Calvin nodded once, then stood, releasing my hand to speak to the waiter, gesturing toward the terrace. As he did, I turned to Conner, who raised his eyebrows. He’d heard, and was clearly asking if that was what I wanted.

I hesitated, then nodded. He did the same, pocketing his phone.

Calvin returned, gesturing toward the terrace. As I moved with him, I heard Conner following. He took a seat at our abandoned table, keeping me in sight.

I smiled; he winked as Calvin and I stepped into the cool night air.

"Your man," Calvin said, leaning against the balustrade and glancing at Conner before smiling at me. "He keeps a close eye on you."

"Conner's a friend," I said, smiling at the waiter who arrived with our cocktails. "And one hell of a fighter. He'll kick your ass if you try anything."

Calvin laughed, shaking his head. "Well, then he's going to have a boring night," he murmured, sighing slightly. "You're safe with me. Not that your 'mate,' the King, hasn't already made his own assurances."

"What?" I asked, pausing mid-sip.

Calvin nodded toward the street. "Six men," he said, "on the street and in front of the restaurant." He paused, peering upward. "Probably more on the roof."

"Really?" I asked, peering up, though I saw nothing. "A bit of overkill," I murmured, scowling. Sinclair was so overprotective. Instinctively, I knew Calvin meant me no harm. I knew he was my friend before, but tonight solidified it.

But Sinclair? He didn't know it the way I did.

"Nah, it's not overkill," Calvin said, sipping his drink and smiling. "With you as his Queen? I get it."

I smiled at the compliment, but narrowed my eyes. That was closer to flirting than he'd ventured all night.

"And what about you?" I said tartly. "If we're discussing Sinclair's protection, how many guards did you leave at home with the mother of your children?"

"Oh, thousands," he said with a casual sigh that made me laugh. But his grin showed he was serious.

"Thousands!?"

He chuckled. "She lives in the palace," he shrugged, "with my entire extended family. She is…very well protected."

"What's her name?" I asked softly.

"Margaret," he replied, looking out at the street, his voice flat, as if stating a fact.

His body language clearly indicated he didn't want to discuss this, so I changed the subject, looking at my drink. "And what is this?" I asked.

"It's called Spirenbreau," he said, nodding toward it. "I had it brought from Atalaxia to share with my new friends. It's a traditional summer drink. Try it," he shrugged. "I think you'll like it."

I took a sip, pleasantly surprised by the rich, crisp taste of the chilled liquor. It tasted like melons.

"I do like it," I said, smiling and placing the drink on the balustrade. I leaned against it, staring at him as a quiet moment passed.

"Calvin," I said quietly, leaning closer, gazing at him seriously.

His smile faded, mirroring my expression. "Why won't you tell me about your wife?"

He looked down at his drink, taking a breath. "I'll tell you all you want to know about her, Ella," he murmured.

"But why do I have to ask?"

He looked up, and something passed between us, even without touch. Almost unconsciously, he took a step closer.

"I don't want to speak about her with you," he murmured as I stared into his violet eyes.

I nodded, grateful for his honesty, but… "Why?" I asked, breathless, a little stunned. This man was stunning, his presence consuming. And something about him drew me.

"Because," he replied, a growl in his voice. "It is not right, Ella. Not with…not with you."

"Why?" I pressed, shaking my head, not understanding.

"Do you seriously not know?" he murmured, staring at me, a little angry now. "Because if you're just toying with me, Ella, making me say it when we both know—"

"What are you talking about?" I flinched back.

He blinked, surprised, then leaned forward, closing the distance. We weren't touching, but the air between us seemed to glow.

My eyes widened as energy crackled, like static electricity or tiny lightning bolts. "What…what is this?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I don't know," he murmured, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on mine. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I've never heard of—"

"Heard of what?" I begged, scared.

"Ella," he said earnestly, reaching for my arm. I gasped; even without touching my skin, the energy intensified. It felt like a spark in my soul, a thousand tiny flares of light.

But I had no time to explore it, because Calvin pressed forward, his eyes on mine. "She's not my mate, Ella," he rushed.

"What?" I asked, confused and overwhelmed.

"My wife," he said, shaking his head. "Our marriage was arranged. We didn't even have a mating ceremony because we aren't chosen mates—she was selected for me, so we could have strong children—"

I shook my head, horrified. Then I reconsidered; hadn't I done something similar when selecting a sperm donor? I, too, chose someone for a healthy baby. But I didn't marry him.

I shook my head, as Calvin stepped closer, until only a breath of space remained. I tilted my head, frightened and fascinated.

"She's…she's not your mate?" I asked, my voice choked.

"No, Ella," he said, raising a hand to cup my cheek. He hesitated, then yielded, as if unable to help himself. I gasped at the surge of power that passed through me.

"Then—" I whispered, trembling.

"Ella," Calvin said softly, almost apologetically, knowing this could wreck both our lives, "I think you are my mate."