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“Verity,” Pace starts when she follows Ballsack’s lead, bursting from the room in a flurry of vicious tears. “Goddamn it,” he sighs, dragging a palm down his face. “Just what we need.”

Lex stares at him, jaw tight. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That another girl has gone missing again, only this one drove out of here in the Princess’ car?” Pace glances at me, eyes darkening. “Yeah, I’d say we’re all thinking it.”

Someone out there is targeting the women of Forsyth, and this one just hit way too fucking close to home.

“All the more reason to stay focused,” I reason. “Whatever happened to Stella, if it was meant to be Verity, then chances are, they’ll try again.”

“We’ve got two days until we get out of here. We’ll just have to keep a closer eye on her than normal,” Lex says. “Which will be easier said than done, if she’s pissed.”

Time and time again, there have been obstacles to us pulling the trigger on the plan, but we don’t have to say it out loud to know that nothing is going to stop us this time. Not Father, prison, Scratch, or obligations. Definitely not some psycho snatching women off the street.

Two more days, and we’ll no longer be the Princes of Forsyth.

We’ll be ghosts.

27

Verity

Lex wearshis hair down for the ceremony.

On the drive up in the limo, I kept catching his gaze only to see him snap back toward the front of the car. It’s like he wants me to want him—as if he hadn’t ripped a little piece of my heart out by going to bed instead of searching for Stella a couple of nights ago.

Some part of me understands that’s not fair. The next morning, Pace had been right back at it, sifting through feed after feed in search of my car. He even called Ballsy in himself to help, and they spent the whole day like that, curved over the desk until they were haggard and defeated.

But we should beout there, looking.

Instead, all of us are in the Forsyth Amphitheater as some old guy drones on and on about prestige and a hopeful future. Lex is, of course, down on the ground, somewhere in the sea of gold, black, and purple. Throughout the whole commencement address, Rufus Ashby is next to Pace, Wicker, and I. He keeps his head held high like he’s absorbing Lex’s success as his very own.

The suffocating monotony of the event makes my chest ache. I’d been so excited to see Lex walk across the stage. To see his hands take the degree, all the while knowing they’re the same hands that touch me so expertly, keeping me healthy and whole. Instead, I spend the whole thing sick with this frantic need to get out there and start looking.

The Lords are down there somewhere too, and the thought just makes me angrier. Maybe it’s unfair, but I don’t give a damn. They should be on the streets, asking questions. Showing her picture. Turning over every stone until they find what’s theirs. Isn’t that their thing?

By the time Lex’s name is finally called—Lagan Juniper Ashby—I feel half-present, only jumping to clap because the men surrounding me do. I try to take it in, to commit to memory the way he looks sweeping up the steps. The sure strides. The way his hair billows around his shoulders. The handshake with the dean that looks unnecessarily aggressive.

It’s more than I can muster for Sy.

Of course, by the sudden roar of rowdy cheering, I’m guessing DKS makes up for it.

I think it’s nearly over when the university president has them take their tassel and shift it from one side of their cap to the other, officially proclaiming them graduates and giving them permission to toss them in the air, but it’s not.

We still have to take pictures.

The only genuine smile comes from Rufus, grinning as though we’re truly one big, happy family. His adopted sons and his recently announced secret daughter, the heir no longer able to be hidden under loose clothing.

“Well,” Ashby says after the dean walks away, promising to share cigars at the Gentlemen’s Chamber in a few weeks, “top honors, top two percent of the class, and an acceptance to three of the finest med schools in the country. Even I’ll concede you deserve a night of celebration.” He claps Lex on the shoulder, ignoring the icy look it elicits. “The club is yours and PNZ’s for the evening. Food, drinks, women,” he waves his hand, “have at it. I’ll be down at the marina with the other parents. If there’s any trouble, call Danner, not me.”

My three Princes look distracted and particularly wooden, but I don’t expect them to be excited about it. Things have changed dramatically in the past few weeks. I trust that they’ll be faithful, even if it’s just out of respect for the baby’s health. But I sense the strain in their acceptance of their Father’s gift—a rare night off.

“I’m not going to a party in this monkey suit,” Wick says, already removing his tie.

“Yeah, I need to change,” Lex says, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The only perk of sitting with Ashby was the fact that we had a shady spot up top. The graduates, however, sat in the sun for hours. He’s already unzipped his gown and has his cap tucked under his arm. “We’ll go home and change before heading to the party.”

Lex and Wicker start toward the parking lot, but Pace falls back next to me, hands shoved deep in his pockets. I know he wants to touch me. Put his arm around my shoulder, or rest his hand on my stomach, but I’m still pissed. I’m not exactly freezing them out but… well, they’ve made their position about Stella clear, and so have I.

He glances back over to where I know Ballsack is standing. “You should go party with your King,” Pace says, mouth pressed into a tense line. “We can handle the Princess.”