That night, Ella Sinclair and I dressed formally, aware that our farewell to the Atalaxian delegation demanded careful handling, especially with Calvin's presence. We even wore our crowns, hoping to impress upon the Atalaxians our status as representatives of the state they intended to destroy.

Rafe, however, had other ideas about formality.

"Oh, god," I sighed as he shrieked and pulled his tiny crown off for the third time.

"Dominic, he won't wear it."

"So don't make him," Sinclair said with a grin, joining me in the closet. He put a hand on my back and peered down at our son.

"Honestly, he's a baby—"

"He is the future King—" I huffed, sliding Rafe's crown onto my wrist like a bracelet. "Without the crown, he's just our little baby meatball—" Sinclair laughed, taking the baby from me and holding him aloft. Rafe shrieked with laughter. "Did you hear how your mommy talks about you, Rafe!?" Sinclair exclaimed, feigning horror. Rafe giggled harder. "A future King, and she calls you a meatball!"

"He is," I said, laughing and reaching for him. "He's my little meatball, though," I murmured, taking him back and leaning against my mate. "He's getting so big. And he's very round."

"Wolf babies grow faster than human babies," Sinclair murmured, kissing my cheek and then Rafe's head.

"That's horrible," I murmured, clutching my baby. I frowned at him. "You quit it, Rafe. Stay little."

"Not forever," he said with a sigh. "Just through these first couple of months, then it evens out. But yeah…he's going to start getting teeth soon."

"What?" I gasped, looking up at Sinclair. "He's too little for that!"

"Sorry, love," Sinclair murmured, kissing my hair. "Our little pup needs his fangs."

"Well," I sighed, turning as Sinclair tugged me toward the door. "As soon as those show up, I'm done breastfeeding." Sinclair laughed as we reached the door, but we both grew serious as we stepped through. We could distract ourselves for a few minutes, but we were still a nation on the brink of war, and it seemed hopeless.

At dinner, we tried every angle to persuade the Atalaxians to reconsider. Henry was there, doing the same, though Cora and Roger opted out. I didn't blame them—Sinclair had told me that morning that he'd asked Roger to take charge of the military, and that was undoubtedly a lot to process.

Despite our efforts, the Atalaxians rejected our offers, seemingly determined on war. Only Calvin, across the table, showed any real regret.

Sinclair, however, was not in a forgiving mood. Every time the Prince moved, Sinclair growled. I repeatedly placed a hand on my mate's knee, urging him to restrain himself.

"Let's not have any regicide tonight," I murmured quietly as the meal ended.

"It's not regicide if you kill a Prince out of the line of succession," Sinclair muttered, sounding tempted, making me laugh.

I stood, facing my mate. "Dominic, I think I need to do this alone," I said, knowing it was time to speak with Calvin.

"Absolutely not," Sinclair snapped, livid.

"I'm serious," I insisted, meeting his gaze. Rafe, sleeping in my arm, fussed, disturbed by our heightened emotions.

"I'll keep it together," Sinclair growled, his words contradicted by a vicious snarl as he glared at Calvin, who stood tensely in the corner, hands calmly in his pockets.

I smiled at Calvin, impressed by his composure. Not everyone could stand before Dominic Sinclair after hitting on his mate.

Smiling at the thought, I quickly passed Rafe to Sinclair. "Here," I murmured. "Just stand outside the door. I'll keep our bond open so you know how I'm feeling. If I'm even slightly uncomfortable, you can come in and bite his head off."

Sinclair's growl deepened, but he took the baby and glared at Calvin. "Dominic," I said, touching his arm, making him look at me. "Please remember I have a bond with this man. My mother wants us to connect. Any time you feel like killing him, look at Rafe and let his cuteness calm you." I kissed his cheek and stepped toward Calvin. Sinclair moved to the door, grumbling. I smiled seeing him stand just outside, his shadow still falling into the room.

"Highness," Calvin murmured, bowing as the remaining Atalaxians left past my mate.

"Ella," I insisted, stepping closer and smiling, though I felt Sinclair's unhappiness through our bond. Ignoring it, I gestured to the couch and chairs. "Will you please speak with me, Calvin? We need to talk." To his credit, Calvin glanced once at the door before sighing and heading toward the back of the room. I followed, sitting beside him, leaving space between us.

We're going to war with his people anyway, Sinclair muttered into my mind. Just let me rip his head off.

Part of Mom's plan! I quipped, suppressing a grin. Look at Rafe! Take comfort in his cute tiny face!

Calvin studied me, perhaps sensing my amusement. He sighed, hanging his head. "Are you rejecting our bond, Ella?" he asked, apprehensive.

"Calvin," I said, leaning forward, wanting to touch him but resisting. "There's no bond to reject. Or at least, not the kind you think there is." Calvin looked up, shocked. "Ella," he said, shaking his head. "Yes, there is. You're my mate!"