Page 193

She’s confused.

Even with the blindfold covering her eyes, I can tell that much.

Stella, her handmaiden, is the one to walk her in, and she looks jumpy, glancing around the room with wide, nervous eyes.

Verity pauses, tilting her head. “... Pace?”

She thinks she’s here for another conjugal visit.

“I’m here,” Pace says, but he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at the camera mounted on the tripod. It sits between us and the rows of chairs, filled with forty PNZ members. The three of us are positioned in front of the throne, Wicker in the middle, me to his right.

I’m so juiced that I can’t stand still, my finger tapping an errant rhythm on my thigh. My jaw aches from the way I’m grinding my teeth, but I can’t help it. My chest is light, but somehow also full. My veins zing with energy, mind racing through a dozen thoughts per millisecond.

Her shoulders sink in relief at the sound of Pace’s voice, which is actually pretty funny.

He looks like he wants to fucking murder her.

The worst part about it is that he probablydoesn’twant to murder her. That’s where Verity Sinclaire fucked up. If she’d stabbed us in the back like this a month ago, it would have been so easy to wipe her ass off the map. But she’s smarter than that. She got close–almost close enough to matter–and she used it against us.

Wicker’s never told anyone but me and Pace about who his real father is. Him telling her? That’s fucking terrifying. It means she clawed her way in. It means she could know more. It means she’s an even bigger threat than I ever imagined.

“Take it off,” Wicker tells the handmaid, jerking his chin toward the blindfold.

“Wicker?” Verity says, blindly searching for the source of his voice. “What’s going on? We aren’t in the basement.”

“Astute observation,” I utter, watching her head jerk toward the sound of my voice.

Slowly, the handmaid unknots the silk covering Verity’s eyes, letting it slip away. She gives a series of blinks, orienting herself, before her gaze lands on us.

Immediately she springs for Pace, grabbing his face in her hands. “Oh my god, are you okay? No one would tell me anything about–” Her words cut off when she realizes he’s not looking at her, his stony expression fixed on the room at her back. She stiffens, palms slipping from his jaw as she realizes where she is.

The throne room.

It sinks into her green eyes like a pit of black shadow, and she shrinks back. For the first time, she turns, jolting in shock at the sight that greets her.

It’s almost funny how she backs into us, like she’s expecting us to protect her from the room of men.

“What’s going on?” she asks, voice reedy and panicked. “Wicker, why are we–”

“You can go now,” Wicker tells the handmaid, jerking his chin at the door. She’s frozen, looking reluctant to abandon her Princess, but when Pace shoots her a hot glare, she turns and scurries out of the door, closing it behind her.

Verity flinches at the sound.

“This is a Royal Cleansing,” I announce, unable to stay silent any longer. I feel the heat of her stare on me as I address the room–the camera. My fists flex and release, flex and release. “Our Princess has broken the covenants of our house. Covenants that she agreed and swore to, in this very room.”

“Wait,” she says, her eyes zipping across the sea of faces. “I didn’t break any–”

“She’s disloyal,” I bark, shooting her a warning look. “Fraternizing with other members of the Royalty behind our backs, and sharing sensitive information with them–information that endangers the lives of your Princes.”

Her face slackens, paling. “Lex. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but–”

“Even right now,” I say, gesturing to her, “she’s lying.”

Her mouth clicks shut. “Tell me what this is about.”

“Lavinia Lucia,” Pace sneers, finally meeting her gaze. “Or did you really think there’s anywhere in this town I can’t watch you?”

She blanches. I can practically see the gears turning in her head as her green eyes search our faces. She’s wondering if we can really know.