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My fingers tighten around the railing. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Ashby gives a bland hum. “I’m aware that the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal. If anyone’s apologizing, it should be me–for failing to give you Princes who understand the way to a woman’s womb. They weren’t bred for Royalty, you see.” He meets my gaze, a shiver of disgust rolling down my spine at the gleam in his eyes. “It’s divine irony that creation is a young man’s game. The same youth responsible for their virility also makes them ill-equipped to wield it. I’ll be more present this go around. Make sure that my boys are doing their part.”

The thought makes me recoil in such a primal, fundamental way that I have to clench down the urge to physically shudder. There’s no way to read those words that doesn’t invoke repulsion.

“That won’t be necessary,” I rush out, surging with a shocking flare of defensiveness. Not for myself, but for them. “My Princes and I are going to make it work.”

“I hope you’re right,” he says, not looking very assured. “Am I to understand that the creation schedule will resume soon?”

Recognizing this as a roundabout way of asking whether or not I’m done bleeding, I shift uncomfortably. “Er… yes, sir.”

My period stopped last night.

I haven’t told anyone yet.

“Excellent.” There’s an odd shift to his eyes. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that you’ve been spending time in the solarium during your… break.”

I freeze, the tickle of panic stealing my breath. I force out, “I have. I hope that’s not a problem. Danner said—”

He waves his hand. “It’s not a problem at all. On the contrary, I think it’s delightful to have a Princess breathing life back into such a barren place.” Despite the encouragement, there’s a tightness to his grin that makes me nervous. “If there’s anything you need–tools, seeds, labor–call on Danner to use my accounts.”

I nod. “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

Then, startlingly, he reaches out to press the back of his hand against my cheek. I go stock still, breath trapped in my lungs as he rests it there for a suspended moment. “You’re such a good girl, Verity. So poised and obedient. I knew you were the right choice.”

The words fall from my lips like bile. “I’m here to serve.” His eyebrow rises and I make the addendum. “I’m here to create.”

“There’s no better child than one born from duty.” His smile is unnerving as he pushes a curl behind my ear, gaze falling to my belly.

“Then I should do mine,” I say, springing back with wide, panicked eyes. “I’m going to go wish my Prince luck in his fight.”

Luckily, Ashby just chuckles. “I suppose it’s one of the better aspects of this tradition,” he says, nodding toward the ring. “Go on, then. Give my boy something worth fighting for. A win tonight would be fortuitous to us all, don’t you think?”

I can’t escape fast enough, my heart hammering as I jog down the rickety steps. There’s been this fear in my mind–more like a calculation–that Rufus Ashby may be the type of King who takes liberties with his house girls. Up until now, I haven’t felt it from him. If anything, Ashby has treated me a little like a well-groomed Pomeranian.

But perhaps he’s getting impatient. Perhaps–I allow the shudder to roll over me now–he’s willing to take matters into his own hands.

His praise prickles in my ear like thorns.

Poised.

Obedient.

Good.

I don’t stop, pushing through the crowds at the concessions stand, gliding past couples making out against the walls, ducking around people not-so-discreetly dealing Scratch in the corners. I finally make it to the back hallway where Danner stands ever silent and stoic.

“Princess,” he greets me.

“Sir.” I stop in front of him, catching my breath. “I have a favor to ask.”

The way Danner straightens is almost imperceptible. “I am, as ever, at your service.”

I inhale, hating that it’s Pace’s fight—Pace’s day. He’ll be the hardest to crack. Taking a deep breath, I begin, “How fast do you think you can drive?”

The thingabout the gym is that it’s so much more than a gym.

I basically grew up in the back halls, to the scent of sweat and adrenaline, the sounds of grunting and flesh-on-flesh. But there was also laughter. Men, five times my size, happy to lift me into the ring to play-spar with me, pretending to be taken down at the smallest nudge, falling over as if they’d been shot. Cutsluts a decade older than me, lifting me onto the vanities and curling my hair into red ringlets. Family dinners, always raucous and warm. There was paperwork for my mom, filing and scheduling. I never had to be asked to clean up at the end of the day, I just picked up the broom and got to work.