Accidental Surrogate

Ella

Hugo, Sinclair and I are all staring at the television with wide eyes and slack jaws,

unable to process the images flitting across the screen. It seems like every time we

manage to take a few steps forward, Lydia and the Prince find a way to send us

reeling back – and this is no exception.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Hugo expresses, obviously overwhelmed. “Why would

he risk losing the pack’s sympathy by parading around another Woman so soon after

his wife’s death?”

“Trust me, Hugo – Damon isn’t the one calling the shots here. This is all Lydia.”

Sinclair states gruffly. “She’s going to force her way onto the throne one way or

another. Right now she’s playing the doting friend, but mark my words, by the time the

election ends she’ll be in his bed.”

“How bad is this?’ I ask, looking up at Sinclair’s handsome face, “Does she have

information that could hurt you?”

Sinclair Squeezes my shoulders, “She knows some secrets.” He relates, “but luckily

nothing I could imagine as a smoking gun. In fact most of what she knows would be

more harmful to the Prince things like my father’s attack, Things the public believes

were accidents but our private investigators proved malicious.” His mouth flattens into

a hard line. “The real danger is that she knows how we think, how we operate. Not to

mention that the Prince doesn’t have more than two brain cells to rub together, but

Lydia has plenty.”

“So what do we do?” I ask anxiously, my head replaying the news reel over and over

again. “My bed rest isn’t common knowledge, and they’re making it sound like my

absence from the public eye is suspicious. Do we tell everyone about my condition?

Or do we make an appearance?”

“I’m afraid making an appearance might play right into their hands. This could be

some sort of attempt to lure us out of hiding.” Hugo advises, looking very grim indeed.

In the distance I hear the front door open and close – a fact which comes as quite a

surprise, since my hearing has never been so sharp before.

Wheels roll over the door jam, and then Henry’s voice floats up toward us, “Good

Morning!”

“Henry!” I exclaim, both taken aback yet unsurprised we stayed in bed so long.

Sinclair’s father has been coming over almost every day since we agreed to be

invalids together, and he’s been an invaluable help, since I learned my true identity.

grab some loungewear and disappear into the restroom to change. I might be

human modesty is too deeply ingrained to allow me to strut around nude

and I’m definitely not changing in

is also dressed, though much more

together, Sinclair carrying me despite my protests. My

is improving more and more every day, but

around the breakfast table, the men analyzing these

and me feeling like an

can’t begin to understand. It’s not that they exclude me, I

of my depth.

Sinclair asks, turning his blazing emerald eyes

circles for more than half an hour, debating how

to

lip thoughtfully, trying to ignore the flash of emotion in

observes the nervous habit. Releasing my

what happened with Lydia’s husband?I mean

married to some other Alpha, right?” I clarify. When the men nod,

Even if he doesn’t want her anymore, it must

for her to be gallivanting

a good point.” Henry praises, maintaining a straight-faced

that he’s not giving out false compliments. “Maybe we’ve

the

understand their motivations, we can simply leave it at

respond without playing into their

be expecting some sort of countermove

we might be able to spin ourselves out

onto them –

the pack by rustling

approvingly.

but when I look over,

I think it’s the best

entire situation just

“You don’t need to convene

this is all fucked six ways

I mean, I feel like I’m missing

replies drying. “Therę’s something bothering me and

on it.”

been saying from the beginning

scheme.” I

is too unimaginative to have orchestrated.” Hugo

eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and then he

fist and

who isn’t too unimaginative?” Sinclair growls, scanning

faces.

“And while Prince Damon might have seen

more than a trophy, he’s not the type to

But Lydia wouldn’t have any reservations about getting

of the way.”

are?” I gape, both

to believe

other explanation do we

back and forth behind the dining table. “If the

to death, I wouldn’t question it. And if there was some sort

make the case for rogues or

Damon. But poison? That’s a

and if it was a political scheme you would think the royal family would

in

Damon looking sympathetic.”

it

was planned, then why