Ella: "So you two," Cora says, flicking her gaze between Roger and Sinclair, "you're all right now? After fifteen minutes, it's all cleared up?"
Sinclair shrugs. "We kept it pretty cut and dry. He's on probation."
"No, I'm not," Roger murmurs dismissively, shaking his head at Cora.
"He is," Sinclair growls. Roger leans down, pretending to whisper in Cora's ear but speaking loud enough for everyone to hear: "Probation doesn't mean anything. But it made him happy to slap a word on the lack of consequences."
Cora laughs, her face turned up to her mate. I bite my lip to stifle my own giggle, wanting to be loyal to Sinclair, who sighs behind me.
"Either way," Sinclair says, moving on. "Congratulations, Cora," he says, his voice sincere. "I'm very happy for you—for both of you. It's a big event."
"Thank you, Dominic," Cora says, smiling softly and turning her head, clearly touched. I beam at my sister as well. It's not that I've let her off the hook for keeping the baby's name a secret—I'll bug her about it later.
"We are sorry, though," Cora says, taking Roger's hand. "I know that the wedding meant a lot to you, and that it was going to do good things for the nation. But…" she hesitates, biting her lip. I can tell she feels selfish. I open my mouth to protest, but she continues: "But I needed it to be like this, to be personal. I hope you'll forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive, Cora," Sinclair murmurs, smiling warmly. "I completely understand. You've done nothing wrong."
Suddenly, an idea occurs to me. "Cora," I say, leaning forward. "Does anyone else know about your mark, or your private ceremony, besides the four of us?"
She frowns, confused. "Well, no," she says quietly. "Neither of us really has social media or anything—"
"Or any friends," Roger murmurs, chagrined, making me laugh. They don't need friends; they have us!
"Well then," I say, smiling broadly. "Would you consider doing it anyway?"
"What?" Cora asks, confused.
"If no one knows," I say, my smile growing, "why not have the wedding/mating ceremony publicly, as we planned before?"
"Oh!" she says, surprised, then laughs, inspired by the idea. She touches her mating mark, realizing she already has it.
"We could get makeup artists to cover it up," I suggest. "I'm sure they can—they do magical things in the movies."
"Um," Cora says, looking at Roger, who shrugs, indicating it's her choice. She grins at me.
"Really?" she asks. "You think it would work? And—and it would help you?"
"It really would, Cora," Sinclair says warmly. "I think it's precisely the message we want to send to both our people and some of our honored guests: that humans are equals in our eyes, that they're part of our family. But if you'd rather keep the memory of it to the beach because it's special to you—"
"No," she interrupts, smiling hugely. "No, I want to do it—I think it will be fun!"
"I'm going to mark this side this time," Roger murmurs, drawing a finger down the opposite side of her throat and shoulder. "See if I like how it looks any better…"
She scowls and swats his hand away. "Enough of you," she murmurs, though I know she doesn't mean it. She hasn't had nearly enough of Roger, and I doubt she ever will. I hug my baby and grin at them both, incredibly excited for their life together. And to throw them a wedding!
Time moves quickly after we make our plans. My days and weeks fill with tasks. I wake up earlier than Sinclair, even, to care for the baby and begin planning. He scolds me every morning, telling me I need my sleep or that I should wake him to help, but I brush him off. I feel the same way about him and I'm happy he gets an extra hour of sleep. He needs it.
Sinclair is busier than ever. He reminds me, in some ways, of the cold, brooding businessman I met at the beginning. In our odd adventures in Vanara, in the bunker, in the RV, and everywhere else, I lost track of that man I fell in love with.
But now, as our life settles back into a routine in our own home (even if it is a palace now), I see flashes of him return. It's not that he's lost the sides of himself he's shown me, but he's more complex now, isn't he? And, if possible, I love him even more.
Sinclair made his formal claim for the throne a few days ago, and no one contested it. Now all that's left is for the governors to ratify the claim, and for the packs to demonstrate their support at the coronation. It's all gone smoothly, as Sinclair predicted, and so we've moved forward with the plans. Delegations from neighboring countries are set to arrive in Moon Valley over the next few days.
I'm most excited about the delegation from Vanara, including King Gabriel, but I'm also curious to meet our other neighbors. However, I'm worried that the Atalaxians are attending with a large delegation.
I spend a little time each day with Sarah and Jessica, usually in the evenings, bringing Rafe to chat and play. They're thriving, and I think they're happy and excited about their future, but I haven't had the heart to tell them Xander is in Atalaxia, and that they're sending a delegation. I'm not keeping it from them—if they asked, I'd tell them immediately. But they're safe here, moving forward, and I don't want Sarah to worry about the past unless she absolutely has to. So we're at a happy stalemate, I suppose.
"What do you think the Atalaxians will be like?" I ask Sinclair one night, lying naked against him, a little sweaty and breathless after our evening activities.
"Really, Ella?" he murmurs, tracing my back. "I do my best work, and you want to ask about the Atalaxian delegation?"
I giggle and rest my chin on his chest. "If you wanted to keep me from asking complicated questions, Dominic, you shouldn't have become King, making me Queen. Should have just stayed a businessman and kept me locked away in the bedroom as your happy little mate—"
He growls, gripping my buttocks. "Don't tempt me, trouble," he murmurs. "But you're right," he sighs, pulling me closer. "You're a Queen now, and these are good questions."
"So?" I murmur, kissing him.
"What do you think?"
"I think they'll be strict," he says, spanking me playfully, making me flinch and laugh. "And distant. They'll want to seem neutral, even though they're decidedly not."
"The women too?" I ask, trailing kisses down his jaw.
"They won't bring any women," he murmurs, surprising me.
"What?" I ask, shocked. Sinclair opens his eyes, hazy with desire. "This isn't new news, Ella—the Atalaxians don't understand women as equal citizens. They won't see them as useful participants in an ambassadorial party."
"But even…their wives? Their daughters?"
He sighs, stroking my cheek. "Their wives and daughters are those they will seek to protect most. And by protect, yes, I mean isolate. They wouldn't even think of bringing their women out of their homes, let alone allowing them to see the rest of the world."
My mouth drops open.
"I know, darling," he says, shaking his head. "It's horrible. But it's their nation and their customs. We have no control over it."
I sigh, resting my head on his chest. "This is going to be difficult for me, Dominic," I murmur.
"I know, sweetheart," he sighs, holding me close. "For me as well. We'll get through it together." I nod, believing him, but my earlier jokes about being locked away aren't as funny anymore.