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I’m only barely recovering, gasping shuddering breaths, when a low, metallic whine whips my attention to the outer room. Frantically, I begin closing out all the directories, my heart lodged in my throat as I hide the little bin with my puke in it.

“I know you’re in there,” a low, ominous voice calls. “Come out.”

Frozen, I stare with terror at the open door, wondering if I can wait him out. Hide somewhere. Find another little, dark nook in the wall that can take me elsewhere. But if these recordings tell me anything, it’s that there’s no place, in or out of this palace, to hide.

In the end, I can do nothing but rise mechanically to my feet, shuffling out into the dim sitting room.

King Ashby is in the armchair, clad in a long, silk robe. “Everything my sons know, I’ve taught them.” He lifts a foot, resting his ankle casually on his knee. He’s wearing striped pajamas, which somehow startles me nearly as bad as the knowledge I’ve been busted. Sometimes it’s too easy to forget this man lives here with us. He tilts his head. “Did you honestly believe Pace is the only one monitoring security in this house?”

I push my hand into my roiling stomach. “I’m sorry, sir. I was–”

“Snooping,” he says, voice as sharp as a whip. “Trying to find something to send back to your Dukes. Is that it?”

The panic is swallowed by dread and certainty, and I repeat my mantra.

What are they gonna do? Kill me?

Deflating, I shrug. “The opposite actually. I was going to delete the video.” That was the idea. If they left here right after what they did to me, then there’s a possibility that the Dukes–my family–haven't seen it yet.

Ashby arches a brow. “And did you?”

“I couldn’t get in,” I admit.

His grin is joyless, patronizing. “Even if you had, it wouldn’t matter. All our files are backed up. Plus,” he sighs, tightening his robe, “it’s already been sent.”

My heart sinks. “What?”

He clarifies, “The video of your cleansing. The Dukes received it two nights ago.” On his knee, his foot gives a rhythmic little shake. “It’s been quite the controversy, I’m afraid. A lot of posturing and petty threats.”

Hot tears sting my eyes as the hopelessness drags me under. I’m assaulted with the sudden vision of them watching it. Was it just Sy? Or was it all the Dukes? Lavinia? Did the whole of DKS need to see what I’ve been reduced to? The cutsluts?

My mother?

The sob claws free, and I struggle to push it back in, pressing a palm to my mouth.

Ashby’s lips form a grim line. I’m not expecting his quiet, gentle voice when he asks, “You understand why your actions could have killed Whitaker, don’t you?”

I suck in a hiccuping breath, forcing the anguish down. “Because he’s the true Baron legacy,” I say, sniffling. “It makes him a target.”

He pins me with his eerie eyes, nodding. “More than you could even conceive. The Barons’ enemies would find it advantageous to wipe out the last Kayes heir. Likewise, the Baron King’s faithfuls are fanatical madmen. They’d eliminate Wicker as a show of devotion to their King. And to anyonenotdevoted…” The stare he gives me is heavy with significance. “Only two men in this town are capable of taking the title of Baron King, and our dear Wicker is the first.”

First?

Dumbly, I ask, “Who’s the second?”

If the probing nature of the question angers Ashby, then he does a good job of deflecting it. “Someone just as ill-suited to the position, I’m afraid.” His expression suddenly shifts, a frown etching his forehead, and then he stands. “I must admit, it surprised me. I thought for sure Pace would be the first to trust you with something so sensitive. He’s paranoid, but does tend to attach himself to anything that’ll attach itself back. Wicker, however.” Tsking, he approaches me, shaking his head. “You must have done quite a number on him. He’s never let himself get that close to a girl before.”

His dark eyes peer down at me. Within them, I can see perfectly clear the man who took that whip to his son’s back. His gaze is worse than empty.

It’s as penetrating as a knife.

“It’s why I let Pace believe he was showing me that video of your treachery,” he says, “when in actuality, I was showing it to them.” At my slack expression, he grins, the evil smile making a shiver run up my back. “However closely you think my son is watching you, rest assured, I’m watching you ten times closer.”

I gape through tear-blurred eyes, my question emerging like a plea. “Why?”

“Why did I order the Royal cleansing instead of dealing with you myself?” He holds my gaze for a long, unsteady moment. “Well, I can’t have them feeling too attached to you, can I?” I’m too stunned to do more than stand stiffly when he reaches out, gathering my hand into his palm. “Nor can I have you feeling too attached to them.”

Again, I wonder, “Why?” But I can already make a few guesses.