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“Of course.” He gives me a sad smile. “This is bigger than territory lines. If someone in another kingdom did it for my sister, Kelsey, well… I know I’d really appreciate that.”

He doesn’t stay long, the two of us having nothing but tragedy and remorse to fill the silence with. But when he leaves, I look at the flowers and think it might be the first time since I became Princess that seeing roses hasn’t made me nauseous.

Which is a good thing, because that afternoon, more of them start rolling in.

I get a delivery from Adeline and the staff at the Gilded Rose, and bouquets from a couple of other guys in the frat. Professor Winston sends a whole bundle, as well as Coach Reed.

But every time there’s a knock on the door, I feel a lance of panic. I can’t hide from Rufus Ashby forever. Whatever string Remy pulled to keep him out of here must have its limits. Which is why I’m antsy for Doctor Munson to release me from Forsyth General and get back to Royal Ink.

I’ve been here five days when Kaz knocks, peeking his head through the door.

“Yo, you have visitors.” He pulls a face. “I can tell them to make like a tree and fuck off?”

“Not a chance,” a voice says, and then the small figure it belongs to pushes past him. “I got like seven layers of Royal approval to be here.” Story’s eyes widen when she sees me, sweeping over my belly, which seems bigger and bigger every day. “Wow, you’re, like… definitely pregnant.”

My lips twitch. It’s been almost two months since our last boiler room rendezvous. “That’s what they tell me.”

She’s followed in by Tristian Mercer, who’s carrying a brown bag. “Killian sends his best wishes,” he says, placing it on the tray next to my bed. His eyes scan the room without a trace of shame, even bending to peek under the hospital bed. I’m starting to learn that paranoia is a trait every Royal must possess.

“He told me to get flowers,” Story says, setting her purse on the chair. She’s wearing a light summer dress, and I can see the straps of a bikini peeking out from her neckline. “But I figured your house would have that covered, so we brought you lunch instead.” She turns her head away from her Lord, mouthing, “Sorry.”

I peer inside, idly hoping for something greasy and delicious. “Oh,” I say, inspecting the container of salmon, steamed broccoli, and wild rice. “You have one, too?”

“One what?” Tristian says. He’s in a soft-looking leather jacket and dark jeans. Everyone knows his family is one of the wealthiest in the city, and it oozes off of him in the same way it does Remy.

“A health food guy.” His eyebrow raises, and I explain further, “Lex manages my meals and nutrition.Closely.”

Or, at least, he did.

“Good,” he says with an impressed tilt of the head. “You’re carrying their kid. You shouldn’t poison it with the shitty food they serve here.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” I set the food down, already knowing I won’t eat it. “How’s Augustine?” I ask, cutting right to the chase. “Has she heard anything?”

“She’s worried,” Story admits, hands wringing nervously. “It’s not like Stella to stay out of contact.” Every shred of hope I’ve had diminishes every day, and it’s impossible to miss the guilt and regret in Story’s eyes. She was the one to recruit Stella to stay with me and keep them updated.

Stella was the second Monarch operative.

“Killian’s got our men looking,” Tristian says, tapping the nose of a stuffed bear. “And your boy and I have linked up some of our security feeds to double our coverage.”

“My boy?” I ask.

“Pace.” He turns away from the bear. “It was his idea, actually. The coverage of his network is insane, but my father’s company has some North Side surveillance that can help rule some things out.”

“Oh, right.” I give him a tight smile, a little bewildered. “Thank you.”

He shrugs, as if fraternizing with the enemy is completely common. “She’s one of ours. We take the abduction of a Lords’ asset seriously.”

I frown at the term—asset—and Story catches his attention.

“Babe?” Sliding up against him, she tucks her hands under his jacket, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Can I get a minute with the Princess?” His hand curls around her neck, eyes tracking the sweep of his thumb down the elegant column of it. She bats her eyelashes. “Girly stuff.”

“Don’t think I don’t see how diabolical you are.” He lifts her chin and brushes his lips over hers. “I’ll be right outside.”

She waits until the door closes to turn to me, expression collapsing. “Ver, I am so fucking sorry, about all of this.”

The force of her grief is like a stab to my heart. “None of this is your fault.”

She paces in the small space, fists pressed to her stomach. “No, but everything is out of control. You getting hurt. The girls going missing. Stella. This isn’t what Lavinia and I had in mind when we encouraged you to go to the masquerade, but I should have known better. What happens in Royal households is never what it seems.”