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The loud clang of metal against glass ricochets through the ballroom.

“May I have your attention!” Father’s voice rings out over the crowd, his eyes pinging around the room. First to Lex, then Pace, then me, and on to Verity. He makes a beckoning motion. “Children, please come forward.”

Thankful for the escape, I nod at Darnell and set across the room to meet the others. Lex and I share a long-suffering look, but Pace is too wound up to convey any message to. His eyes keep scanning the room, a fine sheen of sweat building on his forehead. He looks sick, dark circles under his eyes. With so many people in and out of the palace, his paranoid mania has gone into hyperdrive.

Verity settles between them—Lex and Pace—and I hang off to the side, doing anything I can to not be a part of this.

The glance she tosses at me could be full of irritation or anger.

But it isn't.

She just dips her chin before turning back to the room, her belly on full display for the masses.

Up on the platform, Father addresses the crowd more than us. “I know what you’re all thinking,” he begins, waving his champagne flute toward the room. “That this is the tackiest show of self-indulgence you’ve ever seen. And to that, I say,” he pauses dramatically, “...wait until you see the first birthday.”

The room fills with titters and claps.

Gag me.

“You only have your first grandchild once,” he goes on, his tone growing more serious. “I know Forsyth enjoys its rumor mill, so I won’t pretend you don’t all understand my predicament. The King of creation, unable to bear fruit.” There’s a hush in the room, and I slide my gaze toward Lex, who’s stiffer than a statue.

Father never discusses this privately, let alone publicly.

“Evidently,” he goes on, “it was my lot in life to create only twice, but really, such miracles they were.” He reaches out to touch Verity’s shoulder, and she flinches. “Blood begets blood, and though I already know what this child is, I must say that either possibility would see me equally pleased. Sons are muscles and bones bearing the strength to not only carry on legacy, but also protect it. And daughters…” He pulls his hand back, stroking her hair. When she takes an almost imperceptible step away from him, he doesn’t even notice. “Daughters are the heart—the beauty—which bears the soul to nurture it.”

I roll my eyes as the crowd applauds.

Luckily, he raises his glass, beaming out over the guests. “Now, if everyone could please move to the balcony for our grand announcement.”

Even though it’s an invitation for the audience, they watch the four of us like we’re the entertainment, their stares like hot pokers on my neck as I file out behind my brothers and Verity. The bruised shadow of dusk has already taken the sky, the late May air full of moist warmth.

“Act surprised,” Lex says quietly as we move to the railing. He catches my eye as if I’m the one who’ll screw up. Okay, fair. In a show of cooperation, I bend down to brush a featherlight kiss against Verity’s temple, ignoring the zing of heat that sparks when my lips touch her skin.

Strains of dramatically uplifting music swell from the orchestra within the ballroom, but it’s the first firework, popping off like a warning shot, that sets me on edge. The bang ricochets off the stone exterior, a green explosion blooming across the sky. The dark, still waters around the palace reflect it like toxic radiation.

The music is timed with the fireworks, the tempo and explosions gaining in frequency. I look over at my brothers, at Verity, their blank expressions awash in a rainbow of colors. Verity’s fingers find mine. I’m not sure who is anchoring who.

“Here we go,” Pace mutters. He’d helped program the show, sending Father’s plan to Mercer Pyrotechnics. As the first blue hits the sky, a strange feeling hits my chest. It’s only then that I realized I sort of liked having this secret between the four of us, something sacred and ours alone.

But now, it’s out there.

Now it belongs to them more than us.

* * *

After the fireworksdisplay announcing to the world Rufus Ashby is expecting a grandson, Father approaches Verity with a box. The four of us are in the middle of the room, accepting congratulations and back pats. A box of cigars from Darnell Livingston. A bottle of aged whiskey from a tipsy Coach Reed. Books. Cufflinks. A weekend getaway package from Professor Winston.

As if we’d ever get a chance to use it.

But while the men in the room are giving my brothers and me gifts, Father approaches Verity with this box. The packaging is blue. No more playing coy.

“For my grandson,” he says, beaming.

“Any idea what that is?” Lex whispers, the three of us standing to the side.

“None,” Pace says.

Verity gives Father the presentation he wants, slowly running her nail under the tape and unwrapping the gift. Inside the box, she reveals a small sterling silver cup and bowl.