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Pace inhales deeply, dragging a palm down his face. “Okay. Right. I’ll have to do a full backup of all the servers and make sure we’re not being tracked.” He rubs his chin. “I’ll have to get Effie out. Maybe a special cage for travel…”

Wick and I look at one another. It’s probably because of the lifetime of upheaval, foster homes, boarding schools, and prison, but Pace is the most attached to his belongings. To this house.

I rest my hand on his shoulder, announcing, “Graduation, okay? We’ll leave after the ceremony. That’ll give us a little over a week. Father will want everything to look perfect, so he’ll want to pretend none of this ever happened.”

Wicker straightens, face hardening. “We’ll have to make him believe he’s won.”

“Exactly.”

He nods, and I can practically see him shifting himself, turning into what we need him to be. Wicker’s always been the best at that, and losing to Father is familiar enough. He’ll need to be a brat. Depressed. Drunk and disorderly.

“Nothing too extreme,” I caution, nodding toward the house. “He has a new weapon against us.”

“We’ll leave right after.” A little energy springs to Pace’s eyes. He’s good at projects. “Everyone will be celebrating, including the other houses. Perilini and Payne, Kings of two houses, are both graduating, so you know West and South will have huge blowouts. It’ll be easy to slip away with so much commotion.”

“I like it,” Wick says, warming to the idea, but then frowns. “Do you think she will?”

I grimace. We’re not just asking Verity to run with us, the men who put her through so much misery, but agreements have been made. Contracts have been signed.

“We’d be asking her to leave West End,” Pace says what we’re all thinking. “Her family, her friends.”

“What if she says no?” Wicker asks, the doubt clear in his eyes.

Sometimes being the oldest means making the hard decisions. “What if we don’t give her a chance to?” I toss it out there like a grenade, watching as my brothers take it in. We won’t have the luxury of convincing her.

Slowly, Pace nods. “She’sourPrincess,” he agrees. “Not Father’s. Not the Dukes’.”

Wicker ducks his head, kicking a stone. “Better to ask forgiveness than ask permission?”

Just like that, it’s sealed.

In nine days, we’ll take Verity away from East End.

Away from West End

Away from Forsyth.

* * *

Even in late May,the dungeon is cold. It rankles that I need to clear the supplies in my arms with Father, seeing him frown at the freshly laundered blanket and pillow. It’s supposed to be uncomfortable. Luckily, he waves his approval without a word, which is funny.

He thinks he’s icing us out.

No doubt he’s planning something, but I don’t have time to worry about it. Nine days. That’s how long we have to endure.

When I reach the bottom of the narrow staircase, Thad almost bumps into me. I just have to steel myself before turning down the corridor to the cell. Verity mentioned once that she sees me as two different personalities. She hadn’t exactly expanded on the thought, but I suspect I already know. And when my eyes land on her curled up on the cot in the dark, I turn into the other guy.

The one who wants to hurt.

The one who wants to feel.

But right now, that’s not what she needs. She needsLex, the cool, clinical strategist who gets her out of this palace safe and whole. When Thad shoves the key into the lock, I imagine how easy it’d be to kill him. To carry her out of here. To go somewhere until my brothers meet us.

But that would never happen.

Father would kill either of them if it meant getting her back.

She stirs, the sound of her hiss as she pushes up cleaving through the silence.