

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My father leaned forward, voice low, dangerous. “Careful, boy. Do not mistake your rebellion for strength. Everything you are comes from me.”

My jaw tightened. The memories came unbidden—his hand striking across my face when I was too small to block it. His laughter as he threw me into the training pit with wolves twice my size, telling me to climb out or be devoured. The bruises I hid, the nights I sharpened my own rage into a weapon.

Everything I am comes in spite of you, I wanted to snarl.

Instead, I said, “No, Father. Everything I am comes from surviving you.”

The words landed like a knife. Malrik’s face darkened, veins bulging in his temples, but before he could erupt, Selene’s soft voice cut through the tension.

“Perhaps,” she said, steady though her hands still trembled in her lap, “we should remember this is a table for family. Not for war.”

For a moment, even Malrik stilled. His eyes narrowed on her, suspicion flashing. But her tone was so calm, so deliberate, that the fury in him ebbed to a simmer.

He turned back to his goblet, drinking deeply, though his knuckles whitened around the stem.

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I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My gaze slid to Selene, and for the briefest moment our eyes met. Something unspoken passed between us—her quiet courage, my silent promise.

The bond hummed, soft but undeniable.

I tore my gaze away, forcing steel back into my voice. “I’ll remain here awhile,” I told the hall, my tone casual as if the decision meant nothing. “To ensure our Alpha doesn’t drown in his own wine.”

Malrik barked a laugh, though it sounded more like a growl. “Stay, then. But remember—wolves who linger too long at my table end up fed to it.”

I raised my goblet in a mock toast, my smile thin and sharp. “We’ll see whose teeth break first.”

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As the courtiers resumed their murmured chatter, I leaned back in my chair, the weight of memory pressing into my chest. I had returned to this fortress to clip my father’s wings, to keep his claws from sinking too deep into Selene. That was reason enough.

But another truth lingered, one I refused to give voice to:

I wanted to stay. Because every time I looked at her, the bond burned brighter. Because the part of me I thought long buried—the part that wanted something more than ambition—was stirring again.

And that, more than my father’s wrath, terrified me.

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