Page 26

It’s as close to the truth as I can give, and while Remy still looks baffled, and Nick still hasn’t met my gaze, Sy gets it.

I can tell, because his eyes roll.

“What is it with West End and our insufferable martyrs?” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If this is what you want, Verity, then fine, we cangrudginglyallow it. But there are still matters to be hashed out.”

I frown. “Hashed out?”

“I can’t just let them have you,” he insists, voice quiet but certain. “Whatever you might think, you’re important to West End. We were going to make you Duchess at one point. What kind of King would I be if I turned my back and went home with nothing?”

I blink, his words surprising me in more ways than one. I never gave much thought to being important enough to require…

“Negotiations,” Sy says, nodding. “Between houses. They can have you, but we require a price.”

I look back over at the Princes’, our five minutes clearly up. “And if they don’t agree?”

Nick steps up, finally meeting my gaze. “Then the East and West go to war.”

5

Lex

Just one more day.

If I can make it just one more day, tomorrow will be better.

God knows it can’t be worse than today. I drag a palm down my face, trying to wake myself up as my foot hits the accelerator. We’re on the way to neutral territory–the courthouse–to negotiate with DKS. My father’s Cadillac leads the entourage, my truck in the middle, and Pace and Wicker are two cars behind me, driving a van with heavily tinted windows. I keep an eye on the rearview mirror, making sure the van is still there. The last thing we need is to lose the upper hand before we even get to the meeting.

We just need to stay awake long enough to get there.

After the ceremony last night, we’d been forced to pack up everything and move into the Palace.Immediately.

“A Prince begins residing in the Palace the very moment his Princess does,” Father had said.

And that was it.

There was no time to process the news. No hour spent discussing tactics with my brothers. No minute to come to terms with the fact that we’d come so close–so goddamn close to being out of this hellhole.

I dumped my belongings haphazardly into my new-old bedroom, helped Pace move his equipment, interviewed handmaiden candidates, and only got in an hour of studying before Father’s mandatory breakfast. At best, I had ten minutes of sleep, and that was only because I passed out face first in a chemistry book. Before today, my plans had been to spend this afternoon working on an important paper, but that’s been shot to hell.

The girl beside me shifts, wincing when I hit a bump. She’s been silent the whole drive, but also unavoidably present. Her arms are folded tight, pushing the swell of her cleavage to more and more prominence. Every now and then, I catch a speck of movement out of the corner of my eye, her fingertip shifting as a badly-manicured fingernail picks at a scab on her wrist.

“Thanks for letting me come,” she eventually says, voice stilted and anxious. She’s probably been working herself up to speak since the moment we set off. “I know you didn’t have to.”

I release a small, bitter breath of laughter. “You think we brought you along to make you happy,Princess?” Glancing over, I curl my lip distastefully. That goddamn tiara is still on her head, as if she has the right to wear it. “Despite how it might seem, this isn’t about you. You’re just a tool.”

Just like me, I don’t say.

God only fucking knows how West End trash like her ended up being important enough to someone to even be a bargaining chip, but it’s the truth. DKS isn’t exactly the most strategic house. They’re rabid, hot-tempered chaos goblins who’ll jump at whatever threat is the most visible at any given moment. The girl is here to serve as a little reminder of who has ownership and what’s at risk.

“All the same,” she mutters, turning to stare out her window. Her fingernail keeps picking, picking, picking, and it makes the tendons in my neck bulge with annoyance.

Just one more day.

The frustration is familiar–this feeling that there aren’t enough hours in the day. This annoyance that my brain and body can’t just keep chugging along without food and sleep. This bone-deep weariness that I never have the chance to address.

The cravings are familiar, too. One hit of Scratch would have me up and running, wired like a ticking bomb, ready to face anything Father had coming my way. I could ace these negotiations, get the Princess back to the Palace, write three different papers, and–oh, yeah.

Actually be able to fulfill my new fucking duty.