Accidental Surrogate

Negotiations Sinclair I storm down the hallway on my way to the meeting, but I’m gratified to see Roger waiting there for me at
the door, leaning against the wall. I nod to him, not breaking my stride, but he falls in with me as we head inside.
“So, what’d you bring?” Roger asks, his voice serious.
“What?” I ask, half turning to him in my confusion.
“To kill the prince,” Roger says, his face deadpan. “Like a gun, or something more dramatic like a morning star? Or are you just
going to like, tear him limb from limb -” “Roger,” I sigh, shaking my head as I arrive at the head of the table but his face just
breaks out into a grin.
“What is it?” our father asks, looking between us. I know that he can tell from my serious face that something’s up, and from
Roger’s joking one that it’s well enough under control that we don’t need to take major action now.
“Don’t worry about it, dad,” І murmur, not wanting to get into it with the Atalaxian delegation already filtering into the room.
“Prince Calvin asked Ella on a date,” Roger says, leaning close so that dad can hear but speaking loud enough that I know what
he said. I sigh deeply, grabbing a packet of papers off the desk and flipping idly through them, making a mental note to beat the
crap out of my brother at the earliest opportunity.
“What?” dad says, looking at me with wide eyes.
“It’s not like that,” I growl, glaring at Roger. “Can we just drop it for now? We’ve got more important things to worry about.” Dad
glares at Roger too, taking my side as the majority of the persons attending this meeting begin to take their seats. Roger laughs
a little but comes around to my other side, sinking into the chair on my right while my father takes his place on my left. King
Gabriel is here as an advisor on our side, ready to argue staunchly against war, as well as six other pack members from our
territories.
My eyes scan the room, noting the presence of nine Atalaxian delegates with one empty chair.
Just as an aid begins to close the door, the final delegate appears: Prince Calvin, slipping into the room and heading for his chair
without even looking at me.
I glare daggers at him, unable to help it, willing him to look at me, to face me.
But he doesn’t raise his eyes.

Inwardly I sigh, because I want him to look at me – I want him to know that I know what the hell he’s up to, even if Ella doesn’t
see it, or pretends she doesn’t.
But he’s either clever or a coward, because he keeps his eyes down.
So, I move on and begin the meeting by greeting everyone and thanking them for their presence. I express my sincere hopes
that we can find a path to peace, stating that neither of our nations will truly benefit from a war. Then, with opening statements
behind me, I take my seat, opening the table to conversation from both sides. The conversation is long, and drawn out, and
largely unproductive. The Atalaxians are well prepared and clearly seeking war.
I sigh inwardly as I start to realize that my suspicions were correct: that they came here wanting war, that they likely hoped
Xander would do something to give them a reason to push for it, and now that they’ve sunk their teeth into it?
They’re unlikely to give up.
And frankly, it makes a lot of sense for them to want to go to war with us.
Atalaxia is a large, conservative nation with deep pockets and excellent military powers. Moon Valley is smaller, and while we
have better technology, better strategic location, and a fantastic set of national resources, we’ve also recently been gutted by
civil war.
Damn it, Damon, I think to myself, scowling inwardly. You set us up for this.
Because it’s true – Damon’s war is what tore us apart, made us a wounded animal ready for Atalaxia to come in for a kill. While
they’re pretending that they want this war because we’ve moved against them, everyone knows it’s bullshit.
No, what Atalaxia really wants is to wipe our nation out, to annex this territory and all of its resources into itself.
Not only would this be strategically and financially profitable for Atalaxia, but it would be an ideological coup as well. A lot of
powerful men in that nation have some truly awful ideas about gender and humanity; they would see it as a very personal victory
to come to our nation and teach our women, and our humans, their ” proper” place in the world.
I grit my teeth as I think about it, the warrior in me wanting to go to war, to wipe the Atalaxians off the face of the earth in turn.
But the King? Who is responsible for his people, and who knows that this nation has no where near the resources, currently, to
take on this larger force?

Damn it, but I know we’ll lose. Or if we even have a shot of winning, that the war will stretch on for years – that, damn it, Rafe
might be grown by the time it comes to a close – I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment as I realize that...that Rafe could even
fight in this war, if it goes for as long as I think it could. That if I fail in these negotiations, I could be signing my own son’s death
warrant on the battlefield A shudder passes through me and beside me I feel my brother lean closer. It’s a very subtle move – he
doesn’t touch me, or give any indication that he knows what I’m thinking. But still I can tell. He knows that I’m upset, and in his
own way he’s trying to be there for me, however he can, without letting the Atalaxians see how much they’re tearing me up
inside.
I take a deep breath, grateful for him.
And suddenly I remember...that Roger knows more than Ella and I do about Rafe’s future. That he didn’t tell me everything he
and Cora saw at the moonlight baptism we asked him not to but he told me that Rafe’s life isn’t a tragic one, even if it has hard
parts.
If my son died young on a battlefield, Roger would have seen it. And the fact that he didn’t... A great deal of relief rushes through
me at the thought and I send a prayer up to the Goddess, thanking her both for my brother and her insight, begging her again to
keep my child safe.
Because Rafe – in the end, this is all about him, isn’t it? About the world in which he’ll grow to be a man, about the Kingdom I’ll
one day hand over to him.
And as I raise my eyes I look directly at Calvin over the table, who I find looking right at me for the first time. Because he has a
son too – just about Rafe’s age, does he not?
And is this what we’re doing? Two men a King and a Prince – choosing to send our sons to war against each other?
Is this really what we want in the world?
Slowly, as if he can read my thoughts, Calvin nods.
And then, to my surprise, he stands up and leaves the room. The man speaking one of the Atalaxian delegates falters in his
speech for a moment, clearly confused at Calvin’s abrupt departure. And I glare too, because this manWell, he’s certainly got
balls, doesn’t he?
Because his message can’t be plainer in this moment.

He wants exactly what I want – to save our children from war – but he’s not willing to talk to me about it.
No.
For some reason only he understands, Calvin only wants to speak to Ella.
I grit my teeth as I lean back in my chair, watching the Prince leave the room and close the door behind him, glaring a little at the
door once he’s gone.
This man he’s played his hand well, forcing me to put my Queen in play when my strongest instinct is to protect her.
And even though I know that Ella can handle herself? God damn it, but I know something else is at play here – something
beyond international relations.
This man? He’s got more at stake with my mate.
And I just don’t know what the hell it is.