Chapter 419 – The Threat of War

Ella

Cora and Roger remained in the meeting room for a light breakfast while Henry escorted Sarah and Jessica out, wheeling beside them as they discussed preliminary plans for Jessica's schooling and Sarah's future. I smiled as Sinclair and I walked slowly behind them, Rafe nestled securely in his father's arms. I waved to my new friends as they and Henry turned left, while Sinclair and I continued right, toward our rooms.

Turning the corner and finally alone, I sighed. Sinclair, as always, noticed.

"What's wrong, little queen?" he murmured, drawing closer. "I thought you'd be happy with the results. You did a good thing for her, and I imagine you'll continue to. Plus, we got some very useful information about Xander."

"Was it anything we didn't already know?" I asked, frowning.

"A few things," he murmured, shrugging. "But more importantly, she's a witness. We'll be able to formally charge Xander with…well, we'd need a lawyer to specify the crimes—switching sperm at a sperm bank and attempting to kidnap the resulting child."

Rafe gurgled, making me laugh. My sweet baby—almost as if he knew he was being discussed.

"Well, that's something," I murmured, considering it. "Will we charge him, though?"

"I'm not sure," Sinclair said. "Not that I want to let him off the hook—we just need to figure out the best approach, especially since he's now with the Atalaxians."

We reached our door. Sinclair opened it, allowing me to enter first. I went immediately to our walk-in closet to change into more comfortable clothes, my mind racing.

"Go on, little mate," Sinclair murmured, following me into the closet and sitting on the chaise lounge. I anticipated many such chats here while getting ready. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Well," I said, removing my dress and hanging it up, "it's the Atalaxians that worry me," I said, grimacing.

"What do you mean?" he asked, settling back and listening attentively. I offered a small smile and a pulse of gratitude through our bond. His taking me seriously meant so much.

"I mean," I said, grabbing comfortable pants, "I'm not sure we should be messing with them. You heard what Sarah said about life in Xander's household—an absolute nightmare for her, Jessica, and her mother. Years of abuse, justified because they were human women."

Sighing as I pulled on a t-shirt, I looked at my mate, sorrow in my eyes. "The idea that Xander would go to the Atalaxians, hat in hand, and they'd welcome him…it makes me uncomfortable, Dominic. I don't want anything to do with people like that."

He sighed, nodding understandingly, but also gesturing in supplication. "Part of ruling is dealing with people you intensely dislike. Atalaxia is a powerful nation. No matter how much we disagree with their policies, we can't ignore them."

"But shouldn't we?" I asked, pushing back gently. I approached him, running my fingers through his dark hair, then looking down at our baby. "Everything I've heard suggests they're participating in atrocities, serious crimes against humanity."

"Crimes of which we have no real proof, my love—"

"But how hard would that proof be to find?" I murmured. "I had one conversation with one woman in a refugee camp, and we have testimony against Xander. If abuse is as widespread in Atalaxia as I'm told, would we even need to scratch the surface to find proof?"

"And if we did," Sinclair murmured, looking at me seriously, "what would you have us do?"

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head, sighing with worry and fear. "I'm not trying to persuade you, Dominic. I just…I know that to not oppose tyranny is to accept it. And if we have the power…"

"Would you go so far as to want to go to war over it?" he asked quietly. I paled at the idea. I was so sick of war.

All I wanted was to build my life, raise my child, and live peacefully with my mate. But would I buy that peace at the expense of others? Would I allow innocents to suffer for my peace of mind?

I bit my lip. Sinclair clicked his tongue sympathetically, cupping my cheek. "I'm sorry, love," he sighed. "That wasn't a fair question—you have good points, and I gave you the one ultimatum that would stop you."

"No," I said, shaking my head and covering his hand with mine. "It's the reality, isn't it? If I say we stand up to the Atalaxians…the result could be war."

"It could be war either way," he said softly, worriedly.

"Really?" I asked, my stomach dropping.

He nodded slowly. "They're unhappy the secrecy pact was broken, and that my response wasn't immediate denigration of the human race. They're very hostile. I'll avoid war at all costs, but…they're strong. They could push for it, knowing they have the advantage."

I closed my eyes, anxiety racing through me. War. War again. Just when I was finally finding peace…

"We're not there yet," Sinclair said, his hand drifting to my waist, pulling me closer. "Don't worry about it now. Don't borrow trouble."

"Can't seem to help it," I murmured, opening my eyes. "Like calls to like, after all."

He laughed, a deep, warm sound that made me smile. He pulled me onto his lap. "Let me worry about that," he said softly. "You go patch up the people hurt by our last war—it's what you want to do anyway."

"Hey," I said, playfully narrowing my eyes and kissing him lightly. "Don't think of me as some magical street sweeper—I'm not just here to clean up after this nation's wars! I'm not the panacea you seek!"

"Oh, I know," he murmured, teasing me with his lips. His hand drifted lower. "If you're busy cleaning up after wars, you'll be too busy for me to get you pregnant with all the heirs I'm planning…"

I burst into laughter, pulling away and pretending to be offended, though we both knew I wanted that too. "Hey, Mr. King Sinclair," I growled, wrinkling my nose. "I'm no royal baby factory either."

He scoffed, pretending to be frustrated. "Then what are you even good for, Ella!?"

I laughed, wickedly pulling his face close. "You know exactly what I'm good for, Dominic." And then I kissed him soundly, losing myself in the moment.

Later, after putting the baby down for his nap, I reported for duty at the refugee camp—much later than I'd anticipated.