Chapter 133: Ella's Anger

"I'm in the Royal Palace," Ella burst out. "Third floor, corner suite overlooking the southern gate."

The crushing weight of his orders immediately dissipated, leaving her a trembling mess in his arms.

"Good girl," Sinclair praised, his words making her nauseous. "It's all going to be okay."

Unable to stop crying, she beat her fists against his chest, angrier than she'd ever been with him. "How could you?" she moaned, her body shaking.

"I'm sorry, Ella," he said, letting her strike him without defending himself, holding her steady as she vented her fury. "When this is over, I'll make it up to you, but I stand by what I said. You're done hurting yourself for others."

"But the world needs you, not me!" she exploded, gasping for air. "And what do you think they'll do to me if you die? How will that help?"

"I need you, Ella," Sinclair argued. "As my mate, as the mother of my pups—my Luna. I'm not going to die, Ella," he promised. "And neither are you. We're not going to let him win, sweetheart."

"You don't know that!" she sobbed. "I'll never forgive you, Dominic. Not as long as I live."

"The point is that you will live, trouble," he murmured, kissing her temple. "That's what matters most. I'd rather you hate me and live than love me and die—and for that, I won't apologize."

"Well, I do hate you!" she tried to say, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Do you really?" he asked teasingly. "You don't sound convinced."

"Just don't die," she begged, realizing she'd stopped fighting him. She clung to him as she had in her dream, wishing they could remain in that safe fantasy, just the three of them.

"Shh," Sinclair crooned, holding her close. "We can work with the Palace. There are passages for royal emergencies. There might be some in your rooms, and even if not, I might find some to get inside."

"But how will we communicate if we find one?" she sniffled, confused. "It was hard enough to fall asleep the first time—I was in a cupboard."

"A cupboard?" Sinclair repeated, amused.

"It felt safer," she defended, knowing he wouldn't understand her hormonal turmoil and trauma. "The point is, I can't guarantee I'll fall asleep again, and we have no time to waste. You can't plan while asleep."

"The safest option is if you find a passageway," Sinclair mused. "Often, only the royal family know they exist, meaning they won't be guarded. They're used for evacuations, leading outside the palace walls."

"Really?" she whispered, her tears slowing.

"Sometimes, telling the truth has benefits," Sinclair stated smugly. He was right; she always felt better after confiding in him.

"How do you know all this?" she asked curiously.

"My father was almost King, and we have close ties with the pack elders. The royal family and the Moon Valley Alpha are each other's backup in emergencies—we know the evacuation protocols, even if not the specifics."

"But what if there are no passages in my room?" she asked nervously.

"Then I come to you," Sinclair shrugged. "Hopefully, you'll escape before that's necessary. If you escape, contact us to call it off."

"Call what off?" she fretted.

"The Prince is waiting until the end of the day. I'll set the meeting location fifteen minutes beforehand—like the ransom meeting." She was surprised he'd already met the Prince, who was still alive. He had a strong advantage with her in his grasp. "Instead of the meeting, my men and I will infiltrate the palace. I'll contact Adolpho about passage entrances."

"And if he doesn't?" she pressed, envisioning many things going wrong. Sinclair kissed her cheek repeatedly. "You're determined to find flaws, aren't you? If he doesn't, we'll go over the walls. If you find a passage, leave a hint—draw the curtains and unmake the bed."

"If the room is empty, won't you know I got out?" she objected.

"No, they could move you, or we could be in the wrong room and leave you behind. If the room is that way, we'll know we're right but need to retreat. Anything else distinctive? A color scheme?"

"Green walls, yellow flowers on the armoire," she said.

"Even better," Sinclair nodded. "Leave a clue about the passage's location so we can follow you."

She marveled at his calmness. Their lives were at stake, yet he was a cool strategist. "What kind of clue?"

"Anything in your room to write a coded message?" he asked.

"A notepad and pen by the desk," she recalled.

"Write a message to the prince, using the first letter of each sentence to spell out the passage's location," he instructed.

"Where should I look?" she asked, picturing her room.

"Furniture or decorations against the walls—the back of your cupboard, paintings, fireplaces. Pull down vases, hooks, anything that might trigger a wall opening. Do the same in the bathroom. Look for scuffs or drafts. Remember the safehouse entrance? It could be a pressure sensor."

"How can you be so calm?" she breathed.

"I'm not calm, Ella," Sinclair corrected, meeting her gaze. She saw the blazing fire in his eyes, the controlled rage he reserved for the Prince. "But the best thing I can do is make a plan."

She nodded, closing her eyes. "How much time?" she asked, sensing their reprieve ending.

"If you have no more questions, I should go," Sinclair said regretfully. "I need to start planning, and you need to search for your escape."

"Okay," she murmured.

"I love you, trouble," Sinclair said, kissing her deeply.

"I love you too," she answered, in case things went wrong. She didn't want her earlier words to stand. "I'm sorry I said—"

"I know," he assured her, kissing her again. "It's going to be okay. Now wake up—the sooner you do, the sooner we can be together again."

She awoke with tears in her eyes, but with renewed determination. She climbed out of the wardrobe and began her search.