The rest of the evening passed without further drama, but the night felt like a complete wash. The procession through the city's old quarter would have been magical under other circumstances—with its traditions, music, and the palpable gaiety of the crowd. If I'd been able to focus on anything other than my own thoughts, I'm fairly certain I would have fallen in love with the occasion, but I couldn't give it the attention it deserved.

I was exhausted by the time we were finally free to leave, already thinking about the extra-long nap I'd need tomorrow, even as I climbed into the back of the limousine. Distracted and grumpy, I vacated my seat when Sinclair slid in beside me, choosing the one facing him instead.

Sinclair arched a brow but didn't stop me. "You're angry with me," he assessed simply, eyeing my crossed arms and stiff shoulders.

"What was that all about, Dominic?" I asked, trying to control my temper.

"What, with the Prince?" he clarified, as if the answer wasn't obvious.

"How did he know I haven't been marked?" I demanded. "And how long have you known he knew?"

"You know it would be a lot easier to talk if you were over here," Sinclair coaxed, patting the seat beside him.

"I'm fine right here," I insisted. I knew how Sinclair worked—he'd get me within arm's reach, and the next thing I knew, I'd be soothed into complacency by his caresses, warmth, and gentle touch. But I'd be damned if I let him lull me into calming down. I had every right to be upset.

He sighed. "The Prince came to speak with me last night at the bonfire. I don't know how he found out you haven't been marked, but he made it clear he planned on using that information against us. So I told him the same story we told Roger."

"And you didn't tell me?" I clarified. "Why? Because you didn't find the right time? Or because you didn't plan on telling me at all?"

"Ella—" Sinclair began, giving me a beseeching look. I knew then he'd never intended to tell me, though I shouldn't have been surprised. He'd had every opportunity to share this information—like when he gave me the ring.

"Don't," I interjected. "Just don't bother. I thought we agreed we would be a team from now on? I thought we were supposed to be in this together?"

"Sweetheart, we are," he insisted, looking as though it took great restraint not to reach for me. "I just didn't think this was something you needed to worry about."

"You didn't think I should know that I might have to publicly defend our relationship?" I questioned sharply. "That I might be asked questions about this? What if a reporter had asked me about the mark, already knowing your answer? Our entire plan could have fallen apart because you didn't inform me, Dominic."

"It has all happened very quickly, Ella," Sinclair excused. "I would have told you sooner or later, but I miscalculated. I really wasn't expecting the Prince to make an appearance tonight, let alone bring it up. I thought he was smarter than that."

"Do you know what I'm hearing here?" I snapped. "You thought, you expected, you believed, and you calculated. You're making all the calls, all the decisions, and I'm sitting on the sidelines looking like an idiot—again!"

"I'm sorry," Sinclair admitted. "I told you this wouldn't come easily for me. I'm trying, but I'm not used to consulting anyone else on this sort of thing. Change doesn't happen overnight." He frowned. "That's not a cop-out; it's just that my instincts are still to shield you rather than share the burden. I know that probably seems very patronizing—"

"It doesn't seem patronizing, it is patronizing," I corrected him.

"No," he countered sternly. "Patronizing implies superiority. I don't think I'm better than you, Ella."

"Of course you do!" I burst out. "You're supernatural—the bias is in the name! I'm just a human, and next to shifters, we're primitive, tiny, weak, and slow. And on top of all that, you're the wealthiest, most powerful man in the pack. How could you not feel superior?"

Sinclair's green eyes pierced me, and I had to work very hard to stay still. I felt as though I was about to receive a lecture. "Because none of those things have any inherent value beyond staying alive and controlling the world around you. There's no integrity in being fast or rich, and our society didn't earn any of it. It was handed to us by the Goddess. Yes, we're more advanced, but not due to our own virtue," Sinclair continued, still pinning me with his intense stare. "But you, you had to earn everything all on your own. You started from nothing and used your brains and ingenuity to succeed; you had the mental strength to overcome all the trials you faced, and you came out of all that with the purest heart I've ever seen."

I don't think anyone has ever complimented me like that. Cora might, but she's like a sister—she has to love me. But I'm certain no other man has ever praised me for such things—or mentioned my positive attributes beyond my beauty. This wasn't even the first time Sinclair had made this kind of speech, making me feel valued for who I am rather than my looks. I felt as though he truly saw me—and I'll be damned if that wasn't terrifying.

"I I don't know how to respond to that," I admitted shyly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, the sound filling me with warmth. "You're a far better person than I am, Ella—and you're going to have to get used to compliments because I have no intention of letting you continue to undervalue yourself."

"If you think these things, why do you keep trying to shield me then?" I inquired, much more docile now.

Sinclair's dark brow furrowed. "It's because I think those things," he explained intently. "I don't want you to have to struggle and worry. You don't deserve more hardship. And it's in my nature besides. I'm dominant—as a man and an Alpha. What you perceive as condescending are the power dynamics that govern all shifters. Dominance is everything to wolves, and it makes it my responsibility to protect those less powerful. That's a distinction you'll have to come to terms with if you're going to live among us."

His words reminded me of the Prince's other accusations—calling me insolent and saying I needed discipline. A shiver ran down my spine at the memory, and as curious as I was about that particular part of the conversation, we had more to discuss before I could bring it up. Despite Sinclair's kind words, I was still incredibly hurt. And I knew it wasn't the fact that Sinclair kept the information from me that stung worst; it was that he hadn't given me his ring because he wanted to—he'd pretended like we were having some intimate moment when it was just an act.

"Tell me about the mating ceremony," I requested. "As far as I understood, we made up that excuse assuming it would be delayed indefinitely—but you just set a date. What do we do when that date arrives?"

Sinclair's mouth formed a hard line, the vein in his jaw twitching dangerously. "We'll go through with it. Though it will only be for show."

"What about when your true mate arrives?" I countered. "This all seems very short-sighted. How will you explain it when you leave me? Are third-chance mates as common as seconds?"

"The endgame is about making it through the campaign. Once I'm king and I have an heir, the identity of my Luna is redundant. It's important that I have one, not who she is or how many I've had before." Well, that's a slap in the face, I thought sadly. I'd basically just been told that I'm a faceless symbol, and while this was undoubtedly the deal I'd agreed to, it didn't take away the ache of hearing I was basically nothing to him.

"So everything you said to me when you gave me this ring was just bullshit?" I summarized, gesturing to my left hand. "You didn't make the gesture because you felt it or wanted to, but because of political pressure?"

Sinclair's eyes flashed, and too late I realized I might have revealed my hand. I didn't know why I was so bothered that he hadn't truly wanted to make things official with me. I might be attracted to Sinclair, but I didn't want anything more—so why was it so upsetting? Why was my stomach in knots? Why was it so difficult to breathe?

Sinclair seemed to be reading my mind, because in the next moment he asked, "Why should that matter? You already told me you don't have any interest in something real with me, so shouldn't you be happy that it was fake?" His expression had gone truly deadly now, like a hunter closing in on the kill. "Why do you care so much, Ella?"