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But then there’s a twitch.

Just one.

And then his lips spread into a slow, vicious smirk. “That’s my girl.”

The emotion explodes on my face as he thrusts my fist into the air between us, turning me toward the DKS section of the crowd. “The victor!” he shouts. “Your Queen!”

“To the victor!” they cheer.

In the box, Story and Verity are standing together now, both on their feet, a jubilant smile on their faces as they roar in delight. This wasn’t their fight, but they were both behind me every step of the way.

If we’re going to continue our mission to change what a woman’s place in Forsyth is, then the Monarchs need to show Arianette that it’s more than a daydream. That she can bring Maddox down. That a Queen can be more than a pet. That she can be an equal.

She can keep what’s hers.

She can reign.

And she can be a victor.

“She really is a bully,”Sy mutters, crouched down beside me in the bathroom.

I adjust the ice pack on my cheek, grinning at the squirming pile of kittens under the sink. “She’s definitely one of Archie’s.” The black mother cat is taking a much-needed break somewhere—probably in the kitchen cabinets, where she’s grown fond of sleeping. “Mean little Archie Junior.”

“No,” he snaps, adjusting his own ice pack, pressed to the bridge of his nose. “We’re not naming them. You name them, you get attached.”

Rolling my eyes, I stand, pulling him up with me. “Speaking of which, did we get a lot of quality potential adoptees?”

He follows me back into the bedroom, nodding. “A couple alumni—the non-shitty ones. Tristan wants two for his sisters.”

“Oh!” I spin, bring my hands together. “Yes, approve that.”

He lowers his ice pack, tossing it on the nightstand. “I’m hand-selecting them.Myself. Remember?”

I pout dramatically. “Then consider this a good reference. Izzy and Lizzy would take very good care of a mean little Archie Junior.”

Thrusting a finger at me, he says, “Your pouts don’t work on me anymore, deceiver. You sit on a throne of lies. Let me see.”

That last part is delivered with a touch to my chin. He directs my face to the side, blue eyes assessing my cheek. Frowning, he says, “That’s going to be a whopper of a shiner tomorrow. You sure Lex cleared you? No concussion?”

I delicately prod the swollen bridge of his nose. “He said just what you said. I’m gonna have a black eye. You, too.” As he’s inspecting me, I gather the courage to ask, “You’re really not mad? About… me beating you?” I’m careful to avoid the ‘L’ word.

Sighing, he grazes a fingertip against my sore cheek. “I thought I would be. But actually…” His gaze wanders down, a hand dropping to my hip as his eyes darken. “It’s just super fucking hot.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He grabs the ice pack from my hand, tossing it aside. “Really.” He drags his lip through his teeth, a thoughtful frown on his face. “If you think about it, you winning just means I’ve chosen the perfect Queen for me. For West End.” Dipping down, he whispers in my ear, “So it’s kind of my win.”

Winding my arms around his neck, I laugh. “Oh my god, you’ll find any way to be the winner.”

He laughs with me, quiet in a way that makes my chest burst with warmth. Pulling back, his smile settles into something soft but serious. “It’s true, though.” He searches my eyes, and when his hands come up to frame my face, I get the sense that he’s documenting something. Something heavy and important.

Somethingmauve.

“Having you at my side is what’s made me King, Lavinia. If I taught you how to be obstinate and cocky and ruthless, then you have to know…” His eyes dip down, tracing his thumb’s path across my lower lip. “You’ve taught me how to be all of that while still loving someone. So, yeah,” he adds, finally clearing the distance to push his words into my parted mouth, “I’m far from being a loser.”

The kiss is slow and searing, deep and hot. He doesn’t taste like a loss. He tastes like heat and whiskey and an undertone of blood.

He tastes like my King.