Page 29

“I knew it,” Remy snaps. “Verity for Felix? You can’t be fucking serious. He was a lowlife who bungled an exchange because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

Felix was a frat brother, cousin to a previous Prince, and one of Father’s minions. He went missing after a meetup with the Dukes. Autumn, the prior Princess, told us what–or who–happened. Felix is a dumbass, and Remy is right. He never did know how to keep his mouth shut–or his hands to himself. According to Autumn, Nick Bruin’s impulsivity ended Felix before he even saw it coming.

Remy continues, “He meant nothing to East End, and you damn well know it.”

“But Verity is special to the West.” Father grins as the Dukes realize they’ve tipped their hand. “I knew that night when I found you defending her from my son. You see her as a sister. Kin. And I’msureyou wouldn’t risk any harm coming to her.”

It’s all I can do to hold in the laughter I feel creeping up my chest. It’s even harder when I tip back, meeting Wicker’s eyes. It all makes the best kind of sense, why my Father chose Verity. Watching it sink in for her, the way her eyes go dull and cast down, face paling, is even better.

She really thought she was special. That she was chosen because there was something about her–something unique and worthy of celebration–but in the end, it’s just like I told her. She’s a bargaining chip.

She turned coat just to become our hostage.

Simon glares into Father’s eyes. “You’re saying if we step out of line, you’ll kill her.”

“Wedon’t kill people.” Pace’s low voice surprises me, drawing my gaze to him. He’s at my side, and up until now, I’d half suspected he’d fallen asleep. Now though, I realize he’s been watching the entire volley, and his words couldn’t have been more sinister if he’d threatened to slit the girl’s throat right in front of them.

Because Pace–like me and Wicker–knows that there are much,muchworse things than death.

“Well, not usually,” Father, rolling his eyes at the boiling tension, flicks a hand. “Oh, you don’t need to look so dire about it. We don’t want to kill her. In fact, I’m completely serious about my boys putting an heir into her. She’ll be taken care of, you can be assured of that.” He leans over the table, fixing Perilini with a serious stare. “If it’s a war you want, then we’ll give it to you. And don’t count your eggs before they’ve hatched, because we have plenty of firepower of our own. But an Ashby born from a daughter of the West?” Father lifts an eyebrow. “There’s more advantages to be had in joining our houses. You might be a new King, but you know that much.”

It’s a good strategy–a genius strategy. He’s getting older, and old Kings aren’t exactly thriving in Forsyth these days. Father needs an heir, and he needs a Kingdom where it can thrive. By the looks of Simon, he’s not exactly as willing to lose good men as the other two.

Father leans back, finishing, “You still have a whole lifetime to build your legacy, Perilini. Mine is running thin. I don’t have time to keep patrolling my borders to ensure the safety of what little of my legacy still remains.”

“Verity, just say the word.” Nick watches her with eyes like steel, ignoring how his Duchess’ gaze is flitting nervously between Kings. “Say the word and we’ll end this.”

Her head is still bowed when she shakes it. It’s the only smart thing I’ve seen her do so far, refusing to let her people die in service of saving her from her own idiotic choices.

The Dukes look completely fucking stumped.

Remy, most of all. “Felix for Verity–that’s one-one,” he notes, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You said two-one.”

Father nods at Wicker and Pace before raising a forefinger. “I’m so glad you asked, Remington. There’s still the small matter of your fighters sneaking into my territory.” Everyone tenses when my brothers stand, moving toward the door, but a glance at the Baron King’s nod makes it clear this is nothing that requires caution.

They march through it, Lavinia Lucia appearing particularly alarmed.

“Normally, we wouldn’t think much of it,” I speak up, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand. “Your kind aren’t known for their skill at subterfuge. Unfortunately…”

The second the door swings open, they all shoot to their feet. But it’s the Queen who speaks, all the blood draining from her traitor face as she cries, “Ballsy!” She doesn’t go to him, but the impulse is clearly there. “Let him go!” Lavinia snarls to my father.

Pace thrusts him through the door, and this Ballsy fucker looks only half coherent, tumbling instantly to his knees. His mouth is taped, eye black and swollen, and bandages cover his fingers. He’s shirtless, torso bearing little shallow cuts that look not at all unlike the ones on my Princess’ arms.

We only stabbed him a little.

Wicker pats him on the head like he’s a dog, not missing the irate glare Ballsy fixes him with.

Fucking DKS–they never know when to stop.

Simon stands to press his fists against the table. “Tell me,” he grates out, eyes flashing, “what the fuck you’re doing with my recruit.”

I glare at the kid on the floor. “We spotted this one skulking around our warehouse district–meeting up with girls, drunk on the smell of his own testosterone, asking a suspicious amount of questions.”

“Your warehouse district borders South Side’s,” Simon argues. “He was doing business. Business Payne and I personally fucking sanctioned!”

My father leans back, looking unthreatened by the way Nick Bruin is glaring bullets at him. “That meeting was on neutral territory. All deals were off the second he crossed the bridge, breached our gate’s security panel, and attempted to sneak inside.”

Simon’s jaw tenses. “You’re lying, Ashby. Ballsack would never do that.” Only when he looks at his recruit for confirmation, he doesn’t get it.