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“For us,” I muse, “it’s just the way it’s always been.”

“That makes it even more sick and twisted.”

“Yes,” I cover another wound. “Which is why we can’t let our son live in this place.”

She turns her neck, nose wrinkling from the pain, but she catches my eye. “There are other options. You must know that. You’re Princes; you can—”

“We’re not blood, Verity. None of us are entitled to the throne.”

“West End—”

With a glance up at the camera in the corner, I cut that thought off before she can finish it. “Will never accept us.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m sayingI’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you and this baby safe.” I cover the last wound, making sure the tape is secure. The last thing she needs is an infection. “And in order for you to trust that, I’m going to need to be honest with you.”

“Wait.” Her movements are slow, and she has to grab onto my arm for leverage, but Verity adjusts to a sitting position. “Okay, tell me.”

She’s making this so much worse, forcing me to look her in the eye. What I have to admit is harder than I thought. Father is right. I’m weak. But I don’t want to be. Not for her, and not for our son.

I push the words out like I’m drawing poison from my lungs. “I’ve relapsed.”

“Scratch?” She frowns. “I mean, I know you were on it the night of the cleansing—”

“Yes, but…” I swallow, shame burrowing under my skin. “Not just then. After, too.”

She’s frozen, her brow creasing. “When?”

“When things get too hard.” I look down at my hands. “When the pressure is too much, and I’m too weak to not accept an easy way out.” I take a deep breath, knowing Pace will watch this later. “April twentieth, for one.”

“That’s where you were during the break-in?” Her lips form a grim line, and then she wonders, “That’s where you’ve been all this time when you haven’t been around?” When I nod, she grows quiet, until her green eyes widen. “Are you high right now?”

“No!” I insist, taking her hand in mine. I press it to my chest, allowing her to feel the steadiness of the heart beating beneath it. “No, I promise. Not that it means anything, but I was at a meeting. For real. You can ask Maddox, he was there.”

“Why? I thought that,” she reaches up, brushing my hair back behind my ear, “when we were together, you didn’t have those urges anymore. I thought I was enough.”

The urge to get defensive is strong. To make excuses about my workload, about Father, about obligations, and being buried under the weight of it all, but the truth is, it’s all bullshit. I know that.

“It was never about you, Verity. It wasn’t even about Father or the baby. I thought it made me better—able to do everything that needed to be done. But I think…” I try to find the right words. “I think that was just a lie I was telling myself. I know now it doesn’t make me better. It makes me weaker. It makes me… absent.”

She’s quiet, and in the cold stone of her cell, it seems like we’ve fallen into a deep, numb void.

“Do the guys know?”

I nod at the camera. “They do now.”

She takes my hand, small and cold, but comforting. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know my father, and he’ll use my failures to turn you against me.” I face her, wanting to make sure that she hears what I have to say. “And because I need you to know that after last night, I’m done. This child, our family, it’s more important than anything. I know that.”

I knew it the second I stepped between Verity and my father. There’s no high in this world that’s worth being unable to protect them. Maybe there was a time when this woman and the life growing inside of her were yet another duty piled on top of a mountain, but it’s different now. They’re not an obligation.

They’re a purpose.

She assesses me for a long moment, her green eyes searching. Whatever she finds, it makes her nod. “Okay.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Okay?”