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“I know.” Beside me, Nick releases a slow, velvety chuckle. “You see, Little Bird? You’re asking my brother to throw a fight.” He points the pipe at Sy. “Or you’re asking him to beat his woman’s ass.” Pausing, he offers me a considering look. “Or you’re asking him to get his ass beatbyhis woman. Any way you slice it, there’s no win in this for him.” Tapping the pipe against his temple, he concludes, “Like I said. Great fucking idea.”

Reaching over, I snatch the cold pipe from his grip. “You all underestimate me.”

Pulling me into his side, Nick arches a brow at his brother. “Come on, Sy. Think of how many tickets we’d sell.” He gives my arm a brisk rub, sensing my shiver. “People would come from all four corners. We’d be fucking rolling in it.”

“We’re rolling in quite enough, Nick. And also,” Sy flips him off, “shut the fuck up.” Pinning me with his blue eyes, Sy adds, “I call you my Queen, Lavinia. Other people call you my Queen. Mama B defers to you, for fucks sake. Even Story sees you as her equal.”

I argue, “But…”

Only, I can’t quite place it. I just know something inside of me chafes at the thought of not being official. Getting the brassBruin burnt into my flesh was awful, but beneath the agony, rage, and humiliation, at least there’d been the knowledge that I was a proper Duchess now.

Sensing my uncertainty, Sy steps between my legs, framing my face with his big, warm hands. “What’s this about?”

Surprisingly, it’s Remy who answers. “It’s the mauve she saw at the Palace the other day,” he grunts, shoving down on the pipe wrench.

“Mauve.” Sy frowns, and I know that, much like me, he’s struggling to connect the color association. Remy’s been adding them to his color wheel lately. Or, maybe more accurately, mixing them. The look Sy passes between me and Nick says, “What colors make up mauve?”

We both shrug.

“With Verity?” Remy clarifies, giving up on the wrench. Wiping his hands, he rolls his eyes. “At the coronation.”

Sy’s mouth tilts. “Mauve is… jealousy?” Eyeing me skeptically, he hedges, “Envy?”

Remy groans. “Respect, Sy.”

Oh.

Oh.

That’s it, I realize. It wasn’t just watching her get on that throne with her son, either. It wasn’t even the way the Princes—the whole frat—treated her; like she was someone they knew they could count on to fix the rot in their territory.

It was how Verity used that power to change East End for the better.

It’s the same thing Sy did when he became King. Maybe even Killian, too. But watching everyone look at her the same way they look at Kings made me wonder, why not?

Why shouldn’t a Queen be just as important to her territory?

Sy frowns, nudging my chin up. “The frat respects you. You know that. How many times have we had to keep Nicky fromburying a bullet into whatever new pledge tries to worship the ground you walk on?” Smiling softly, he bends down to brush a kiss against my lips. “If anyone ever showed you disrespect, you know what we’d do to them. So do they.” The kiss isn’t as sweet as he means it to be because there’s a truth in it that bristles.

That’s not respect for me.

It’s respect for my men.

“So you won’t do it.” Pulling back, I search his eyes. “You won’t get into the ring with me.”

He thumbs my bottom lip, his eyes heavy in that special, lusty way. “Not for a match.”

I duck out of his grip–and Nick’s–whirling to fix him with a steely look. “Thenyoudon’t respect me.”

“What?” Sy blinks, and I’m not sure if the stunned confusion in his eyes is meant for the accusation or the smooth maneuver I just pulled. “Of course I respect you. I love you.”

“You love me, but you don’t respect me. I know you.” Still wielding the pipe, I grip it hard, my knuckles going white. “You’d never respect someone who couldn’t beat you. Not really.”

“That’s not even remotely true,” he insists, but it takes a moment of aborted breaths for him to offer up, “I respect Mama B.”

Remy snorts, sharing a look with Nick. “Bro, Mama B would noose you with your own dick.”

Unable to argue with this, he grimaces. “Well, I respect my mom, too.”