Negotiations

I stormed down the hallway toward the meeting, relieved to find Roger waiting at the door, leaning against the wall. I nodded without breaking stride, but he joined me as we entered.

"So, what'd you bring?" Roger asked, his voice serious.

"What?" I asked, turning to him in confusion.

"To kill the prince," Roger said deadpan. "A gun? A morning star? Or will you tear him limb from limb—"

"Roger," I sighed, shaking my head as we reached the head of the table. His face broke into a grin.

"What is it?" our father asked, looking between us. He sensed something from my serious expression and Roger's joking one—that the situation was manageable and didn't require immediate action.

"Don't worry about it, Dad," I murmured, unwilling to discuss it with the Atalaxian delegation already entering the room.

"Prince Calvin asked Ella on a date," Roger said, leaning close so Dad could hear but loud enough for me. I sighed deeply, picking up a packet of papers and flipping through them idly, mentally vowing to beat up my brother later.

"What?" Dad said, eyes wide.

"It's not like that," I growled, glaring at Roger. "Can we drop it? We have more important things to worry about." Dad glared at Roger, siding with me as most of the attendees took their seats. Roger chuckled but moved to my other side, settling into the chair to my right as Father sat to my left. King Gabriel, our advisor, sat ready to argue against war, along with six pack members from our territories.

My eyes scanned the room: nine Atalaxian delegates, with one empty chair.

Just as an aide began to close the door, the final delegate arrived: Prince Calvin, slipping in and heading to his seat without looking at me.

I glared at him, wanting him to meet my gaze, to acknowledge me. He didn't.

I sighed inwardly. I wanted him to see that I knew what he was up to, even if Ella didn't or pretended not to. He was either clever or a coward, keeping his eyes down.

I began the meeting, greeting everyone and expressing my hope for peace, stating that neither nation would benefit from war. After opening statements, I took my seat and opened the floor to discussion. The conversation was long, drawn-out, and largely unproductive. The Atalaxians were well-prepared and clearly seeking war.

I sighed inwardly, realizing my suspicions were correct: they wanted war, hoping Xander would provide a pretext. Having sunk their teeth into it, they were unlikely to back down.

Their desire for war made sense. Atalaxia was large, conservative, wealthy, and militarily powerful. Moon Valley was smaller; despite superior technology, strategic location, and resources, we were recently ravaged by civil war.

"Damn it, Damon," I thought, scowling. "You set us up for this."

Damon's war had torn us apart, leaving us vulnerable to Atalaxia. While they claimed the conflict stemmed from our actions, everyone knew it was a lie. Atalaxia wanted to annihilate our nation, annexing our territory and resources. This would be strategically and financially advantageous, and an ideological coup. Powerful men in Atalaxia harbored abhorrent views on gender and humanity; conquering us would be a personal victory, allowing them to "correct" our women and people.

I gritted my teeth, the warrior in me wanting to retaliate. But the King in me, responsible for his people, knew we lacked the resources to fight such a powerful force.

We would lose. Even if we had a chance of winning, the war would last for years—Rafe might be a grown man by the time it ended. The thought that Rafe could fight in this war, that my failure here could sign his death warrant, sent a shudder through me. Beside me, I felt Roger lean closer. It was subtle—no touch, no indication he knew my thoughts—but I knew he was there for me, subtly supporting me without alerting the Atalaxians.

I breathed deeply, grateful for him. I remembered that Roger knew more than Ella and I about Rafe's future. He hadn't told me everything he and Cora saw at the moonlight baptism, but he'd assured me Rafe's life wouldn't be tragic, despite its hardships. If my son were to die young on a battlefield, Roger would have seen it. His silence was a profound relief. I sent a prayer to the Goddess, thanking her for my brother and his insight, begging her to keep my child safe.

This was all about Rafe—the world he would inherit, the kingdom I would one day give him.

Raising my eyes, I met Calvin's gaze for the first time. He had a son, roughly Rafe's age. Were we, a King and a Prince, choosing to send our sons to war against each other? Was this what we truly wanted?

Calvin, as if reading my thoughts, nodded. Then, to my surprise, he stood and left. The speaking Atalaxian delegate faltered, clearly confused. I glared; this man had audacity. His message was clear: he wanted what I wanted—to save our children from war—but he wouldn't speak to me. For reasons known only to him, Calvin wanted to speak to Ella.

I leaned back, watching him leave and close the door, my glare lingering. He'd played his hand well, forcing me to involve my Queen, despite my instinct to protect her. Ella could handle herself, but something else was at play—something beyond international relations. He had more at stake with my mate, something I couldn't fathom.