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“Get this shit out of here,” Pace barks.

With a speed I’ve only seen them commit to on the ice, they rush to the mound of roses beside me, gathering them up before taking off.

“We didn’t tell them to do that,” Lex says, scowling as his frat brothers scurry away.

“Obviously.” I try not to laugh as Baxter trips over a cobblestone and slams into Livingston, knocking a bunch of the roses to the ground.

“We’ll hold them to the punishment.” Lex is dressed a little more casually today than usual, in a white t-shirt and loose, low-slung jeans. It’s how I know he won’t have clinic duty or lab work, the particulars of these men’s lives becoming so entwined with mine that all it takes is a glimpse of a loose lock of his hair to signal that today is a light one.

When we arrived in the parking lot twenty minutes ago, Lex and his brothers instantly separated, each going their own way, leaving me to handle my Monday morning favors alone. This has been business as usual since my return to East End, but the gesture still rankled. If they’d been with me, none of the frat members would have—

“Here.” Lex thrusts the cup toward me. “It’s for you.”

I look between the cup and his amber eyes, my stomach uneasy with suspicion. “What is it?” After weeks of ginger tea, it’s become impossible to separate the taste from the slow-rolling nausea. One day, I just woke up and hated it.

His brows crush together. “It’s coffee.” When all I do is stare skeptically, he releases a hard sigh. “It’s my morning favor, Verity. Not a trap.”

With wide, stunned eyes, I reach out slowly, as if he might snatch it back. “Really?”

He lets me take it, his eyes tracking the way my lips purse, blowing over the hole in the lid. “It’s half-caf, light syrup, whole milk, full-fat cream, no additives—honestly, it’s a glorified milkshake, but Pace said you like those flavors.” More begrudgingly, he adds, “One a day won’t kill you. I guess.”

I can smell the hazelnut wafting up, excitement clenching my gut. The fact that it’s a small doesn’t even register. It’s been impossible to orchestrate a coffee delivery while living at the palace, so it’s been nearly a month since I’ve had anything so utterly decadent. One sip has my brain zapping in pleasure. “Oh my god,” I moan, feeling the cream foam on my upper lip.

Before I can lick it away, Lex makes a sharp, disapproving sound. Before worry can capture my gut—panic that he’ll take it away—he grabs my chin, tipping my face up. I don’t have time to really think about it when he dips down to push his lips against mine, but I know that it starts out stilted and testing, his eyelashes fluttering as he tastes the cream on me.

Wicker is the most skilled kisser, but Lex is by far the sweetest.

He cradles my jaw as he deepens it, his tongue rough and slick as it meets mine. It’s all too easy to get swept up in it, opening up for him, but when my hand goes for his hair, he snags my wrist, pulling back.

“No more secret deliveries,” he says, his voice low and gruff—meant only for me. “From now on, I’m the only one who gives these to you. Understand?”

Dazed, I offer him a slow nod, blinking my eyes into focus when he pulls back.

Behind him, Pace is wearing his bomber jacket and dark jeans, eyes pink-rimmed in the special way that suggests he’s been hitting a vape pen. Even stoned, he looks intense, his dark eyes fixed on my mouth. “I got you this,” he says, extending an envelope.

The nervousness returns. Aside from the public humiliations, my Princes haven’t bothered with public favors since the deposits stopped, and even those were usually humiliations in their own right. I’m thinking of the necklace Pace gave me a few months ago—the collar—as I tentatively rip open the envelope.

Cheery pink text on the card declares, ‘Princess for a day!’

If only.

My stomach drops when I see the name of Adeline’s spa. “What’s this?”

Pace pushes his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat. “Adeline is shitting her pants about what happened, so she wants to make it right. You’ll get a full hair treatment. Masks and trims and whatever-the-hell.” At my worried gaze, he frowns, rocking back on his heels. “Don’t look so fucked up about it. I can even come with you this time. Nothing is going onto that hair that I don’t personally approve of.”

“Oh.” I glance down at the card, biting my lip. Taking the other girls out of the equation, it really had been a lush experience. “Okay,” I decide, slipping the card back into the envelope. “But only if you’ll come with me.”

Pace blinks, his eyes locking with mine. There’s a long pause, and then, “Yeah?” He sounds as skeptical as I was about the coffee.

“You’re going to be watching anyway,” I muse, tucking the envelope away. “I’d rather feel ‘watched over’ than ‘spied on.’”

His head jerks back, more of those rapid blinks happening. “Really?” It’s as if this thought had never occurred to him, the difference between feeling protected and feeling hunted.

Before I can elaborate, Wicker lets out a huff, shoving him aside. “Here,” he says, throwing a paper bag into my lap. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

My eyes flick to Lex, but he just gives me a knowing look, dipping his chin in a nod.

Okay. So whatever is in here probably won’t kill me.