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Now more than ever before, she has the eyes of an Ashby.

“Rosi, do you know how freaked out Adeline was when she saw what they did? In her business, and not just to any client, but the fucking reigning Princess?” I shake my head at the way she pretty much groveled when I came to make the appointment. “Even if I wasn’t here, I can promise you that woman isn’t going to let a hair on your head get damaged.”

She takes a deep breath, lashes fluttering. “I know. I’m just being paranoid.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, looking out the window, “this city has a way of doing that to people.”

The rain outside has decreased to a drizzle, so there’s no need for the umbrella on the way into the spa. Adeline meets us at the door, immediately fawning over Verity.

“Oh my goodness, you’re glowing even brighter, Miss Sinclaire!” She glances up at me and smiles, taking my limp hand in a firm handshake. “Mr. Ashby, it’s so good to see you again.” She tilts her head. “I have to remind you that there’s a no-weapons policy inside the spa.”

“Why do you assume I’m carrying?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I have a record?”

“Because you’re a Royal, of course,” she says lightly, pointing to a lockbox next to the door. “It should be secure in there.” Adeline has this energy about her that makes me nervous. She looks all sweet and eager to please, but every request she makes brooks no argument. Part of me wonders what she’d do if I made a scene.

A bigger part of me really doesn’t.

Annoyed but still weirdly cowed, I pull out the gun tucked in my waistband, and then remove the switchblade from my pocket, placing them both inside.

“Thank you,” she says, returning her focus to Verity. I don’t miss the worried look she gives to her damaged hair. “There is no apology good enough for allowing such treatment to a Princess at our facility. I was remiss to leave you alone. I just hope we can make it up to you today.”

“I just want to forget about it,” Rosi says, giving the woman a smile I’m not sure she deserves. “And take care of these split ends.”

“Well, prepare yourself for an afternoon of pampering.” Adeline gestures for Verity to head toward the back of the house. But when I step forward, the woman pauses, blocking me. “Prince Ashby, this should take a couple of hours. I can call you when she’s ready.”

I look at Verity, jaw tensing. “I’m not leaving her.”

Adeline’s expression never falters, and the grin never fades. “I love your dedication to your Princess,” she says, “but we have a strict ‘no males beyond the foyer’ policy. What goes into making the women of East End the most beautiful creations in Forsyth stays behind closed doors.”

I scoff. “Sounds a little sexist to me, Addie.”

That gets a response: the tiniest raising of an eyebrow. And not just from Adeline. It feels like every woman in earshot stops to turn a flat, disbelieving stare on me—not least of all being Verity herself.

I could hear a goddamn pin drop.

My shoulders turn inward as I stuff my hands into my pockets. “Fair enough,” I admit, shuffling my feet. “But if she comes back out here with a single strand of hair to her disliking, you’re not going to be happy with the result.”

Adeline waves this off. “I assure you both, the Princess will be treated with the utmost care. I have a whole team ready to knock her socks off.”

I look at Verity. “You okay going back alone?”

Her lips tip up into a small grin. “Yes, it’s fine.”

As Adeline whisks her through the forbidden door, I drop into a seat in the front lounge, trying to ignore the prickle of discomfort whenever a staff member darts past. In an effort to focus, I pull my laptop from my backpack. I have an assignment due for Calc at five, which gives me an hour to experience a different sort of discomfort. I’ve been in tutoring for three months, and have only just managed to catch up to the syllabus, which means I’m going to have to stay on the ball if I have any hope of—

No.

The document glares back at me from the screen, the deadline reading Tuesday at five.

FiveAM.

Motherfucking shitfucker of a fuck,who the hell sets a paper deadline for five in the morning? First, the ticket. Now this.

Father is going to crucify my ass.

I shoot off a letter to my professor begging for an extension. Her son was in PNZ a few years back. Surely that can curry some favor with her. Closing out the tab, I pull up the live feeds and click through them mindlessly, like an idle fidget. The exterior of the palace, then to the main rooms, checking on Effie, who refuses to be anywhere other than Verity’s room, looking out her big window. She seems content, so I flip over to Lex’s bedroom, where Wicker is currently lounging, flipping through one of my magazines.

I shoot him a text.