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We both look over at him, and I take him in for the first time. His hair is rumpled and there’s a smear of lipstick on his white collar. I can smell lingering perfume on him—a specific scent that conjures up wealthy grandmothers—all the way across the room.

“Lex’s dick is only half broken,” he walks in and flops down on the couch, looking tired. “It works perfectly fine when he’s asleep.”

“You want to let him out of the cage,” I say, catching on.

“No,” Lex says, brows snapping together in a scowl. “Absolutely fuckingnot. I almost choked her out last time. If you think my punishment was bad for not fucking her, what do you think it’s going to look like when I do that?”

“A choked-out girl can still get knocked up,” Wicker says, inspecting his nails. “Nowhere in the covenants does it say she has to be conscious.”

Lex barks, “I’m not talking about her being unconscious. I’m talking about accidentally killing her!”

“No one’s dying.” He rolls his eyes. “We’ll supervise.”

“Maybe it’s not the worst idea,” I say, sitting in my chair and spinning it back to face the monitors. A couple keystrokes pulls up the footage from the night he got loose. “It’s either that, or let me and Wick make the deposits for you.”

Lex’s expression is hard, every muscle tense. I don’t need him to speak to know what he’s thinking: this failure? It’s eating him alive. And the part he won’t admit is that it’s not just about failing as a Prince. It’s not even really about failing as an Ashby.

It’s about failing as a man.

“Maybe,” Wick adds, “your cock just needs to feel a tight pussy wrapped around it to remember how good it is.”

I press play on the video, and Wicker rises to come over and get a better view. In silence, the three of us watch the scene unfold. The room is dark, so it’s grainy, but there’s no mistaking Lex as he rolls out of bed and sits on the edge. His erection isn’t noticeable until he stands, tenting out the front of his boxers.

Behind me, Lex lunges for the keyboard. “Turn it off.”

“No,” Wick says, batting him off like a hockey puck. “You need to see what you’re capable of.”

On screen, he stumbles around the room a bit before gaining his footing. It takes him two tries to get out the door, but he finally manages to turn the knob. The camera view flips to the hallway where he stumbles down the wing, toward the Princess’ bedroom. I’ve already seen this before, when I compiled all the clips into one fluid scene, but it’s the first time Wicker and Lex see him enter the room, standing motionlessly beside her bed as Verity shuffles out, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

His reaction is an explosion of chaos.

The struggle is intense, and I sense Lex behind me as the fight intensifies.

“Jesus,” Wicker mutters as Lex’s hands clamp around Verity’s throat. Even on video, his intentions are clear. He wants to fuck her. Physically and mentally that’s all he wants. He doesn’t stop until the maid cracks him over the head with a vase, giving her the chance to escape to my room.

From one predator to another.

“It’s too dangerous,” he says, as if it’s the final word.

I look between my brothers. “It’s her or you, Lex. What do you think Father will do next if you don’t up your deposits?” I point at the screen. “Her, we can protect, but you?”

His back tells that tale. Not just the current scars, but the road map of battle wounds from all the beatings that took place before. I see it in his eyes when it clicks, the reason he needs to do this, how important it is for him to take this step. Wicker and I don’t just need Lex to do this for him.

We need him to do it for us.

22

Verity

My bedroom usedto be worse at night.

Every shadow was a lurking figure. Every flicker of the dying fireplace embers danced of danger. Every skeletal gold filigree stretched like fingers, reaching out to grab me. The thick bedding was a shroud, as if I were laying on the bed of an enormous grave whose arms were waiting to pull me under, swallow me whole.

I’m not quite sure when it changed, I just know that it has. Tonight, I walk in and see comfort in the shadows, playfulness in the dancing embers. The plush expanse of the bed has transformed from a grave to a tranquil ocean of silks.

This feeling is far more terrifying than the old ones, because it’s deceiving. Somewhere in this room, a camera is watching me. Perhaps even several. The lock on the door may as well be a mere decoration, considering my Princes can enter at will. These four walls and towering ceiling couldn’t remotely be considered safe.

But when I fall into bed, all I can think about is how tired I am. How exhausted my body feels. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to use my body for something other than the aching disappointments of their daily deposits, but I’d spent most of the afternoon and evening out in the solarium, clearing weeds and branches, and then dragging them to the bare copse of trees at the back of the garden.