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I shake my head, and we ride in silence for a while. I can feel him taking more glances at me. Once, his mouth parts, the inhale loud in the silence, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not going to freak out.” Looking down, I pick at my cuticle, feeling strangely devoid of emotion. “He deserved to die. It might have been different if the videos had just been me. In a messed up way, I’ve become used to being watched.” Quieter, I confess, “No moment ever feels like my own anymore.”

So yeah, if it’d just been about me, I’d be sitting here lost in a maze of horror over taking a life for something sotrivial. But anyone who’d seen that video of Wicker and decided to keep it, or profit from it—or God… well they deserve worse than what Charlie got.

It was all I could do not to spit on his body as Pace was rushing about the room, tearing hard drives from the servers, gathering phones and memory cards, and scribbling that ridiculous password down before we both forgot it.

“Look,” he begins, “about Royal Ink…”

My laugh is tired and humorless. “I knew you were watching me, Pace. I just didn’t know how. Here I was tearing up pillows when all I needed to do was close the fucking curtains.” Maybe it’s a product of months of surveillance, but the fact that I simply forgot the most basic of things doesn’t even surprise me.

There’s a moment of silence, and then his deep voice admits, “I would have found another way.”

“I know.”

Pace releases a sigh, shifting his hand on the wheel. “Is he okay?” he asks, abandoning the shifter knob to reach over, brushing his knuckles against my belly.

There’s blood on my dress.

“Yes,” I answer, pretty sure Lex would disagree, and then, “What’s going to happen to his body?”

He gives me another careful glance, and for a second, I wonder if he’ll lie to me. “When the others get home, we’ll put a call in to the Barons. They’ll take care of it.”

It strikes me that he seems more bothered about my reaction—or lack thereof—than there being a body to begin with. “Is this what you and your brothers do for King Ashby?” I ask. “Kill people?”

I’m not exactly naive. I know the Dukes kill people. Sy had to kill Saul to even wear the Bruin ring, and Perez’s sudden disappearance is widely known to be Nick’s doing, although there’s no evidence. The North Side Count had crossed enough Royals that it was seen as more of a necessity than a brutality.

And I know the Princeshavekilled people. The memory of Bruce’s finger is still fresh in my memory. But in West End, that sort of business is tucked away, kept hidden from girls like me. Stupidly, I didn’t realize East End was the same as the West when it comes to such things. Part of me figured Bruce was a one-off. A price to pay to my home kingdom. Because that’s what death is in Forsyth. Currency.

But Pace stares ahead at the road, his fist flexing around the steering wheel. “We do something a lot worse than that, Verity.”

“What’s worse than killing people?”

He gives me a quickfire glance. “Keeping them alive.”

Activated by sensors, the gate opens before we hit the driveway. On the way over the bridge, Pace rolls down his window, and in an easy toss, throws the gun out into the darkness. The sound of the splash as it lands in the water is faint as he continues to drive up to the front of the house.

“What’s going to happen when he finds out?”

There’s no need to confirm who ‘he’ is.

Pace cuts the ignition, frown creased in thought as he turns to me. “If tonight proved anything, it’s that Charlie was a liability. He’s supposed to work for us, not against us. He disrespected you and the heir.” He rests a wide, heavy palm on my stomach, an increasingly familiar and comforting touch. “And even though we didn’t find it—yet—he had something to do with that break-in. I know it.”

Nodding, I agree, “You’re probably right.” I haven’t really allowed myself to worry about the intruder from last month. The only time it really hit home that someone might be out to get me, specifically, was when I came out of the shower at Royal Ink to find a strange man standing beside my bed. It only lasted a moment before Pace revealed himself, but though the panic bled away, the possibilities never did.

Snagging the hoodie I’d tossed into the backseat, Pace says, “Here. Put this on over your dress.” I don’t look down at the blood. My nausea is better, but I never know what’s going to bring it on. He helps me into it, lifting my hair and straightening the collar. I look up at him just before his mouth meets mine, claiming and assured. When he pulls away, he’s smirking. “You were a real badass tonight, you know? Remind me to send Perilini a bottle of whiskey for teaching you those moves.” His fingers trail down my jaw. “If I had any doubts you’d be a fucking amazing mother, consider them obliterated.”

With one last caress of my belly, he opens my door and holds my hand as we enter the house. It’s not unexpected for Danner to be waiting, but Thad’s presence makes both of our steps falter. Despite his large frame, he’s usually clinging to the shadows like a bit of smoke following the King around.

“Danner,” Pace says, fingers tightening against mine. “Thad.”

“The King is waiting in his office,” Danner says.

Pace rocks back on his heels, sliding me a glance. “Let me get the Princess settled in her room, and I’ll be right back down.”

But Danner shakes his head. “Both of you are required.”

There’s a pause where Pace and Danner just stare at one another. This, plus Pace’s warning not to trust him, brings up questions that I’d rather not have about the elderly man.