Ella snatched the note from her mate's hand, muttering, "He's not my prince," but her words were ignored as she tore open the envelope and eagerly read the short letter inside. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw the contents.

"What is it?" Cora asked, leaning forward.

"He wants togo to dinner," Ella said, frowning slightly.

Sinclair frowned, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Why on earth would he want that? We have three more dinners with the Atalaxians scheduled over the next few nights; he could go to any one of those."

"No, Dominic," Ella said softly, looking up at him. "The note is addressed only to me."

Her mate froze as her words, and their implications, sank in. His face darkened.

"Okay!" Roger said, his tone overly cheerful. He wrapped his arms around Cora, stood up, and dragged her with him. "Time for us to go! It's been a pleasure, Dom—we'll see you later—"

"What?" Cora gasped, scrambling to her feet, looking between Roger and Ella.

"No, I want to stay!"

"Nope!" Roger said, hurrying her toward the door. "We're out of here!"

"Roger, I'm in pajamas—"

"If you don't kill anyone, Cora, no one will care what you're wearing."

Ella's eyes followed her protesting sister as Roger pulled her from the room, shutting the door behind them. Her gaze snapped back to her mate, who glowered silently, the only other sound their baby's happy cooing.

"You know I didn't do this, Dominic," Ella said sternly, shaking her head.

"I didn't say you did, Ella," he snapped, his voice a low growl. But he was clearly angry—she could tell by the stiffness of his shoulders and the tension in his muscles.

Ella moved slowly, careful not to provoke him. She wasn't scared; she hadn't done anything wrong, and he would never hurt her. But she didn't want him to lose his temper, especially when he was clearly trying so hard to control it.

Calmly, she reached for the baby, holding him close to her chest before standing and moving to her mate's side.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice perfectly calm. Honestly, even if she only admitted it to herself, she wanted to go. She was eager to connect with the only Atalaxian who'd hinted at building bridges between their nations, but even more than that, she felt a connection with Calvin and was desperate to understand it. She very much wanted to go to dinner and find out more.

But Sinclair—her mate—was about ready to tear this man apart for asking her to dinner, especially since Sinclair seemed to think Calvin was interested in her.

As Sinclair stared into her face, she could see his thoughts racing. He gasped, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close, and gently raising a hand to her cheek. "What do you want to do?"

Ella shook her head, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. "I am your Queen, Dominic," she said quietly. "I am done taking things into my own hands for now. If you want me to go and see what I can do to connect with Atalaxia, or learn anything new from him, I'll do it. But if you want me to stay?" She shrugged. "I'll stay."

He growled, his arm tightening, and despite his anger, she couldn't help but smile slightly. She liked his possessiveness. Warmth spread through her.

Sensing her warmth, Sinclair traced her lower lip with his thumb.

"Let me think on it," he murmured.

"What's there to think about?" she asked softly, genuinely curious.

"The pros and cons," he answered, inhaling her scent, "of ripping him to shreds for daring to ask you out on a date."

Ella burst out laughing, earning a small smile from her mate. "Dominic," she said, shaking her head, "it's not a date—"

"Then why didn't he invite me?"

"Because every time you talk to him you get all growly!" she said, laughing. "I'm nice to him, which is beneficial for international relations!"

"Well," Sinclair murmured, snapping his teeth playfully, "maybe you should be a little less nice to him."

Ella shook her head, stepping closer until her body pressed against his, the baby still in her arms. "First you tell me you'd prefer I didn't kill the enemies, now you're telling me not to be nice? Honestly, Dominic, mixed messages—"

"How about," he murmured, moving his hand from her face to her shoulder and down her back, "you just stay in bed, all the time? Then no foreign princes will ever hit on you, and I'll get a great deal more peace."

She laughed again, rising onto her tiptoes and tilting her chin up, silently begging for a kiss and sending a surge of love and desire through their bond.

Sinclair growled and kissed her roughly, claiming her as his. She opened her mouth to him, eagerly responding, letting him know she was his. The kiss deepened, and she worried about getting the baby to his crib while continuing to kiss her mate, as she had no desire to break away. Sinclair groaned and lifted his face, though she remained pressed close.

"I can't," he sighed, panting slightly as he looked down at her.

"What!?" she said, aghast.

He shook his head, glancing at a clock. "I'm already late, Ella—we have more negotiations with the Atalaxians, and I have to find Roger—" He rolled his eyes toward the door. "Who the hell knows where he went…"

Ella pouted, disappointed. "Fine," she said, her voice a little sharp. "But you owe me, all right?"

Sinclair laughed, possessively taking her chin between his fingers. "Tonight, trouble. I'll make it up to you tenfold."

She sighed but stepped away, disappointed but knowing patience was necessary, though it wasn't her strong suit. She glanced at the bed, where the invitation lay discarded.

Sinclair followed her gaze, and they were silent for a moment, looking at it.

"Do you want me to reply to that?" she asked quietly.

"No," he responded, shaking his head. He leaned forward and kissed her softly, briefly. "Let that bastard wait. I'll be seeing him this afternoon anyway—maybe I'll get a better idea of what he wants. Are you all right with that?"

"I am if you are," she said, meaning every word.

He kissed her again, then kissed their baby's head before murmuring his goodbyes and leaving the room.

Ella sighed deeply, looking down at her happy baby. "Just me and you, little meatball," she murmured, smiling. Rafe squealed happily, waving his fists, and she laughed.

"You're right," she said, flopping back onto the bed to spend time with her son. "It's not so bad, is it?" But even as she played with Rafe, her eyes drifted to the discarded invitation.

Deep down, she hoped whatever Calvin and Sinclair discussed that day meant she could say yes. Something within her urged her to speak to the prince alone, to hear what he had to say.