Page 25

Stella’s face lights up.

If I thought my life would get easier away from the palace, I was wrong. The nausea and exhaustion are one thing, but the way people here handle me makes me wonder if coming back was such a good idea. The Dukes still treat me the same, but sometimes they’ll suddenly avert their eyes, and my face will grow aflame with the possibility they’re remembering what they saw on that video of the Royal Cleansing.

The cutsluts are different. I used to be a sister to them, but now I’m just a visitor. Lavinia isn’t allowed to be alone with me anymore, one of her Dukes always hovering nearby whenever she visits. There’s zero hope of a meeting with Story. And though Stella is never more than a text away from flitting through the doorway, I feel more like a job to her than a friend. My mother would welcome me with open arms, but I’m still furious at her, so I take Sy’s cop-out with this living arrangement and hole up here.

The old newspaper press is full of open, cavernous rooms. It’s never very quiet, with old pipes knocking and radiators hissing. Everything here is hard and cold. In the short time I lived at the palace, I grew accustomed to the odd rhythms of the house. The creepy secret passageways. The hush. The lushness of everything.

I would never admit it aloud, but I miss my solarium.

Mysolarium?

When did it become mine?

I keep waiting for Wicker to walk in and demand I bend over a table or for Effie’s squawk about Wicker’s balls. More than once, I’ve woken with a start, confused by sleep, thinking Lagan is standing at the end of the bed, feral and wild.

Pace told me I’d been conditioned, and he isn’t wrong. I feel restless, caught between two lives, and due to this godforsaken pregnancy, I can't even enjoy finally being back home.

Possibly because it isn’t.

Home, that is.

But if this isn’t home—and the palace sure as hell isn’t, either—then where is it?

Stella drops a few of the candies in my hand, and I pop one in my mouth, freezing as I suck the flavor from it.Son of a bitch. They’re delicious. Pulling the blanket up toward my chin, I wonder, “What else is in there? Any more candy?”

“Let’s see,” she picks through the box. “A journal that you’re supposed to write in every day. There’s a fetal heart monitor. I guess you attach that to your belly? Oh, a pack of nausea wristbands!” She immediately slips one on her wrist. “That may come in handy. Also, there are three pregnancy books, lavender bath beads, and,” she lifts a container, beaming, “more vitamins.”

I cut my hand over my throat. “Absolutely not. I’m done with those. I think they’re part of what’s making me sick.”

Stella’s face falls. “Are you sure? Prince Lex is a pretty smart guy, so if he thinks you need—”

I roll my eyes. “There are people all over the world without access to this stuff, and they have healthy babies every day. Missing a few pills isn’t going to hurt me or the baby.” I glare at the bottle. “Starving to death might.”

She nods, packing everything back in the box. “Oh. He sent something else, too.” There’s a pause, and then her cheery, “Aww!”

“What?” I sit up, feeling much better.

She holds up a U-shaped neck pillow covered in silk that matches my bedding back at the palace. “He wants you to be comfy.”

My lip curls in distaste. “He didn’t seem to care much about my discomfort while putting me into this situation.”

“Well, he does now,” Stella says, more of that obstinance shining through when she tosses me the pillow. I catch it clumsily, fingers fumbling against the silk. “And just because he’s terrible and you hate him isn’t any reason to make yourself suffer harder.”

Pursing my lips, I inspect the pillow. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m definitely right,” Stella corrects, admiring the band on her wrist. “Do you think—”

“It’s all yours.”

She gives a delighted grin, saying, “It’s my first Fury tonight! Are you going?”

My own smile plummets. “No.” Even if my stomach remains settled and I could handle being treated like rival Royalty from the others in the gym, chances are almost certain Ashby will be there. “Hm. Isn’t Ballsy fighting tonight?”

Stella bites her lip, but I still see the responding smile threatening to break through. “I think so. Is he any good?”

Restraining a grin, I answer, “He’s West End, so probably. You should go and check it out. Friday Night Fury is always lots of fun.”

“But not for you?”