Moira's POV

The silk sheets feel wrong against my skin.

I lie on my back in the guest quarters, staring at the ceiling's ornate molding. Somewhere in this massive palace, Logan and Lucas are locked in cells. Silver-lined cells, probably. The kind designed to keep Alphas contained.

My hand drifts to my belly where the triplets shift restlessly. They feel it too—the separation, the wrongness of their fathers being torn away.

"Shh," I whisper. "They're coming ...