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“Creating,” I clarify, feeling my cheeks heat. ”Intimately. And even that’s tenuous, at best.“ Shaking my head, I say the words that I’ve been avoiding for months now. “I can’t do it. I’ll humiliate our family. I’ll make a fucking joke out of us.”

Father stares at me unblinkingly, putting down his phone. “I’m glad to hear you finally say that, Lex.” He reaches down to slide open his desk drawer, pinning me with his gaze. “Sometimes, our greatest strength is the ability to acknowledge our weaknesses.”

With a smooth, measured motion, he places a clear baggy on the desktop.

It has a serpent printed on it.

I swallow around the sudden constriction in my throat. “What’s that for?”

Father raises his chin. “You know what it’s for.”

“No.” I can feel Pace’s gaze on the back of my head like a branding iron. “Lex,no.”

“It’s not your choice to make,” Father snaps, effectively shutting that down. A look passes between them, but I don’t see it. My eyes are glued to the white powder beneath the plastic. “You’re strong enough to face up to your weaknesses, Lagan. Now we need you to be strong enough to overcome them.”

The only thing big enough to tear my stare away is the feeling of Wicker turning to look at me. I meet his gaze, stomach twisting at the numbness in his stare.

He already looks disappointed in me. “Lex.”

“I’ll need it to do this,” I insist, palms feeling damp.

“Bullshit,” he says, blinking that bloody eye. “You don’t even know if it’ll work.”

“Yes, I do.” I know it like I know the earth orbits the sun. I know it like I knew Wicker and Pace belonged to me, and like I know Verity does too. I just can’t face up to it.

But I can face up to this.

“I can beat it,” I tell him, holding his gaze. “I beat it once, I can do it again.”

“Father,” Wicker says, turning his stare to the drugs on the desk. Pain and regret ooze off of him. “I’m the one she betrayed. Let me be the one to inflict the punishment.”

Coldly, Father holds his eye as he opens the baggy, emptying a fine white line onto the polished wooden surface. “The criteria of a Royal Cleansing are clear. It requires all three Princes.” The look he sends me brooks no argument.

Required.

A part of me suddenly realizes that this was never a choice. The pretense of me having a decision was a humiliation in and of itself. A show for my brothers. It’s proof that Pace can endure days down in that cell, that Wicker can endure being treated like a piece of meat, that I can withstand lash after lash, and it doesn’t matter if those punishments are ineffective.

There’s infinite power over meright here.

A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. Not because I don't want it, but because I do. God, the anticipation is as painful as a lash from Father’s whip. Stepping forward, I ignore the way Wicker lurches toward me–sharp, like an instinct.

I bend, taking the first snort, letting the delicious, addictive feeling wash over me. I taste the salty chemical of it in the back of my throat before I’ve even pushed upright. “Fuck,” I mutter as I swallow it down, fingers tweaking my nostril. I’d almost forgotten that flavor, acrid and sour, and how it’d be followed by a sudden rush of heat. “Fuck.”

Father re-seals the baggy. “You have one hour to prepare. I expect you to be thorough and exact. I expect you to beruthlessandprecise.” He looks between us. “I expect you to be Princes–to beAshbys–but above all, I expect you to show no mercy.”

The three of us look at each other, and I realize that no matter what just went down here, that’s the one thing we all agree on. I see it now, the Viper Scratch flowing wildly through my veins. It makes everything clearer, sharper, intellectual high definition.

Everything I’ve come to like about Verity Sinclaire was a lie.

“Wait,” he says as we move to leave. Holding out the baggy, Father says, “Take the rest with you. Use it.”

I look between the Scratch and him, still rubbing the powder from my nose, swallowing down the bitterness. A better man would tell him to shove it and turn his back.

I reach out and grab it.

Father hasn’t just given me an excuse–givenusan excuse–he’s given us permission.

And that’s so much more dangerous.