Our first night in the palace was strange. My two boys slept soundly beside me: Sinclair sprawled across our enormous bed (it's far larger than a king-size; we had to custom-order it), and Rafe's bassinet nestled close. I looked at my mate, then at my baby, smiling at each. I marveled at their resemblance: dark hair and wide-set eyes framed by dark lashes. Sinclair lacked Rafe's chubby cheeks, but the resemblance was uncanny. It was very clear who the baby's father was.

"Rude of you, little baby," I whispered, peering into the bassinet, "to not look like me at all." He sighed and wiggled, settling more comfortably. It was so cute, I thought my heart might burst.

But my adorable baby couldn't entirely distract me from my racing thoughts. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, considering them one by one. Half concerned the wedding, which I was excited about. It was a good idea—part of uniting this nation was showing humans and wolves that the nation respected both, that we were all equal. A highly publicized marriage, as Sinclair suggested, would greatly reassure both populations that the Royal Family embraced this idea.

I laughed at the thought of myself as royalty—I'm far from fancy—but sighed, distracted. Sinclair's other point remained valid: I wanted to help our citizens, everyone. My healing ability could help in our nation's hospitals, but was that what I truly wanted? Then, I remembered someone who could help.

Quietly, I opened the bedside drawer, retrieving my cellphone (unused for weeks since the bunker). I turned it on, quickly texted Isabel: "Isabel! I'm so sorry, but we're back. Do you have a minute tomorrow to talk?" Biting my lip—I felt terrible about neglecting our friendship, especially after asking her to stay instead of going home—I sent the message, hoping for forgiveness. Knowing her kindness, though she could be sharp, I thought she would forgive me.

Feeling better, I drifted off to sleep.

Sinclair's alarm blared. He groaned, turned it off, then reached for me. But his hand found nothing. Hearing the alarm, I'd rolled away, grabbing my phone, desperate to see if Isabel replied.

"Yes!" I whispered, excited to see a message.

"What?" Sinclair mumbled, groggy. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," I murmured, opening my messages. "Go back to sleep." Ignoring him, I eagerly read Isabel's reply: "Ella! Where have you been!? We've been so worried! Please come see me—I need to hug you and make sure you're okay. I'm at the Refugee Center—come anytime after 8; someone will direct you."

I began to reply, but a snarl behind me and a strong arm around my waist made me gasp and shriek. Sinclair, laughing, pulled me onto the bed, pinning me against his chest.

"What the hell?" he growled, feigning anger. "Neglecting me?"

"Oh, poor big scary Alpha," I teased, pressing against him, pouting. "Need your morning kiss and snuggle?"

"Damn right," he growled, baring his teeth—a gesture that usually intimidated others, but only made me laugh. "We need discipline in this house. You have duties, little Queen."

"Oh, little Queen," I said, clinging to him. "I like this nickname. Very elegant."

He kissed my neck and shoulder, his beard tickling me.

"I could think of other things to call you," he murmured.

"Like what?"

"Bad girl," he said, glaring. "For grabbing your phone first. Making me jealous." He continued kissing me.

I shuddered, burying my fingers in his hair.

"No reason to be jealous," I murmured. "It's just Isabel. I'm visiting her at the Refugee Center today."

"What?" he asked, all playfulness gone from his voice. I frowned, wondering what was wrong.

"Is thatbad?"

"It's very dangerous, Ella," Sinclair said sternly. "Those people are desperate. They could take advantage of you."

"Baby," I murmured, touching his cheek. "That's why I should go. They need help, and I can help them."

He sighed, thinking. I waited, feeling frustrated. Yesterday, he'd told me to find my path; today, he said it was too dangerous.

"I justwant you to be safe," he said, looking into my eyes. My frustration vanished. I understood.

"We'll be safe," I whispered, stroking his cheek. "Isabel goes every day, and she wouldn't put me in danger."

"Wait, we?" Sinclair said, sitting up. "Who is 'we'?"

"Rafe and I," I said, sitting up.

He laughed derisively. "You are not bringing the baby."

I laughed back. "Just try to stop me!"