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“Father,” Wicker starts, collecting himself with an air of panic, “I shouldn’t have worn the suit. Or disparaged the Princess, or—”

“You’ve been excused.” He jerks his chin at the door. But they only get two steps before Father stops them. “Pace.”

We all freeze, my palms growing clammy as Pace slowly turns, meeting our father’s even gaze. My brother looks around, as if there’s some kind of trap. This is the first time Father’s spoken to him since…

“Sir?” Pace warily asks.

Father holds his stare, searching, and every second that passes, my lungs feel a little more constricted. Eventually, he dips his chin. “You did well today.”

Pace’s chest expands with a sharp inhale. “Thank you.”

“It was a good idea,” Father goes on, draining the last of his whiskey. “Giving the girl a visitation will show the Dukes our willingness to cooperate. I’m proud of you, son.”

It’s bullshit, just as much as Father suggesting why the visitation is a good idea. It’s just like the other things we know but don’t dare say. The visitation will put the Princess in a place where Princesses aren’t welcome, and that place is her home. It’ll drive her farther into East End, where erstwhile Duchess hopefuls aren’t welcome, either. It’ll drive her so far that the Palace will be her only place of refuge. It’s a tetherless leash–Father’s favorite thing in the world.

And that’s why he praises Pace.

Because it makes Wicker’s mouth go tight and unhappy.

They both leave, neither making eye contact. The women give them a wide berth, never breaking their practiced smiles as they serve the other patrons.

Once they’re gone, I inhale slowly, bracing myself. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“No,” he says, a sudden weariness filling his eyes, “but I expected it. Your brother…”

I tense at the frustration in his eyes. “He’s–”

“An Ashby.” Father tips his mouth into an irritated smirk. “If not by blood, then certainly by spirit. Spoiled and impudent and uncontrollably virile. I very nearly dread the prospect of him multiplying.” He rolls his eyes, gesturing to a topless blonde for another drink. I don’t argue when he points to me, even though the liquor will amplify my exhaustion. “If there’s any seed left in his body to take, that is.”

My laugh is fake and far too mild. Father senses it–I can see it in his pause–so I try to shift the discussion. “Is there something you need from me?” I ask, ready to get it over with.

Nodding, he accepts the fresh glass of whiskey with heavy movements. It’s the first time that I wonder if maybe he’s as tired as I am. “I need you to perform a medical examination on the Princess.”

My brain shuts off and then kicks back to life, relief coursing through my veins. “An examination?” I take a small sip of the amber liquor, doing my best to fake it.

“Surely you notice the tender way she was carrying herself today.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“That’s my fault.” It’s a false sentiment. Nothing is ever his fault. “In my desire to teach Wicker a lesson, I was careless in how brutal he would be with her. I’d like to confirm that there are no internal injuries. Nothing to impede attempts at creating an heir.”

“Of course,” I agree, struggling to remember the scope of the Palace’s meager medical accommodations. I haven’t seen that part of the basement in years. “I can do that.”

Casually, he adds, “I also wanted to confirm that there won’t be any issues with your own performance.”

As much as I will it otherwise, I feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I sputter on the whiskey. “N-no, sir. I have–everything will be under control.”

It’s a lie. I have no fucking idea how I’m going to make this work. Taking pills would be against the covenant, and the last time I tried fucking a woman, my dick barely even got hard. It’s bad enough that he knows about it, but now it’s just more pressure.

He watches me for a long moment, the scrutiny burning as much as the liquor. “Don’t lie to me.”

The panic returns, my last bit of energy burned away by the quiet vehemence of my promise, “I’ll find a way,” I assure him. “Iwon’tfail.”

“I suspected that was a temporary situation.”

I clear my throat. “It was.” Ever since I quit the Scratch, it just doesn’t work. Sex. Fucking. I’ve taken enough chem classes to understand that chemicals can sometimes do weird shit, and using Scratch for a year apparently left me with some side effects. This one isn't even the worst. You can’t miss what you don’t want.

“You know, son,” Father begins, leaning forward in a way that suggests he’s about to tell me something secret. His cheeks tug up into a half-grimace. “The covenant about masturbation… thespiritof it is to not be wasteful with your seed. If you were to use it in service of fulfilling your obligations, however…” he trails off, eyebrows rising.