Kai finally excused himself from the group with a polite nod and spread his arms wide as Kira turned toward him.

She walked straight into them and then pulled back and poked him in the ribs with two fingers.

"Ow," Kai said, looking delighted. "Hello to you too, Your Highness."

"You took forever," she told him.

"We were coming as fast as Nana’s dignity would allow."

He wrapped his arms around her properly and she went, squeezing him back with more force than he expected. "There she is," he said quietly, more gently. "You alright, Sunshine?"

"I’m better now," she said against his shoulder. Then, "You came. You actually came."

"Of course I came." His voice returned to its usual register, light and easy. "You think I’d miss watching you boss around a room full of Alphas? Not a chance."

She pulled back and looked at him. "Have you seen Derek?"

Something moved across Kai’s face, quick and carefully handled. "Something came up. He had to deal with it."

Kira felt the ache return to her chest at the news. She wanted to ask what could possibly be more important than this, but Nana grabbed her hand.

"Not tonight, darling," Nana said simply. "Later. When all of this is done." Her fingers squeezed once and gently. "Let’s get this night back on track first. Can you do that?"

As the crowd saw the massive display of love and support the Wolfes were giving to the Queen, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

The hostile Alphas, sensing the change in the wind, began to return to their seats, their anger quietly deflating in the presence of the Wolfe matriarch. Nana had not addressed them directly. She had simply arrived, and that had been sufficient.

Nana and Kai moved toward the royal booth, and as they settled into their seats the room rearranged itself around them, people taking their cues from the simple fact of their presence.

At the podium, the auctioneer, who had been struggling to keep anyone’s attention for the last hour, cleared his throat, straightened his papers, and found his voice again.

"Next item on our programme," he said, with recovered confidence. "is a private weekend retreat at Snowmist Lodge, generously donated by Alpha Lucas of the Snow Crest Pack. Bidding starts at ten thousand pounds."

The first few bids came in cautiously. Then placards went up from the Alphas who had been clamouring for apologies barely fifteen minutes ago, raising their figures with the competitiveness of men who had decided the evening was salvageable after all.

"Fifty thousand."

"Seventy-five."

"One hundred and twenty."

"Two hundred thousand!"

Nana’s voice carried across the auditorium without effort, clear and unbothered, as though she were commenting on the weather.

The room went quiet again, though this time the quality of the quiet was entirely different.

The auctioneer blinked at his clipboard. "Two hundred thousand pounds. Do I hear—" He looked around the room. No one moved. "Two hundred thousand, going once. Going twice." He brought the gavel down. "Sold."

Nana settled back in her chair with a look of serene satisfaction that suggested she had made her point and seen it land.

Kira caught her eye from across the room and mouthed, "Thank you."

Nana waved her off with a soft laugh.

Always, my love," she said. "Always."

***

The car rolled to a stop in front of the packhouse, and the driver stepped out quickly and opened the rear door.

Alpha Braxton stepped out into the cool night air, loosening the top button of his collar as he looked up at the lit windows of the house.

The journey back from the university had been long and quiet, filled with thoughts he could not shake.

His gammas by the entrance bowed their heads as he came up the steps, and he acknowledged them with a nod, pushing through the front door into the warmth of the foyer.

The moment he entered, a middle-aged woman rushed out from the side hallway, her face filled with anticipation.

"Alpha," she greeted with a slight bow.

"Claudine," Braxton called.

She was the housekeeper who had run this packhouse longer than most of his gammas had been alive.

Where is she?" Claudine asked, glancing behind him as if expecting someone to appear. "Did you tell her?"

Braxton exhaled slowly, and loosened his tie with one hand, before turning to face her fully. "I didn’t get the chance."

Claudine’s shoulders slumped as disappointment clouded her eyes.

"The evening nearly went sideways," he said, before she could speak. "There was chaos in that hall. And after everything settled, she was surrounded. Her family had arrived, there were people on all sides of her."

He shook his head. "Besides, I cannot speak to her about such things in a public place. If the wrong person overheard us, everything we have worked for would be ruined."

Claudine pressed her lips together, and she gripped the fabric of her apron.

"We need to get to her before someone else does," she said quietly. "Before the wrong people start connecting what we already know."

Braxton placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "She is safe. She is in good hands where she is."

"We don’t know that yet." Claudine’s voice dropped. "Power corrupts even the best of men, Brax. We have seen it before."

She paused, then asked softly, "She still didn’t recognise you at all tonight?"

Braxton shook his head. "She thinks I looked familiar, but she doesn’t know yet. A small, tired smile crossed his face. "I think one day she will understand everything. I have to believe that."

Claudine studied him the way she had been studying him since he was a boy, with the particular attention of a woman who had watched him grow up and still reserved the right to worry. Then she sighed and let it go, for now.

"I hope it isn’t too late. Shall I run your bath?"

"Not yet." he replied, already looking toward the staircase. "I want to see her first." He paused. "Has she eaten?"

Claudine’s expression answered before her mouth did. The same slight dropping of the eyes, the same press of the lips.

"Claudine."

"You know how she is," she said simply.

He nodded once. "Bring her meal up. I’ll feed her myself. Thank you, Claudine."

He didn’t wait for a response. He was already heading for the stairs, one hand trailing along the bannister as he climbed, the tiredness of the evening settling more heavily with every step.

The corridor upstairs was dim, only the small wall lights on, casting soft pools of yellow along the carpet. He stopped outside the last door on the left. Stood there for a moment with his hand on the frame. Then he pushed it open.

The room was clean and warm. Someone had lit the small lamp by the bedside and left the curtains open a crack, just enough to let in a thin line of night sky.

His mother sat at the edge of the bed, her back perfectly straight, her hands resting on her thighs. She was looking at a point on the wall across from her that held nothing.

She did not turn when the door opened, neither did she blink.

Braxton crossed the room quietly and leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her hair, silver at the temples now, had been brushed recently. Claudine, he knew, did that every evening without being asked.

His mother did not move. Her eyes stayed on the wall.

He pulled the small chair from beside the dresser, set it directly in front of her, and sat down. He reached out and took both her frail hands, and wrapped them carefully in his larger ones.

"Soon," he said quietly, his thumb moving in a slow circle across her knuckles. "Everything is going to be alright. I promise you."

His mother said nothing. She never did anymore. But her fingers, almost without seeming to, curled the smallest fraction around his.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​