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I pick at the tab on the hospital bed sheets. “Do you remember that day in the library bathroom when I asked you how you love them?” She nods, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I understand it better now.”

Her jaw slacks, eyebrows hiking up her forehead. “You love them?”

Shrugging, I confess, “I don’t know. Maybe? Everything is so twisted and confusing, and trust me, the hormones don’t make it any better. I just know that they aren’t what they seemed. They’re complicated, and confusing, and angry, and traumatized, and—”

“They’re Royals,” she says, lips pressed into a grim, understanding smile. “They’re fucked up.”

I rest my hand on my stomach. “Yeah, and I’m about to add another one to the mix.”

A double legacy.

Her eyebrows furrow. “So what are you going to do?”

“Go home with my family where it’s safe and easy?” Exhaling in defeat, I shake my head. “But it’s like you said. They’re Royals. They’re not going to give up on their own child, and honestly, isn’t that a good thing? It’s part of the reason I feel this way about them.” I swallow, lowering my voice. “They’re giving me space, I guess, which is more than I expected.”

“I’ve been in this position, you know.” She twists the cuff on her wrist, the motion idle but significant. “Not the hospital and definitely not pregnant, but at a crossroads, where my Lords gave me the option to leave.” She scoffs. “At least, in theory—not that I believe for a minute they’d really let me go. It was a gesture that meant something to me, though.”

“What did you choose?” I ask, eyes darting down to the scarred initials carved into her chest. She never hides them. Instead, she wears them like a badge of honor.

“I chose to stay.” Her eyes flick to the door, where Tristian waits outside. “But I chose to do it on my terms, not theirs.”

I arch an eyebrow. “And they just accepted that?”

She laughs. “Not all at once, but as much as they could.”

I think about everything that’s happened before drawing in a deep breath. “If I tell you something, Princess to Lady, do you promise not to tell anyone?” I hold her eye. “Especially not Lavinia.”

Story frowns. “Why don’t you want to tell Lavinia? I thought you two were really close.”

“Too close,” I say. “Not just us, but our houses. The Dukes are my family. If they knew…” I shake my head. “Let’s just say there’d be a war that I’m not sure any of us would survive.”

Story’s gaze turns serious, sensing the gravity of the moment. “I understand, Verity. Whatever you want to tell me, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

So I tell her.

Everything.

From the masquerade to the throning, to the months of deposits, to the cumulation of the Royal Cleansing. I look away when tears fill her eyes at my description of the Coronation, and then more recently, what I experienced in the dungeon.

“You’re right,” she says, voice thick. “You can never tell Lavinia about this. If she knew they locked you up—”

“Notthey, just him,” I correct. “King Ashby.”

“Even worse,” Story says, eyes shining with sympathy. “She wouldn’t be able to be objective. Christ, it’s her dad all over again.”

I nod knowingly, feeling an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. Someone else needed to know the truth. “It’s why they wanted to run with me,” I explain, frustrated. “So when I tell people they were doing it to keep me safe—”

“They don’t understand how true that is,” she guesses. At my nod, she takes my hand, inhaling shakily. “You and Lav are so much stronger than I could ever be. I had no business asking you or Stella to go in there. I was so attached to the idea of a sisterhood that I—”

“Was right,” I say, knowing this in my bones. “If it hadn’t been Stella, it would have been someone else. Someone like Kelsey Livingston or Laura Walker.” When her eyes blank, I nod. “Yeah, you don’t know them. But you will. Everyone will—because of Stella.” I stress, “Because of the Monarchs.”

“Is that what you want?” she asks, watching me curiously. “To go back to West End and work with Lavinia on the Monarchs?”

“My gut is telling me it’s the smart thing to do, but,” I rest a hand on my belly, “other parts of me aren’t so sure.” Feeling the baby move once again, I confess my worst fear. “Story, maybe I’m too weak to change things.”

Her gaze follows mine, taking in the way I’m stroking my belly. “This has to be your decision, Verity. Not your mom’s, or the Dukes, or your Princes—certainly not mine. But before you make it, I need you to understand something.” She places her hand on mine, eyes soft but no less piercing. “No matter what you choose, you’ll have three of the Royal houses on your side. Take a moment to let that sink in because it might be more power than anyone has ever had in Forsyth.” Her thumb strokes over my hand, lips curling into a tender smile. “You’ve already changed so much. Don’t ever think of yourself as weak.”

Long after she’s gone, I turn it over in my head, shocked at the weight of the thought.