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On either side of me, my brothers remain still and stoic, our postures a clear contrast to the three Dukes currently standing inches over the invisible boundary line, all hunched and leaning like they’re in some fifties flick.

Perilini pulls a face, holding the garment bag out like it might be infectious. “I’m not your fucking dog groomer. If you want to dress her up in pearls, then do it yourself.”

“As much as I can appreciate you acknowledging she’s our little bitch…” I gesture to the space around us, a little cut of cracked pavement that used to be a diner parking lot. Now it’s full of weeds and debris, playing host to four idling vehicles and a menagerie of Royals. “We’re under a treaty. The deal is that we get our Princess back on Monday, March 19th, at precisely 5 p.m.” I jerk my chin at the small, sulking figure propped in the distance against Nick Bruin’s SUV. “She’s not crossing into East End looking like that.”

I ignore the part of me that prefers her in what she’s wearing. A short, pleated black skirt over lacy stockings is enough to get my dick full-throttle. But the higher my eyes climb, to her cropped sweater and plush tits, over the pale column of her throat, the more my libido remembers who she is.

The moment I lock onto those green eyes, my jaw clenches.

Tensely, Lex cuts in, “A Princess is a symbol of purity and grace. She’s amothernow. If she comes into East End looking like a slut, it’s an affront that won’t be forgiven.”

“Jesus Christ, you fucking psychos…” Perilini sighs, turning to hand the garment bag to his brother. “Go,” is all he says, nodding in the direction of the three people waiting in the distance. It’s not just Verity. Her handmaid is glued to her side while the little Dukeling-in-training, Ballsack, paces aimlessly around the truck.

Crossing my arms, I watch as Nick approaches her. The little confused crevice in her forehead deepens the closer he comes, but the moment he stops in front of her, too far away to hear what he says, her jaw drops in outrage.

“Here?!” she shrieks, swinging the full force of her glare on me.

I smirk.

Beside me, Pace snorts. “You actually included the pearls, right?”

I slide him a grin. “Of course I did.”

In the distance, Verity huffily disappears into the back of the SUV.

Remington Maddox watches this exchange with an unimpressed look. “So, this is your plan, huh? Cage her up, cover her in gold, and pretend it’s real. Is it always this fake with the Princes and their Princess, or are the three of you just especially talented at ruining good things?”

Emotionlessly, Lex answers, “Especially talented,” his eyes trained like lasers into the dark SUV.

Five tense minutes later, Verity stumbles out.

The dress has a traditional cut, hugging her waist and falling just above her knees. It’s a soft purple, with little white roses climbing up from the hem. The shoes are delicate little strappy heels, and she spends a long, stone-faced moment bent over, fiddling with the buckles. When she’s done, she snaps upright, face red.

Raising my chin, I call out, “Don’t forget your pearls, sweetheart.”

Mouth pinched angrily, she reaches back into the car and whips them out. Thrusting the string at her handmaid, she turns to gather her hair up, rigid as Stella winds the strand around her pale neck.

Nick returns, his inked arms flexing. “You owe us something.”

I cast a glance at Pace, arching a brow.

Pace plucks a small memory card from the inner pocket of his dark bomber jacket. “Here’s everything I could catch about the vipers on surveillance.” With a flick of his fingers, the memory card flies over the boundary line.

Maddox’s hand snaps out to catch it. “Everything?”

Pace gives him a long, scathing staredown. “That’s what I fuckin’ said, isn’t it?”

The clack of heels on pavement breaks the standoff, Verity finally approaching. I check my watch, tsking. “A bit late, but I suppose we’ll let it slide. This time.”

Perilini gives me a dry smile. “Next time, we’ll remember the Princes need twenty minutes for collective primping.”

I wait for one of my brothers to respond, but when I glance over, I realize they’re too busy taking Verity in. I’m not sure why. She doesn’t even look pregnant, her belly still flat. Plus, in that getup with her hair pulled up into a bun, that string of pearls sitting perfectly below her neck…

She doesn’t just look like a Princess.

She looks like an Ashby.

ArealAshby—blood and bone, fair and prim—and Jesus fuck, it pisses me off that I have to think of my last name as more rightfullyhers. Ashby has never been a name we wanted, but it was the one thing that tied Lex, Pace, and me together as family.