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Huffing, I relent, “It’s a flower. Not a poisonous flower. Not a disgusting flower. Just a flower.”

She goes still. “Really?”

“Yes.”

I can tell she’s hoping for more. The truth is, I don’t tell her because the flower isn’t even about her. I just think it’ll be ironic to have it growing in the palace’s solarium. If she knew the intent behind it, she’d hesitate to see it through.

“Okay,” she says, nestling down into her pillow. “I’ll plant them and wait.”

“You do that,” I grouse, throwing my leg over hers. It’s not long though before that nagging thought begins picking at me again. Maybe it’s the dark, or the rhythmic way her chest rises and falls against my arm, or justher, all solid and sweet-smelling and obscenely comfortable. But eventually, I whisper, “Hey, Red?”

“Mm?”

It takes me a second to form the question. “Am I… too big?”

She groans. “Wicker, it’s too late for dick jokes.”

“No, I mean my muscles,” I say, frowning. “Do they make me look… worse?”

There’s a beat of stillness, and then her head turns like she’s trying to catch my gaze. “Is this about what Ashby said to you a couple of weeks ago?” When I don’t answer, she turns a little more, a little divot in her brow. “Because he was wrong. Sy and Killian Payne are the most muscular people I know, and look at them. They’re Kings.”

I scoff. “Yeah, they’re really rolling in pussy.”

“They could be,” she insists, her fingers brushing against my forearm. “Muscles mean strength, Wicker. Power. Security. Protection. And that’s hot as hell.”

My lips twist into a wicked smirk. “Oh, really now?” It’s all too easy to skate my palm up, getting a nice handful of her tit.

“That’s what I get for inflating your ego,” she says, yanking my hand back down and turning away. “Go to sleep.” But minutes later, just as my eyes flutter shut, she inhales. “Your body is a work of beauty, Wicker. If you had a heart to match it…”

She never finishes the sentence.

It’s still ringing in my ears as I nod off.

* * *

I waketo the smell of lavender in my nose, my cock hard as a rock, and the incessant sound of rattling across the room. Groaning, I mutter, “Fucking hell, Lex.”

At least twice a week, I have to take my brother back to his room. He’s less combative and violent now that his dick is functional again, but it’s still dangerous for him to be roaming around alone at night.

Unwrapping myself from Verity’s warm body, I get up, rubbing my face as I walk to the door. “Bro,” I say, twisting the knob. “I need my beauty rest just like everyone else.”

But when I swing the door open, the hallway is empty. I peer toward the other bedrooms, the shadowy area lit by a small light down by the stairwell.

“What the hell?” I mutter, wondering if I dreamed the whole thing. Behind me, I hear the rattle again, and I turn, waking up a little more. My eyes land on the windows.

In the bed, Verity sits up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, go back to bed,” I say, eyeing the way my jersey falls off one of her shoulders. But a flash of light from the window has my head snapping toward it. Not lightning, but a beam—like a flashlight.

Just as the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, I hear footsteps racing down the hall. A dark silhouette skids to a stop in the doorway, hand racking the slide of a pistol. “Code purple.”

“What?” I ask, trying to catch up.

Pace, eyes thin and tense, begins snapping his fingers in my face. “Code fucking purple!”

Any lingering sleep is gone as I spring into action, rushing over to Verity. She’s more awake now, forehead furrowed. “What’s a code purple?”

Yanking her out of the bed, I lean over and press the center jewel in the headboard with my thumb, and then two other, smaller jewels. A panel slides open to reveal a small alcove. I push Verity into it.