Chapter 13

When Shawn returned to Belmor Town, he was a changed wolf. He stopped attending court, locking himself in the Yates Den's study, staring at walls of scrolls with a jug of hard liquor always in hand.

"Shawn, you can't keep drinking like this…" the steward ventured cautiously.

"Get out!" Shawn roared, eyes bloodshot, voice raw.

He downed another gulp, the fiery liquid scorching his throat, but it couldn't burn away the knot in his chest.

Leah… how could she truly bind herself to another?

He'd thought she was just throwing a fit, that she'd come back eventually. But that day in the frontier, her cold, distant gaze shook him to his core.

"Shawn…" Quinn entered, carrying a bowl of sobering broth, dressed in a simple gown with a single white jade hairpin, looking gentle as a stream.

"You'll ruin yourself drinking like this," she said softly, setting the broth on the table.

Shawn didn't even glance up. "Leave."

Quinn bit her lip, eyes welling. "You haven't spoken to me in half a moon…"

"I said, leave!" He snapped his head up, his glare sharp as a blade.

Quinn flinched, tears spilling as she stepped back. "Fine… I'll go."

She turned, choking back a sob, but after one step, she clutched her mouth, gagging.

Shawn frowned. "What's wrong?"

Wiping her eyes, Quinn murmured, "Nothing… just been nauseous lately…"

His eyes widened, realization dawning. "You're… with pup?"

Quinn nodded shyly. "The healer says two months…"

The jug slipped from Shawn's hand, crashing to the floor, liquor pooling around his feet. A pup?

He stared at Quinn's belly, the knot in his chest loosening slightly. Maybe… this was the great pack's way of making amends.

From that day, Shawn quit the bottle. He returned to court, tackled his duties, seeming to pull himself together. But deep down, in the quiet of night, those cold frontier eyes haunted him.

"Shawn, I'm craving those candied fruits from the south side," Quinn whined.

"Shawn, this soup's too hot!"

"Shawn, the accountants are shorting my allowance. Do something!"

Pregnant and emboldened, Quinn ran roughshod over Yates Den. She berated servants, smashing bowls and plates at the slightest annoyance. She accused the accountants of skimming, forcing the old steward to beg on his knees. She even demanded Shawn hand over control of the den's affairs.

At first, Shawn indulged her—she was carrying his pup, after all. But her tantrums wore him thin.

"Shawn, Quinn made the cook kneel all night…"

"Shawn, Quinn smashed Madam Yates' heirloom vase…"

"Shawn, Quinn said—"

"Enough!" Shawn cut in, voice icy. "Don't report her nonsense to me anymore."

He started hiding in his study, avoiding her entirely.

Quinn sensed his distance, a mix of rage and fear churning inside. She'd fought so hard to win him—she couldn't let Leah creep back into his thoughts.

"Shawn…" One night, her belly slightly rounded, she pushed open the study door, tears in her eyes. "Do you… resent me?"

Shawn didn't look up from his papers. "No."

"Then why avoid me?" she asked, voice breaking.

He set down his pen, meeting her eyes with a cold stare. "You've been out of line."

Quinn paled, then played the victim. "I just… want to ease your burdens."

"Ease?" Shawn scoffed. "You're causing chaos."

Her body trembled, tears streaming. "Shawn, I'm carrying your pup… how can you treat me like this?"

He went quiet, softening despite himself. With a sigh, he said, "Go rest. Don't overdo it."

Seeing his tone shift, Quinn threw herself into his arms, sobbing. "Shawn, you're all I have…"

He patted her back stiffly, his heart cold as stone. In that moment, he remembered another she-wolf who once clung to him like this.

And he'd pushed her away with his own hands.