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I know from the flare of white-hot fury in their eyes that this is going to be bad.

“Get your fucking hands off of her,” Sy demands, voice low and deadly.

But Nick’s the one who breaks frame first. His face twists into something murderous at the accusation of kidnapping. The truth about how he won Lavinia is widely known, just as much as how hard she resisted it. “That stupid polo shirt you’re wearing is going to look so much better when it’s stained with your own goddamn blood.” Sy gets his hands on his brother before he lunges at Wicker. “You think you’re better than me?”

Wicker shrugs. “Obviously. That’s not really in question here.”

Nick strains against Sy’s taut, massive arms. “Then prove it. You may have beaten Bruce in the ring, but I will stomp your ass until you beg for fucking mercy.”

As if heeding a call, Pace pushes up his sleeves, revealing the intricate lines of his tattoos. He jerks his chin at Nick. “Give me a reason to go back to prison. I dare you.”

“Stop!” I shout, breaking away from Wicker to plant myself between them, arms held out. “They’re right, okay? I agreed to this.” I square my shoulders, trying to muster a resolve I don’t feel. “I received an invitation to the ball, and I decided to take it. I understood the consequences of that decision.” My lower body screams at that lie. Nowhere on the shiny gold foil invitation had it said that being crowned Princess would require me to have my hymen broken by some archaic dildo, only to then be contractually raped by one of these monsters. I take a deep breath and look the three Princes in the eye for the first time since last night. “Can I talk to them for a minute? Alone?” I add a quiet, begrudging, “Please?”

Wicker snaps, “Fat fucking chance,” but Lex rests his hand on his shoulder and gives him a firm squeeze.

“Five minutes.” Lex nods at a fountain twenty feet away. “We’ll be right there.”

Pace’s eyes flick to mine. “If you try anything, we’ll know.” My eyes follow his to the bank of cameras above. The eyes in the sky. “I’llknow.”

I watch them walk off, and when they’re a good distance away, I turn, trying to come up with the words to explain myself. But before I can, Remy has instantly closed the distance, taking my face between his hands. His hard eyes study me intently.

“Remy,” I ask, “what are you doing?”

“I’ve already found the red,” he seethes, snatching up my wrist. He holds it out, as if he’s showing me the cuts there, telling me something I didn’t already know. “Now, I’m looking for the orange,” he bites out, “because that’s the only fucking way this is happening.”

“They’re telling the truth.” I turn my hand, catching his finger in my palm. “I was invited, and I came here of my own free will. I promise.”

It’s so much worse than I could have imagined, watching Remy’s face sink as he steps back, releasing me. “So you’re East End now.” The words are harsh, even if the tone they’re given with is soft. “You know what they are, don’t you?” A hard, tense jaw gestures to the tiara on my head. “Everything in there is gold, Verity.Everything.”

He’s not being literal. “I know,” I tell him, hoping he’ll understand. “I’m not stupid. A lot of it’s a lie. But…”

Jesus, it’s hard–so hard not to just tell them the truth. That I’m doing this, in some ways, for them as much as me and the Monarchs. That I want to see Forsyth become the kind of place that doesn’t turn sweet boys like Remy into these hard, violent, distrusting men.

But I can’t.

“I know you,” Nick says, head shaking. “You’re not doing this for the money or the gifts, so there must besomething–”

“It’s the only available Royal position,” Sy tells his brother. There’s a sad surety in his eyes that I never thought would be reserved for me. “That’s it, isn't it? Verity, I know you were disappointed when we chose Lav—”

“No, I wasn’t,” I insist, but when his eyebrow lifts, I relent. “Okay, Iwas–for like a minute. But Lavinia is the most amazing Duchess, and she’s the best Queen for you. I really do believe that. Plus, I think we all know you guys view me more as a sister than… well, anything else.”

Sy shakes his head, still looking pissed. “Duchess isn’t the only place for you, Verity. You keep the cutsluts in line. They respect you. And you’re more familiar with the history of the club than anyone else, keeping track of all those dates and traditions.” He levels those blue eyes at me. “I’m pretty sure your mom is going to want to retire one day, and then who’s going to manage the club—”

“Or us,” Remy cuts in.

“—when she does?” Sy finishes.

In one rambling, run-on sentence, Simon Perilini just laid out my future. That would be my life with DKS. Wrangling cutsluts, managing Friday Night Fury, planning Family Dinners, and organizing charity events. It’s not a bad life, it’s just…

“I want to be bigger than that, Sy.” I take a deep breath. “When I got that invitation, I thought it was a joke, or some kind of inter-frat prank, and… I don’t know, maybe it still is, except…” I glance over my shoulder at the Princes, each of them watching us with alert eyes. “If it is, then those guys don’t seem in on it. Regardless, I saw it as an opportunity.” I turn back to the Dukes, trying to find the balance between truth and secrecy. “I don’t want to be the next Mama B, you guys. I want to be the next Lavinia. I want to do something that matters. Something that leaves a mark on this place. Something my mother has no control over.” I’m surprised to see Sy and Remy listening intently. Nick’s a few feet back, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the ground. “If anyone could understand, it should be you, Nick.”

His muscles flex, head tilting just so.

He’s pissed but listening. They trust me enough to do that, and in return, I want to tell them everything. About the meeting with Lavinia and Story, how this is part of something that will help all of Forsyth. But we agreed not to divulge any of this—not yet. It’s definitely not my place to tell them.

“Why does it have to be here?” Remy asks, fists curling as he gestures to the Princes. “Why does it have to be them?”

“Do you remember West End before Lavinia came?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. “Because I do. Cutsluts didn’t have a choice in entertaining the alumni. You know what that means, right?” Narrowing my eyes, I dare any of them to say otherwise. “Maybe I can be to East End what Lavinia was to me. Maybe there’s a girl out there who needs a voice in this Palace. I’m going to make sure she has one.”