Once it became clear Lydia wouldn't solve our problems, I decided to call in reinforcements. I trust Sinclair to find a new Luna, but he lacks the time. Between running the pack, the campaign, and caring for me, hunting for a mate isn't feasible. I, however, have nothing but time. Bed rest sounds idyllic, but it really means the world's collapsing around me, and I'm confined to getting fat.

So, I invited Roger and Henry for a visit, with two goals. First, I needed to come clean to Sinclair's father about my true identity. Second, if anyone could help me "wingwoman" my child's father, it was his father and brother.

Just before lunch, I persuaded a guard to carry me downstairs. I settled into the main sitting room, anticipating my visitors. Roger and Henry arrived shortly afterward, walking—or, in Henry's case, wheeling—in with wide smiles. I started to rise, but they protested. "No, don't move; we'll come to you," Roger promised.

"Poor darling," Henry commiserated. "We should get you some wheels for bed rest mobility."

Laughing at Henry's suggestion, I hugged them both. "I'd like that, but I think your son would find it overly exciting."

"You have a point," the older man conceded with a knowing look. "I lead a thrilling life—rolling around an empty house, waiting for my friends to retire so I can socialize beyond evening poker."

"Henry!" I exclaimed, sitting up. "I never considered this—if we're both homebound, we might as well spend time together! I need company, you need company, and Sinclair would probably appreciate another 'babysitter'—the bossy bastard."

Roger laughed; Henry smiled hesitantly, as if unwilling to get his hopes up. "Oh, I'm sure you don't want to spend all day with an old man."

"Henry, I'd love to spend more time with you—full disclosure: I'm so bored I'd tolerate a serial killer, but you're far preferable," I declared wryly.

They chuckled. "You hear that, Dad? You beat out the homicidal maniacs!" Roger congratulated him.

Henry's uncertainty vanished, his smile broadening. "Really?"

"Of course!" I insisted, hesitating only because of the reason for their visit. "That is… assuming you want to spend time with me."

"Ella, of course I do! How could I not want to know my new granddaughter better? Don't you know fathers spoil their pups and grandpups?" Henry offered gamely. His words wiped the smile from my face; tears welled. Henry looked confused, then a guilty expression—identical to Sinclair's—crossed his features. "Oh, Ella, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"No, it's not that," I sniffled, knowing he assumed my hurt stemmed from my orphan status and lack of fatherly experience. "It's just… no one's ever claimed me as their child before, and you did it so naturally."

"Ella, that's a good thing," Roger offered gently, squeezing my hand.

"No," I argued, burying my face in my hands. "I don't deserve your kindness. I've been lying to you, we both have."

Henry wheeled closer, resting his palm on my shoulder. "Oh, come now, dearheart, I'm sure it's not that bad."

"But it is! He knows!" I exclaimed, gesturing to Roger and crying, "I'm a fraud!"

Roger's eyes widened, clearly baffled and overwhelmed. Henry, however, rolled his eyes at his son and enveloped me in a hug, encouraging me to rest my head on his shoulder. I surrendered, leaning into him and letting his shirt absorb my tears.

"There now," Henry murmured, patting my hair. "Tell me what this is about."

Little by little, the story poured out, between hiccups and sobs—with Roger's occasional assistance. "There, you see?" I moaned afterward. "It's all been a lie."

Henry, much like his son, wouldn't let me wallow. He fussed over me, and for the first time, I felt the imagined comfort of a parent's embrace—a father's. This, of course, made me cry harder. "Poor little mother, no wonder you're so stressed. You've been making yourself sick, haven't you?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded pitifully. "And I haven't even told you about Lydia yet."

After recounting the latest chapter, they were both swearing, and I was breathless. "That's why I asked you here—to help me find a Luna for Dominic, since he lacks the time… assuming you can still stand me."

"Ella, listen," Henry instructed, sounding sterner than I'd ever heard him. "You're my daughter whether you marry my son or not—and it doesn't matter that you're human. You're giving me a granddaughter, and that makes you family forever."

I pulled away slightly, tears streaming. "You mean you don't hate me?"

"Of course not!" he admonished. "You didn't ask for any of this. You're doing your best, and it's been phenomenal."

"He's right, Ella," Roger agreed. "You're incredible. And of course we'll help you find a Luna for Sinclair."

"Really?" I squeaked.

"Of course," Roger began, "we'll do whatever we can, even—"

Before he finished, a guard entered, anxious. "I'm sorry, but you need to see this." He picked up the remote, pressing a button that opened a panel above the fireplace, revealing a large screen TV. He switched to the leading shifter news station.

A picture of the Prince and his wife dominated the screen, with a headline: Princess Found Dead in the Royal Palace.

The reporter spoke in a low, even tone, reporting the limited details. "The Princess was found unresponsive in her bathroom this morning after missing a campaign event. Her cause of death is unknown, but an autopsy will determine if foul play was involved. The Palace requested privacy for the Royal Family to grieve."

"Well, that solves the women's event and rogue attack problem," Roger observed dryly.

"I… what does this mean?" I asked, my voice husky.

"It's not good," Henry answered gruffly. "He went from abusive tyrant to grieving single father."

"So… even without a Luna, this could help his campaign?" I surmised, hating the potential double standard.

"He already has an heir and a spare," Roger reminded me. "That ensures his wolf's stability, even without a mate."

"But I thought Lunas led the she-wolves; won't he need one eventually?" I inquired.

"Not necessarily," Henry frowned. "It's different with you and Dominic. As long as his pup's mother is alive, she'll lead—unless we find a replacement. But the pack won't fault the Prince for being a widower."

"So, things just got worse?" I assessed.

"Yes, Ella," Henry confirmed gravely. "I'm afraid so."