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“So you keep the censored history in here?”

“I do.” She pauses, turning to me with a reluctant tilt to her mouth. “You might already know this, but I was a Princess once.”

My head snaps back in surprise. “You were?”

I can’t tell if she’s more disappointed or relieved that I didn’t know. Eventually, Princesses fall out of generational gossip. In twenty years, no one will remember Piper, either. “I conceived, but it wasn’t meant to be,” she says, glancing at me with a sad smile. “I lost the baby in my tenth week.”

I’m struck rudely dumb as I process this. The thought of going through everything we have, only for Verity to lose our son…

Panic wedges itself into my throat.

“I—I’m sorry.” The words are weak and selfish because I’m not even thinking about Adeline or her Princes. I’m thinking aboutus. I’m thinking about how I can lock Verity up, watch her every second of the day, kill anyone who even looks at her, and even then, there’s a possibility it won’t be enough to keep the baby safe.

“Thank you. It was a long time ago,” she says, turning back to the files. As I’m lost in this loop of utter fucking dread, Adeline exclaims, “Ah! Here it is.” She pulls out a photo—a portrait—and I recognize the setting like I’d know the specific texture of Effie’s wings. It’s the palace’s ceremonial room, and just like others, the background suggests it’s the night of the masquerade. The white dress, the tuxedos, the candles, and the roses; they’re all there. But this photo is taken up close, the woman’s face clear and crisp.

She’s black, her complexion darker than mine, with a wide smile revealing a warm umber blush on the apple of each sharp cheekbone. She has full, round lips that tilt a little, her expression some mixture of elation and wryness. Her hair is relaxed but set into large, voluminous black curls. She’s wearing a pearl in each ear, staring straight into the camera with dark eyes that glitter against the flash.

Too stunned to speak, I remain frozen as Adeline holds the photo up to my face. “It’s not just the eyes,” she says, her tone giddy. “It’s the bone structure. The way your lips turn down slightly, see? Don’t you think so?”

I snatch the photo from her. “Who is this?”

“Careful,” she says, looking alarmed. “That’s the only photo I have of her.”

“Whois she?” I repeat.

“I wish I knew.” She looks down at her files. “Sometimes, it's easy to track them down. They have family still involved or powerful enough to salvage their reputation. East End is fairly incestuous enough that everyone knows, or is related, to whoever is involved.” She touches the edge of the photo in my hand. “But occasionally, we have a mystery. This woman, clearly someone you’re related to, is a mystery. We’ve got no information on her at all. I was hoping you might know.” Her expression turns careful, just like her voice. “Do you happen to have any information on your biological family?”

Shaking my head, I inspect the photo voraciously, looking for any little signal that this isher. “How the hell do you just erase a Princess?” I ask, unable to tear my gaze away.

Adeline gives a weak chuckle. “You know King Ashby better than I do. I assume it would be on his order.”

“Or maybe she just didn’t want to be found,” I offer, that same rush of dread from before taking over. “Maybe she walked away. Abandoned her duty.”

Abandonedme.

“It’s possible,” Adeline says, “but you know nothing is that easy here. Especially for the women. No one walks away from your father.”

Then she ran. Packed up her things, dropped me off at the children’s home, and never looked back. Maybe Bruce was right. She fucked a Duke, abandoned me, and bolted, both of them traitors—embarrassments—to their houses.

Reaching into my pocket, I take out my phone, lay the photo out on her desk, and snap a photo. With a few taps, I have it sent to an encrypted email that no one, not even Father or my brothers, can access.

“Do you want to keep it?” Adeline asks, watching me closely.

I shake my head. Adeline has kept this photo safe for years now. If Father really had something to do with erasing her, I’m not about to take it back to the palace. “This is an impressive collection. I wouldn’t want to remove anything. Keep it safe.” I step toward the door, pausing. “And let me know if you learn anything new.”

“I will.” She reaches out to squeeze my arm, her eyes full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry if seeing this upset you. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” I assure.

Adeline knows this is a lie. Luckily, she just nods. “I’ll go check on your Princess.”

I’m still staring at the photo on my phone when Verity walks out. Could this be her? My mother? Or maybe Bruce was full of shit, mixing up shitty West End gossip, and this is someone else. An aunt? A cousin? Even a sister. That’s the fuck-you when you know nothing about your history. There’s no thread to pull, no dot to connect.

“Well,” Adeline prompts, “did we make up for the fiasco?”

I drag my eyes away from the screen, and my heart skitters like I’m in a goddamn movie. Everything is suddenly in slow-mo, from the way she ducks her head to the nervous smile touching her lips. There’s no denying Verity is my dream girl. I knew the minute her picture popped up on that app, hair like fire and skin like ice. Back then, she was cute. Innocent and pure. But right now, with that red hair all shiny and curled over her shoulders…

Fuck. She’s a knockout.