I've been replaying my conversation with Henry all day, repeatedly analyzing our exchange to decipher whether his concern for me was precautionary or stemmed from a genuine belief we face a serious threat. After Henry left this evening, I went online to research the election mechanics—something I should have done from the outset.

On paper, the process seems straightforward. All eligible Alphas compete publicly, and all shifters in the realm vote on election day. This typically produces two or three frontrunners, with the Alpha Council making the final selection from the remaining candidates. A clear winner with a wide margin usually receives council endorsement, but in cases of ties or controversies, the council acts as an important check on the popular vote.

The Alpha King's reign lasts until death, coronation of an heir, or removal by council decree.

Historically, elections are rare, as most Kings belong to established dynasties. My research reveals that the current King is only the third to be removed from power, and his election five years ago was the first in 200 years. Another election is unprecedented.

This information solidified my unease. Henry was right to warn me.

"What are you frowning at so intently, trouble?" Sinclair inquired, emerging from the bathroom, towel-drying his wet hair. Another towel was wrapped around his hips, water dripping down his bare torso. My mouth watered at the sight of his musculature, but my apprehension kept my inner wolf from getting too distracted.

"Dominic, what will happen if we lose the campaign?" I asked hesitantly, still sitting in bed with my computer.

Sinclair grimaced, crossing the room to peek at my screen. Seeing a dozen political research tabs open, he slid his hand around my nape, massaging my tense muscles. "Doing some research?"

"Yes," I confirmed gravely. "And I'm worried."

He sat on the bed, cradling my head. "What's bothering you most?"

"Everything feels increasingly confusing and out of control," I shared. "Your father explained some history, and considering the ongoing secrets, conspiracies, and crises, it's hard not to suspect something seriously amiss. I feel like a pawn in a game I didn't know I was playing."

Sinclair paused, his hands still on my body. "Am I making you feel that way?"

"No, not you," I assured him, closing my laptop and moving closer. "But I don't know who's pulling the strings. We seem swept up in something much bigger, and it scares me."

Sinclair nodded understandingly. "I'm scared too," he admitted, shocking me.

"You are?" I squeaked, scooting closer and practically climbing onto him.

Sinclair purred, pulling me into his lap. "Of course I am. I have a lot to lose," he said soberly, holding me tightly. "But that's not bad. It reminds me what's important, helps keep our family safe, and motivates me to take precautions. It's strangely comforting to hear this huge Alpha confess his fears. It's reassuring to know I'm not alone, not silly or cowardly.

I understand you must approach the campaign as if losing is impossible," I said, straddling his thighs and taking his face in my hands. I stared into his fierce green eyes, brushing my thumbs over his jaw. "But it's a possibility, and I need to prepare. I need to know what to expect, I need the plan."

Sinclair exhaled heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching on my waist. His mouth was set in a hard line, clearly hesitant to increase my fears. "You must have one. You're too smart not to prepare for the worst, even if you don't plan on letting it happen."

He dropped his head to my neck, inhaling my scent and rumbling in his chest. "If I lose the campaign…" he began slowly, his voice gravelly. "It will depend on how quickly the Prince acts, and where we are."

Sinclair said nothing more, and I nudged his head up, forcing eye contact. "But you must have some idea—"

"Ella, I have dozens of contingency plans," Sinclair interrupted, sounding impatient. "Plans for getting you out of the territory while I stay behind, plans for exile, imprisonment, my death, your capture. If you can think of it, I have a plan. But we don't know how this will play out, and I can't tell you which plan we'll need."

My lip quivered, hurt blossoming in my chest. "Why didn't you tell me you were this worried? I thought we agreed I can't avoid danger if I don't know it exists."

Sinclair took a deep breath, calming himself. "All Alphas have such plans, Ella," he explained. "Whether or not there's a campaign, Alphas are always targets. I had these plans for Linda, and my men draft new ones as the situation develops."

"Oh," I murmured, my pain easing slightly. "So you just didn't consult me."

"Baby, I don't even know all the plans," Sinclair countered. "These are emergency scenarios our guards spend countless hours developing and memorizing. I notify them of new threats, and they incorporate them into their plans."

This made sense, but my intuition still felt uneasy. "But you must know the most likely ones—you must have instructed your men on how to care for the baby and me if you can't protect us?"

"Yes," Sinclair conceded, lifting me and rising. He paced, radiating the feral energy of a caged animal. "And I didn't tell you because I'm already going out of my mind with worry! I can't stand thinking about these possibilities, let alone frightening you with them."

He glanced at me regretfully, raw emotion blazing in his eyes. "I couldn't bear the thought of looking you in the eye and telling you I might not be able to protect you and the baby as I promised."

My heart softened. I realized the immense stress Sinclair was under, and how much he downplayed his anxieties to prioritize mine.

"Listen, Dominic. I know you have your Alpha pride and make the rules and all that nonsense," I said impudently, approaching him. "But I also know Lunas share their mates' burdens and soothe them when they're impossible and stubborn. I'm not a weak human anymore. I can handle more than you give me credit for."

The corner of Sinclair's mouth twitched. I pointed a warning finger at him. "It's time you let me help you," I declared imperiously. "Tell me what I can do to make you feel better, and I'll do it."

As I glared at Sinclair, I realized I might have bitten off more than I could chew. His eyes glowed, his fangs extended. His scent deepened, and suddenly I was pressed against him. My pointing finger was trapped in his powerful fist, and my breath was stolen as his growl washed over me.

"You know the problem, little wolf?" he asked, sending shivers down my spine. "When I said she-wolves soothe their mates, I didn't mean with kind words and cuddles. I need to feel in control even when the world falls apart. I need to calm the wolf clawing beneath my skin, rabid with the need to claim his mate."

I gulped, feeling my own wolf submit. "Well, what are you waiting for?"