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Most of the windows are dark, and I think of the word ‘home’. It’s never really fit here. The Purple Palace could never be a real home. It’s too big. Too cold. Too full of everyone else’s shit. It’s not home, but it’s the closest we’ve ever come to having one, and every time I cross the threshold, that sense of having roots here wars with the knowledge that I shouldn’t.

Territory.

Every man in Forsyth longs for it, whether it’s in the east, west, north, or south.

But that’s not in my blood. My blood–Baronblood–is rootless. They’re everywhere and nowhere, traversing the boundaries like shadows. Maybe that’s why the Purple Palace still feels like itshouldbe home. I know its shadows, traverse its boundaries, walk its hidden tunnels.

Wick, wearethe rats.

The dungeon is only accessible through two entry points; one from the outside of the house, and one from the inside. The one on the inside is only accessible through a network of dusty, hidden passageways that I know like the back of my hand. The Purple Palace is old as dirt, but while some of it has been finely maintained and constantly polished to cultivate the appearance of grandeur, there are other parts of the Victorian mansion that are neglected and crumbling.

This is one of them.

Once inside, I pull the sconce in the hall of portraits and a panel clicks open. The wood is worn lighter on the edge where my fingers instinctively pry it open, slipping through the crack and closing it behind me. My nose wrinkles at the familiar, musty smell of old wood as I make my way down the staircase. The passages are narrow, a tight fit now that I’m an adult, but they felt cavernous when we were kids, sneaking around the Palace, watching the Princes and their Princess fuck around. It was from behind these walls I got my first glimpse of real, non-virtual pussy. It was a good glimpse too; her getting cream-pied in the third-floor parlor.

Fuck.

Now I’m hard.

Again.

It’s not like I haven’t tried not thinking about sex. One time, Lex convinced me to try meditation, which resulted in my thoughts moving from a rushing creek to a rushing cream-pie in record time. Pace even tried back in Freshman year, taking me to the gym to work out the tension. As if putting me in a room with a bunch of scantily clad athletes was going to tame my libido.

Nothing really takes the edge off butgettingoff.

Well, almost nothing.

“You’re late,” Lex says, a cup of coffee in his hand, too. The room I’ve entered is small, meant only for observation. A cloudy two-way mirror lines the wall. We can see out, but no one can see in. On the other side of the glass is a padded cell with nothing but a bench and a bucket to keep the occupant company. My brother’s eyes settle on my head. “You’ve got a spiderweb in your hair.”

“Ah, fuck!” I jump, heart pounding, raking my hands furiously through my hair. When I look up again, Lex is smirking. “Asshole.”

He sips his coffee. “Just wanted to make sure you were still awake before we get started.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “I had to play Elvis covers all night. My fingers are killing me. Not to mention Decker got in a solid hit at practice.” I wince, lifting up my shirt to show him the purple spot.

His eyes flick to the mottling flesh, and since he’s Lex, I fully expect those laser eyes to hone in on it as he sets his coffee down. “Let me see.” He presses the area with his fingers, hard enough to make me suck in a breath.

“You done?” I wince, twisting away from his prodding fingers.

“It’s just a bruise,” he surmises. “Ice should work.”

“Yes, sir.” I drop my shirt and a whirring sound comes from the other room. We both look through the mirror. Bruce is slumped in the chair where we left him, strapped in and still unconscious.

Averting my gaze, I scratch the back of my neck. “By the way, I don’t think I ever said thanks for the save last night. I owe you one.”

“You owehimone.” He nods at Pace, who’s still testing the drill. “He’s the one that got her there at mach speed.”

Pace stands over a stainless table, organizing instruments. It’s a good setup. Complete. Blades of various sizes, pliers, tacks, torches, tasers–you name it. Chains are attached to the wall and ceiling, helpful for the brute force situations. There’s a drain on the floor beneath Bruce’s chair and other supplies in the cabinet. Chemicals. Tarps. Locks. Anything we may need in a pinch.

“Hey.” I jerk my chin, beckoning Lex closer as I watch our brother work. There’s something that’s been bugging me since that afternoon in the locker room. “You ever get the feeling he isn’t exactly cool with Verity being our Princess?”

Lex gives me a look. “Are any of us?”

“No, I mean…” I scratch my head, trying to find the words. “Her beingourPrincess. Mine and yours. Like he’d rather not be sharing her. Catch my drift?”

Lex seems genuinely caught off guard, glancing back at Pace through the window. “You think?”

“You don’t?” I ask.