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It’s Father who pushes through the door, and I scramble to my feet, making my back straight, even though it screams in protest. Three nights sleeping on this floor has given me a god awful crick.

“Father,” I say, fighting the urge to fling myself at the bars. It stings to consider it, but in times like these, I think I’d even warm up to him if it meant having some company down here.

It wouldn’t though. The only way out is through his approval.

Frank passes him, unlocking the cell door while Father sits in the metal chair Lex used when interrogating Bruce. He nods to the torture seat. “Sit.”

My body feels alien as I walk across the room. I ease down, knowing the metal seat will be cold through the thin layer of my shorts. This is how I know what it’s like to be in the chair. What it feels like to be under the harsh light hanging above, the scent of bleach and the cold tile floor under my feet.

This is how every punishment ends.

I wait for him to speak and when he does, he asks, “Do you understand why it’s important to keep your brother level on the ice?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you? Because it’s not only a hardship on the team to be down a player, but it meant Whitaker couldn’t fulfill other obligations.”

I know these fundamentals are important to Father. It’s why we’re so close. Why we share a bed and such small quarters. Why we play not just hockey but on the same line. It’s important that we’re cohesive in every aspect of our lives. It’s why, when one of us fails, another is punished.

We are one.

Which is why I’m well-fucking-aware of the obligations Wicker was to attend to, and no matter what, it was worth it not to put him through that trauma again. That doesn’t mean I don’t want out of here though, and back upstairs to our bed and my videos… well, Effie.

“It’s my fault,” I say, reciting the lines I’ve prepared. “I should have kept him from losing his temper.”

“The boys struggled while you were imprisoned. They’re more settled now that you’re back.” His fingers peak into a triangle. “Together you provide a strong foundation of support. Broken apart…” He drops his thumbs. “Well, then you’re just individuals. Royals were meant to be in threes. That’s why there are three in every fraternity. Once a leader has ascended to the position of King, there can be one. And still…. we have to have the balance of those below us to hold us upright.”

“I won’t let them, or you, down again.”

“I should hope not.” He steps in front of me, hand gripping my chin. My skin recoils at his touch—any touch—other than my brothers’ and more recently, the Princess’. “You’re my eyes and ears, Pace, and until I’m sure you’re ready for that responsibility, I can’t allow you back upstairs.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No.”

“You’re saying the right things,” he starts toward the door, “but I’m not sensing you mean it.”

“Wait!”

He doesn’t stop, gesturing to Frank to open the door.

“Wait! I have something you need to see,” I blurt. “Something you’llwantto see.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Holding back on me son?”

Sweat coats my back. “No. I told Lex days ago I needed to talk to you. I had the information then.”

His lip curves, like he’s assuming this is some kind of Hail Mary. He’s not wrong. “Go on, tell me what’s so important.”

“I planted a bug at the Dukes’ gym last week—at the Fury.”

“A bug?” I see the interest flicker in his eyes. My old man, he loves to spy. Lives for it.

“In the cutslut lounge. I figured we needed a way to monitor the Princess during her weekly visits.”

“How innovative.” He considers for a moment. “Have you found anything of use?”

“Just that the Princess has ties to the Duchess. They’re friendly. It’s not much but…”

But,I can tell, looking at Father, it’s enough to get me out of here.