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Looking down, I realize for the first time my gown has been pulled off and abandoned on the floor beside me. “I know the covenants,” I snap, rushing to cover myself with the sheet. “And what you just did isn’t one of them. I’ll tell Ashby that you—”

“Fucked your mouth?” Pace shrugs. “Go ahead. Your womb is protected, but your throat is fair game. Also,” his eyes finally slide to mine, “you knowyourcovenants. The Princes’ covenants say at least one of us has to sleep with you every night you’re in this palace.” He flexes a leg, the cut of his body intimidatingly masculine. “I volunteered.”

“Why?” The question is curt, instinctual, even though it’s obvious. He wanted one more night to punish me for betraying them.

“The same reason I volunteered to give you the ring,” he says, dark eyes dropping to my mouth. “My brothers have given up on having a real Princess. They think there’s no hope for you. But, Rosi…” His long arm shoots out, capturing me despite my attempt to flinch away from it. He pulls me forcibly against his side, the sheet sliding away. “Oh, I think you’re coming along just fine. That move you made on Valentine’s Day? That’s the part of me I’ve been leaving inside you, hoping it’d grow. I’m thinking that’s literal, too.” He reaches down to flatten a palm to my belly, lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “This baby inside you? I bet I’m the one who put it there.”

I struggle against his hold. “You don’t know that.”

“Nah, but I feel it.” He cups my breast with a wide palm and exhales, like a man content. “I feel how much you’re mine now.” His words are evil, but his hands are gentle as he strokes my hair with one hand, his fingers idly circling my nipple with the other. His eyes rove my body as he shucks the sheets lower, revealing the part of me he wants most. “When I came in here and undressed you tonight, I was thinking how much I’d miss saving my cum for you.” His fingers dip between my thighs, stroking, and even though I fasten my legs together, I know he feels the shameful slickness that’s been building. Inhaling as if he can smell it, he suddenly wrenches me to my side, spooning in behind me. “I told you, didn’t I? Every drop of me is meant for you. A little thing like pregnancy shouldn’t get in the way of a promise.”

I could thrash and fight as he slots his cock up to my entrance, pushing in, but I don’t.

One more night.

Just one more night.

His voice is sleepy and deep, tickling my ear when he says, “You may be leaving here tomorrow, but you’ll be taking East End with you. In the baby growing in your belly,” he splays his hand over my stomach, “and every last drop of me that just ran down your throat.”

* * *

I haven’t been alonewith Wicker since that day in the solarium. I still remember the way he looked, drawn and full of exhaustion, the setting sun pushing a warm glow through his blonde hair.

Most of all, I remember the way I felt watching him.

Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe Wicker. I know I should be used to his face by now, but the perfect symmetry of his eyes framed by the sharp planes of his cheekbones is always startling. Like he’s part alien combined with an ethereal angel—both lacking the grace of humanity. Whitaker Kayes wasn’t made for human consumption, which is why I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know how to truly act civilized.

It’s hard taking him in all at once, especially in a closed space like the back of the car. Even worse when we’re alone. I mean, how crazy is it that I’d rather feel the palpable anger rolling off Lex, or the quiet tension that Pace wields like a knife, than sit here with a petulant god.

Stella sits in the front next to Rory, the frat member who was unlucky enough to have chauffeur duty this week. She’s unnaturally quiet, probably scared out of her wits to say something that’ll sabotage the exchange.

Me and her both.

I still remember the sound Rory made when he ejaculated on me.

“I never took you for the kind of chick who’d run home to mommy,” Wicker says, fastidiously picking a piece of lint off his shirt, “but here we are.”

I know I shouldn’t answer, and I suck on my teeth for a full thirty seconds before replying. “I’m not running home. I’mgoinghome. There’s a difference.”

He looks out the window, and just like that day in the solarium, the rising sun finds him, rays clinging to the sharpness of his smirk. “Is there? Because I don’t see the other Royal women living apart from their men. There’s probably even some Countess out there curled up in whatever hovel North Side has holed up in.” He snorts. “The point being, the other frats are a unit. Even if there are cracks under the surface—and I assure you there are—no one on the outside sees it.”

Ah, there it is. “So that’s what this is about,” I realize, staring out my own window. “Presentation. You’re afraid the other frats will judge you for me not living at the palace.”

I feel his stare on my cheek, burning like a laser. “Don’t you?”

My laughter is short and wry. “I judge you for a lot of things, Whitaker Ashby. Raping me repeatedly, for instance. Treating everyone like your underlings. Your massive ego. The way you sit back and watch your father abuse your brothers—” Suddenly, his hand clamps around my throat, the move so swift and violent that I snap back in rigid shock.

Those perfect blue eyes stare back at me, simmering with hatred. “You don’t get to comment on that,” he growls, squeezing. “Ever.”

“Princess?” comes Stella’s nervous voice.

I flick my eyes to hers, managing a minute shake of my head. She turns back to the road, hands wringing in her lap, but even though I know she wants to, Stella doesn’t intervene.

In the rearview, I see Rory pressing his mouth in a tight, grim line.

He doesn’t even glance back at us.

I hold Wicker’s stare, filled with cold, steely fury. “I’m not afraid of you.” My own stare is daring him to leave a mark on me. I almost want him to lose control. For him to be the one going home to Daddy with the news he’s snuffed out the life of his daughter and grandchild.