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Rosi looked so defeated. So broken.

That’s the only victory I care about tonight.

Tommy Wright’s voice carries over the crowd. “Whatever the Princess did to get that public dicking-down should have happened weeks ago if that was going to be the result.”

“What did you say?” A bar stool hits the floor seconds after Lex’s voice cuts through the music and revelry.

Tommy’s grin half-slips when he comes face-to-face with my brother’s stone-cold expression. The room adopts a nervous hush. “Your brothers played like gods, Ashby. The whole team did. Like men who’d conquered and claimed. Just saying, maybe we need to have a go at your girl before every tournament.”

Lex’s hand snaps out and grabs Tommy by the collar, eyes swirling with that same edginess I’ve seen in them since that white powder went up his nose. His fingers twist, knuckles bearing into this throat. “What. Did. You. Say?”

Tommy gulps. “N-n-nothing.”

I see the flicker in Lex’s eye, the one that grows dark and focused down in the dungeon. He could end Tommy’s life in two moves.

“That’s what I thought.” Lex pushes him back, releasing him with a thrust of the hand.

“Jesus,” Tommy says, rubbing his throat, “you’re a lot nicer on the Scratch.”

Crack!

It’s Wicker’s fist that slams into Tommy’s cheek. The second string forward shakes his head, taking a second to recover.

“What the fuck!” Tommy charges, shoving Wicker in the chest. My brother doesn’t budge, just gives a cocky, terrifying grin and rolls his shoulders.

My eyes meet Lex’s across the bar and the two of us are on the move in the space of a heartbeat. “Knock it off!” I shout, using the voice preferred by guards during a breakout. “Hands down.”

Lex drags Wicker off toward a booth in the back corner, but I stay to square up to Tommy. “Mention our Princess one more time, and you’ll end up without a tongue. Got it?”

Decker has a hand pressed against Tommy’s shoulder, nudging him across the bar. He wisely answers for his friend. “He’s got it, don’t you, bro?”

Tommy nods, the heat of anger still flickering in his eyes, but he lets Decker lead him away.

I grab three glasses and a pitcher of beer off one of the tables and walk over to my brothers. “Jesus Christ.” I slide them each a glass and fill them to the top. “Are you two done?”

“Maybe,” Wicker says, grabbing the beer and pressing the cool side against his lip. “Fucking douche.”

I take a moment to look over Lex. There are red marks on his arms but nothing that’ll scar, and I don’t miss the way his left eye twitches occasionally. “Are you okay? Because you’re looking about five seconds from a relapse.”

“I wish.” He runs his hands through his hair, catching the band and letting the tresses fall to his shoulders. “I’d like to be fucking blitzed when the next part comes.”

“What part?” Wick asks.

“The shitty part,” Lex says, retying his hair. “The part where we have to face her and keep going, like she didn’t put your life on the line.”

Lex is a lot like me when it comes to hurting marks. Once we step into the dungeon, they’re faceless, nameless. A job–nothing else.

What we did to Verity is different.

We didn’t mean for it to be. Looking around the table, I see it in both of them in a way I never would have with Bruce. Before we were given the title of Prince, we watched or participated in a Royal Ceremony and then moved on. Those girls weren’t our problem. Ourduty. There’s no getting out of this. The day we get back, the schedule will resume, our deposits will be made, and ultimately, if she doesn’t get knocked up, there will be consequences.

“So we have to keep fucking our traitor,” Wicker mutters, tipping the glass to his lips. “How exactly is that going to work?”

“A lot like it did the first time,” I muse, glaring down at my phone. I’ve been tracking her movements, but she hasn’t left the Palace once. “Maybe the two of you forgot she was a narc, but I never did. We’ll have to keep her under lock and fucking key.”

“Fantastic.” Lex pushes his glass away. “Maybe the next video you bring to Father will put her into the dungeon. I prefer my maiming to be done without witnesses.”

My stomach sinks. “Lex,” I lean my elbows on the table, “I had no fucking idea Father would force you to—”