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The hatred flows through me like lava, because he’s right but so fucking wrong. This isn’t about the baby. It’s barely even about the thought it could be mine—my blood, my legacy. A Kayes heir with the name Michael Rufus Ashby? It’sprofane.

But I can’t even spare the energy to be appropriately repulsed by that. Not when it’s all reserved for one simple fact.

“It’s not your baby to name,” I say, thinking of me and my brothers.

Whitaker, Pace, Lagan, even Verity…

This is an aspect of our identity that Father never had a claim to. It’s the only thing our biological parents gave us that still remains. A couple of hours ago, the thought wouldn’t have even occurred to me, but now that he’s trying to take it away, I understand.

It’s fucking sacred.

“She’s the mother,” I say, fuming, “and she’s going to name him just like our mothers named us. I’m not going to let you—”

“Letme?” He advances on me, eyes narrowing. “You seem to be under the absurd misapprehension that being a father means anything in this house, so allow me to clear that up for you.” He grabs a fistful of my jacket, yanking me close enough to see the veins in his eyes. “There’s only one title that matters in Forsyth, and that’sKing.” He flinches when my wad of saliva hits his nose.

“That’s what I think of both titles,” I sneer.

There’s a moment when I think he might kill me, his breath shuddering, and then he shoves me back, sending me stumbling. “Clearly, this insolence of yours has gone too far,” he grinds out, yanking out his pocket square. He wipes my spit from his nose with short, tense movements. “First, you stomp around here for weeks like a child throwing a tantrum. Then you stand up Trudie Stein for the Mother’s Day tea. Youhumiliatedher, Whitaker, and a woman like Trudie does not stand for public humiliation.” His voice rises to a booming bark. “And now you humiliate me—yet again!”

“I stood her up to be with the mother of my child on Mother’s Day.” I square my shoulders, lip curling. “Or is that not what a Prince does?”

“A Prince does as he’s fucking told!” His face has turned a shade of red I’ve never seen before. There’s no doubt in my mind punishment is coming, more vicious than I’ve ever known.

That’s how much of a fuck I don’t give when I say, “That’s too bad, because I’ve decided I’m not going to be your whore anymore.”

He jerks back, releasing a sharp laugh. “I think we both know that’s not your decision to make.” He’s never said it before, not so clearly. It’s been implied with punishments and leverage. Lex has the scars to prove it. Pace, the days down in the dungeon. What I have is this inability to breathe, not even for a second.

Angrily stuffing his handkerchief into his pocket, he declares, “You—no,we—owe Trudie a debt. I’ve kept you out of her bed out of concern for the health of my grandson, but that’s no longer possible. You’re going to give her what she wants.”

I stand stiffly, fists clenched, as I meet the challenge in his glare. “And if I say no?”

Because I’m going to. It hits me like a train. I’m saying no. I’m Whitaker Kayes. Heir to the Barons. I have options. I hold my own deck of cards.

“If you say no?” He straightens his cufflinks, shrugging. “Then I’ll bind you down in the dungeon, naked and cold, and invite every pervert I know to do with you what they will.” He dips his chin, stressing, “That’s a lot of people.”

My response is instant. “I don’t care.” I know I should, but there’s a part of me that feels certain it won’t be the same. Better for them to take it than for me to give it.

His eyes flare. “I’ll take Lex into my office for a special appointment, and I’ll whip him until there’s no skin left.”

This response is even easier. “Lex won’t care.”

Father shifts rigidly. “I’ll take Pace—”

I laugh. “If you think Lex and I don’t care, then just wait until you hear about Pace! He’s been trying to take my punishments since the night you sold off my virginity.” Leaning in, I pitch my voice low and cutting. “Face it. Your leverage is as useless as your cock.”

A small evil smile curves on his mouth, and what he means strikes me as sharply as his whip. “Then I’ll do it to her.”

Blinking, I almost laugh again. “Verity? Your precious vessel?”

“You think I won’t?” he asks, tilting his head. “Just because she’s carrying my grandson?”

“I know you wouldn’t,” I say, ready to call his bluff.

But now it’s his turn to laugh, the tenor of it sending a chill up my spine. “Oh, I would. And I have. Two decades’ worth of princesses have come through this house during my reign. Each and every one required correction at some point. I know a woman’s limits. Even those carrying a child.”

“Bullshit,” I say, scoffing. “You’d never put your heir in danger.”

He nods, contemplating. “And I won’t. Not if I do it right. And trust me,son, I’m very good at what I do.”