Chapter 210

Ella and Sinclair wake up the next morning before their children do, curled in each other’s arms as they always are.

“Stop,” Sinclair commands, tightening his arms when Ella starts to move, to roll away towards the edge of the bed. “Don’t. Stay.”

“We have to get them up, Dominic!” Ella protests, laughing, but her body betrays her, going soft and pliable again in her mate’s arms. “They have to go to school. And then off to war. And we have meetings.”

“They’re adults, they can get themselves ready to go off to war,” Sinclair murmurs, his eyes determinedly shut as he pulls Ella closer and rests his head against her chest, sighing deeply at the comfort he feels when she’s in his arms, when he can smell her scent.

“You hold your tongue,” Ella sighs, running her fingers through his thick dark hair, only starting to grey at the temples in a way she quite likes. “I get to baby them until they’re ninety. That was the deal.”

Sinclair grumbles something noncommittal and presses a kiss to her chest, just above the V of her nightgown, and then sighs and lifts his head, opening one eye to peer at her. “We have a meeting?” he asks, groggy after so much Midwinter whiskey.

“Yes!” Ella says, beaming at him. “With Hank! You know this! You remember!”

“False,” Sinclair sighs, returning his head to her chest. “I remember nothing. Who is Hank.”

Ella swats him on the head, laughing, because she knows he’s lying and being lazy.

“Why did you even make that meeting?” Sinclair mutters. “Poor Hank. He deserves a holiday too.”

“Because,” Ella sighs, looking off towards the door as if she can see through it. “I have questions about the North, and he’s the only one I trust to ask questions about it right now.”

“You mean you have questions about Jackson,” Sinclair says, sighing and starting to sit up, taking Ella with him.

“Yes,” Ella confesses, nodding and looking her mate deep in his green eyes. “There are things we need to know, Dominic. That boy’s background…” she bites her lip and shakes her head, worried. “And I want my questions answered while Jackson’s still under our roof, so I can talk to him about it. If I need to.”

“Fine,” Sinclair says, sighing and closing his eyes even as he straightens his shoulders. He lifts a hand, waving it at himself. “Go ahead, little magical mate. Heal me up from this hangover so we can go to this ridiculously early morning Zoom meeting with my brother’s mate’s human ex and ask secret question about our daughter’s mate’s mysterious cult.”

Ella laughs but obliges, reaching out and placing her hands on Sinclair’s temples, closing her eyes and falling into the lavender light of her magical meditative space.

“You know, this feels like a gross misuse of privilege,” she murmurs as the healing begins. “Just because you’re a King and my mate doesn’t mean you should get off scott-free from drinking too much.”

“Yes it does,” Sinclair murmurs, his voice rumbling a little with a growl that makes Ella laugh. “Now hurry up, demigoddess, we’ve got meetings to attend.”

“Meeting, mortal. Singular. And then I’m saying goodbye to my first and second born, which will take my full attention.”

“And many tears,” he murmurs, but the King reaches for his Queen, even though his eyes are closed. He finds her exactly where he knew she’d be, and places his hands warm upon her thighs, letting her know he feels precisely the same.

About forty minutes later, the meeting is all set up and the screen flashes once before Hank’s image appears.

“Hank!” Ella cries, pressing her hands together with pleasure as she leans forward towards the computer. “It’s so good to see you – we miss you here in the capital!”

Hank smiles, warm and genuine, his eyes crinkling into little half-circles of joy. “Your highnesses,” he says, dipping into a mocking little half bow that’s even more ridiculous because he’s seated. “How are you? How was your midwinter?”

“Gorgeous, amazing!” Ella replies as Sinclair and Hank give each other warm, stoic nods, fully understanding that their deep friendship doesn’t need the kind of exuberance that Ella gives to every aspect of her life. “How are the kids?”

“The kids are fine, at each other’s throats as usual,” Hank murmurs, glancing over his shoulder towards the rest of the house. “We’re snowed in, though – it’s been…a trial, all being boxed up together for more than a week.”

Sinclair frowns at the idea, leaning closer to the computer, while Ella gasps like it’s the most fabulous thing that could ever happen to a family, to be forced into uninterrupted company for so long.

“A week?” Sinclair asks, worried. “That’s quite some time – are you low on supplies?”

Hank grimaces. “A little,” he says, shrugging. “It’s a miracle, honestly, that we even have wifi.”

Ella and Sinclair immediately look at each other, unspoken ideas passing to each other down their bond.

“Nope!” Hank says, pointing at the camera on his computer. “Whatever it is you’re thinking – stop. We’re going to be fine – we do not need help.”

Ella sighs and just glares at the screen, thinking Hank knows her a bit too well, but Sinclair just moves on. “We apologize, Hank, for getting you up so early the day after the holiday.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Hank asks, his voice deepening with worry as he runs a hand through his fully grey hair. “You two – it’s not like you to insist on a meeting like this.”

“It’s war,” Sinclair says seriously. Hank’s face pales. “The Atalaxians are pushing their attack – they’ve promised to destroy us within a month.”

“God,” Hank breathes, shocked and dismayed. “But, what does that have to do with me? I’m…about as far from the front as I can get up here.”

“It doesn’t,” Ella says with a sigh, glancing at Sinclair, who nods to her, giving her permission to take over. “Hank, we want to talk to you about our daughter’s mate.”

“Luca Grant?” Hank asks, smirking a little.

Ella laughs, a little delighted. “You follow the gossip columns way up there, boxed in with the snow?”

“I have to admit,” Hank says, laughing with a shrug, “my youngest was devastated at the news. I think she had always imagined herself with the Champ – has his poster on her wall and everything.”

“Oh, Annabell,” Ella says, pressing her hands to her heart and pouting. Sinclair clears his throat, though, urging Ella to get back on task. “But actually, Hank,” Ella says, dropping her voice a little. “It’s about Ariel’s…other mate.”

Hank’s eyebrows go steadily up as Ella quickly spills out the story of Ariel and Jackson, of Jackson’s upbringing in a place called the Community, of his strange lack of knowledge about some basics regarding the world that everyone else they know takes for granted. By the time Ella finishes, Hank is looking at the pair of them with real shock.

“Seriously?” Hank breathes, staring between them. “From the Community? Are you serious?”

“What?” Sinclair snaps, leaning forward with a frown. “Is that bad?”

“Um, I’m not sure it’s bad,” Hank replies, looking away and running a hand again through his hair. “It’s just…that’s amazing. I’ve been trying to get an inside look at the Community for years, Dominic – but they won’t let me in. Not at all. I’ve offered them everything I have – free aid, medical knowledge, funds. But they don’t trust humans, and they certainly don’t trust someone as close to the crown as I am.”

“Really,” Sinclair says with a frown, looking at Ella with concern.

“Hank, he’s a lovey boy,” Ella says, drawing Hank’s attention back to her. “Do you…I mean, is it something to be worried about? I don’t like that they stonewall you out – they’re our people, they’re entitled to your care.”

“Entitled to the crown’s care if they want it,” Hanks says with a shrug. “But…Ella, it’s a cult. A straight cult – with a charismatic leader, and people falling in line beneath him. And not even the kind of cult that falls apart after a few years from too much drugs and weird sex – like, they’re very strong, and very dedicated. From what I do know life inside is absolutely brutal – and the children raised within it are…militant, with little to no knowledge of the outside world. And absolutely allegiant to the Community – there’s no doubt about that.”

“What aren’t you saying, Hank,” Sinclair bites out, harsher than he means to. But Hank ignores it – he’s known Sinclair for years and is used to him snapping by now.

“I’m saying that if this is a lovely boy, Ella?” Hank replies, quite serious. “That…he’s either a miracle, to have come out that way, or he’s…a very good actor.”

Ella goes white, staring at the computer screen and then up at Sinclair. “No…” she breathes, shaking her head. “Not…not Jackson.”

“Look, Ella, I’m…I’m really not happy with the idea of a Community member in the palace,” Hank says, putting out a hand and leaning forward towards his screen. “But they would be thrilled to have someone that close to the royal family. If they could accomplish it, they would. And any information they had…they’d be feeding to the Atalaxians.”

“What?” Dominic breathes, staring at the computer in shock.