Tears streamed down Sinclair's face as he relived his mother's death, and I fought back sobs. My heart ached for the little boy he once was and for the burden he still carried. Hearing his story, I understood that his last conversation with his mother had profoundly shaped him.

"Afterwards, I learned she'd gotten Roger out of the house, only to realize I wasn't there," he said, wiping his eyes. "She ran back in to get me, even though the guards tried to stop her. So you see, that's why Roger always blamed me he wasn't wrong. If I'd listened to her the first time, if I'd gone outside when she told me to, she would still be alive."

"But Pancake wouldn't," I reminded him, my voice thick with emotion.

The corners of his mouth curved upward. "It was almost thirty years ago, baby. Pancake is long gone."

"You know what I mean," I chided gently. "Your mother understood; you were doing exactly what she'd taught you—protecting the vulnerable."

"I know," he confessed. "I spent years in therapy, just trying to come to terms with the fact that it was her choice. I was a child; I couldn't have understood the danger, and she didn't have to come after me."

"But she was your mother; it wasn't a question for her," I murmured, entwining my limbs with his. "She wanted you to live far more than she cared about her own survival."

He nodded, his eyes distant, still lost in the past. "I understand that, but sometimes I still think that if it weren't for me, she wouldn't have had to make that choice. My decision that day took her from Dad, Roger, and the pack."

"Did you ever find out how the fire started?" I asked softly, running my fingers through his dark, thick hair.

"In the weeks after the fire, it became clear it was arson," Sinclair explained hoarsely. "Dad was away on pack business, and Mom was home with the pups. We could never prove it, but we always suspected the attack was political. King Xavier was on the throne then, and my father was his right hand and next in line. The same political games being played today—they were happening back then."

"You think it was the King—the current one?" I asked.

Sinclair sighed, his emotions calming as the conversation shifted to politics. "The problem with being the biggest and baddest wolf is that it puts a colossal target on your back. Worse, you're so hard to kill that people often attack your family instead. It might not be as effective as killing you, but Alphas who lose their mates and pups rarely recover fully."

He nuzzled my neck and caressed my belly, a silent reassurance of Rafe's and my safety. "It could have been anyone, but I think Xavier is a more likely suspect than the current king. My father was younger, not yet strong enough to rule, but it was clear he would be soon. Xavier had no heirs, and while he had time, I think the writing was on the wall. My father was too strong and too well-liked."

"Dominic, if it was arson, it wasn't your decision that took your mother; it was Xavier's, or whoever was responsible. It wasn't an accident; it was murder," I argued, hating the guilt clouding his expression.

He gazed at me tenderly. "You don't have to worry, Ella. I'm okay—I forgave myself a long time ago."

"But Dominic, there's nothing to forgive," I insisted, near tears again. "It wasn't your fault." I pulled back to look into his emerald eyes. "If it came down to me or Rafe, I'd choose him every time—even tiny as he is. And I wouldn't want him to blame himself."

"Shhh," Sinclair tucked my head under his chin, stroking my spine. "It's okay, little wolf. I know."

"Stop comforting me! I'm supposed to be comforting you," I complained, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle free.

"You are," Sinclair lied. "Holding you comforts me."

Changing tactics, I said softly, "Do you have any idea how proud your mother would be if she could see you today? You became exactly the man she hoped you would be. You never lost sight of what matters most, even when the world was against you. You lead with love, not fear, and you don't confuse strength with cruelty."

"Now you're just flattering me," Sinclair rumbled with amusement.

"I'm not," I retorted. "Do you remember when we first met, and you thought I was a scheming gold digger?"

"Oh yes, I'm sure that would have made my mother very proud," Sinclair joked.

"When you realized you were wrong, you owned up to it," I continued. "And when you saw I was hurting, your first instinct was to hug me. You didn't even think about it. I was shocked. Here was this huge, terrifying predator, and you held me more gently and with more compassion than anyone."

A pleased purr vibrated beneath my hands. "You make me sound like my father—he could go from grizzly to teddy bear in a blink."

"Exactly," I confirmed. "I wish you could see yourself as I do. You'd know I'm not just trying to inflate your ego—which, for the record, is already big enough," I quipped, yelping as Sinclair pinched my bottom. "I'm telling you how proud your mother would be because I believe it with every fiber of my being."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Sinclair confessed, kissing me. I eagerly responded, pressing myself closer to him.

We were getting carried away when a knock sounded, and Hugo's voice said, "Alpha, it's urgent."

Sinclair reluctantly left my arms and strode to the door, naked. I hid under the covers as Hugo entered, unfazed by the sight. He went straight to the TV, turning it on and flipping through channels until he landed on a breaking news report.

An image of Lydia and the Prince appeared, above a headline: No Longer in Mourning? The Prince Spotted in Old Town with Former Moon Valley Luna, Lydia Sinclair.

My jaw dropped. I was momentarily distracted by the reporters' use of Sinclair's name for Lydia, feeling a surge of indignation. I wrapped the sheets around myself and moved to Sinclair's side. He tucked me under his arm as Hugo increased the volume.

"Mere weeks after Princess Angeline's murder, her widower and political candidate, Prince Damon, was seen with Moon Valley's former Luna. When asked for comment, they said they are just friends, with Lydia offering comfort. Despite the platonic nature of their relationship, onlookers noticed how cozy they appeared, expressing hope that she can offer solace. Are we witnessing a new couple? Will Lydia's friendship throw off Dominic Sinclair's campaign? And where is the Moon Valley Alpha and his new mate, Ella? The pair haven't been seen publicly in weeks, and speculation is brewing. All this and more, when we return."

"Turn it off," Sinclair rumbled, exhaling as the screen went dark. We exchanged worried glances. "What the actual fuck?"