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One coin, two sides.

“Is that so?” he asks, eyes tightening at the corners. “You still think you know me.”

“You still hate all the pretense,” I say, noticing the way his gaze keeps slumping toward my cleavage. “All the pomp and circumstance–it bores you to tears. But you’re still willing to make sacrifices just to please your father.”

“That’s the thing about parents,” he says, spinning me around. Across the room, I see Pace watching us carefully, tracking my every move. Or so he thinks. “They know you even less than the people they’re forcing you to form attachments to.”

“Really.” My voice is dry and cold. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tilts his head until his mouth is close to my ear. “It means that your mother was CC’ed on the email we sent the Dukes, so she’s going to see exactly what you are to us. Worse than a whore. A traitor to everyone, good for nothing but being stuffed full and thrown away.”

We’re not dancing anymore, my feet stuck like glue to the floor as my heart lodges in my throat.

Lex tucks my hair behind my ear, trailing his fingers down my cheek to the column of my neck. “My only regret is that she’ll never get to hear how you always beg for it, willing to do anything to feel a cock deep inside.”

I jolt back like I’ve been shocked. “You’re bluffing,” I say, even though the words are more of a hope than a certainty.

And from the dark, twisted smirk he gives me, he knows it. “I have this whole theory, you see. Nature or nurture. Are we who we become because of our DNA? Or does how we’re raised determine our character and temperament? To what degree?” His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I’m bombarded with flashes of us, eyes meeting, sharing breaths, our lips against one another’s. He pitches forward to whisper, “I hope she cried when she realized how much of a whore you’ve become.”

In the end, I’m grateful for it.

Because Lex Ashby is someone I could have loved.

Until right this second.

I tear myself away, giving a loud clap to the room. “Can I have your attention, please?” I call out, my voice more even than it has any right to be.

“What are you doing?” he asks, clinging to my fingers.

I turn to flash him my iciest grin. “Oh, I have something special for my favorite Prince tonight.”

His eyes narrow into hateful slits. “Do you, now?”

“It’s a Valentine’s Day gift.” I tug him with me, leading him to the front of the room. “A gift for all of you, in fact.”

I know I should be nervous–I can see King Ashby in the corner, cavorting with their hockey coach–but I’m not. In fact, as the King’s gaze shifts to me, I’ve never felt more serene, even offering Tommy Wright’s girlfriend a grin as I step up before the crowd.

Without having to do more than clear my throat, the dancing stops. The orchestra’s sweet melody fades into silence. In the back, Pace is shifting, eyes darting around, as if searching for a threat. Wicker, currently bringing an hors d'oeuvres to Colby Harker’s widow, halts in his steps, turning to peer at me through the crowd.

I lace my fingers, hands folded in front of me. “As your Princess, I’d like to thank you all for coming.” There’s a brief, quiet, dainty applause, and I gesture to Lex, who’s still at the front of the audience, brows pulled down into a deep scowl. “I’d like to dedicate tonight to my Princes. There have never been three men more deserving of what you’re about to see. For weeks, they’ve given me a home here. I mean,” laughing, my hand flutters at my chest, “no door is closed to me in the Purple Palace. Never has a girl felt so welcome–so cherished–in the home of her intendeds.”

In the audience, some of the girls ‘aww’, but within them, I also see the cruel, heartless men who derived such pleasure from degrading me. Men who are made to follow. Men who want strong, capable leaders.

“So what can I tell you about this generation of Princes?” I smile primly at the crowd. “For one, you should all know that Pace snores.” There’s a pause before they all give a surprised little laugh, and I nod along, all long-sufferingly. “And Wicker… well.” Shrugging, I joke, “What can be said about Wicker Ashby that isn't already written on a bathroom stall, am I right?” The next round of laughter is colored by discomfort, eyes seeking Wicker out in the crowd. He’s dropped the plate of food, glowering up at me. I hold out a palm, gesturing to his brother, his amber eyes like lasers. “And then there’s Lex. You know, Lex was the first Prince I really felt comfortable with. It was probably just his forward nature. Plus, those hands?” I whistle. “Cold as ice, but super skilled.”

Even as Lex shifts awkwardly, a few of the girls share glances, which tells me all I need to know about his history in the frat.

Sighing, I go on, “But tonight is about love. And what is love, really?” I ask, pacing toward the orchestra. “Well, we’re in East End, where love means looking at the person next to you and thinking… ‘Hey, I wouldn't mind procreating with this idiot.’” As the round of nervous titters that follow spreads around the room, I look anywhere but at the King in the corner. “But I want you to know that I’m not procreating with idiots. No. In fact, my Princes are exceedingly bright. And so tough, too. For example…” Sweeping a hand, I gesture to the screen behind me, currently filled with floating hearts, and text that happily declares, “To create is to reign!” “I’ve assembled this little tribute for you all. It’s a true testament to what your Princes are.” Smirking, I pull the little remote from my clutch, pressing a button.

The screen blinks, and suddenly, Ashby’s office is on the screen.

“This isn’t about deposits, Whitaker. This is about Lagan giving me his word, and then failing to fulfill it. He’s allowed a weakness to stand in the way of his purpose.” Then, Ashby commands, “Fireplace.”

Casually, I watch Lex as he realizes what’s coming, his mouth parting in shock. From someone so composed and aloof as him, it’s truly a sight to see his face pale. ”What–” he says haltingly. “How…?”

He barely even notices me moving next to him, straining up to whisper in his ear. “If you’re wondering how it feels to have my friends and family see me so degraded–so fucking humiliated and broken?” I smile as his eyes turn to dark vacancy, the first strike of the whip resounding around the room. “It’s alittlelike this.”

On the screen, Ashby is hissing, “Four lashings for each of your deposits. And an additional four to get you to the same level as your brother.Be thankful I’m not holding you to Whitaker’s standards.”