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Wicker snorts. “Buried? Yeah, right. Little shit’s got a tomb, with all its special engravings and weeping angels and private fucking monthly concerts, performed by yours truly.” He tips the bottle back, a bitter curve to his mouth. “When I die, Father will probably dump my ashes into the sewer. Thank god. Can’t even die around here without having a schedule drawn up for you.” He shakes his head, his blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight as he mutters, “Every first Wednesday of the month.”

I shift uncomfortably, not used to seeing Wicker like this. “Did something happen?”

It’s hard to make out his blue eyes in the darkness of the room, but I know when he looks away. I can feel the absence of that buzzing tension he always carries around. “Lex made hisdeposit?” He says the word with the same foulness I feel at hearing it.

“Yes.” I tug my sleeves down anxiously, wording my next statement very carefully. “Lex… he never actually… uh, you know.”

It’s not a question. Not really. Which means I won’t have to answer one of his.

“Disappointed?” Wicker’s smirk is meant to cut. I know it before the venom even comes out of his mouth. “Wondering why my brother doesn’t want to give you a taste of his magnificent cock? Maybe you’re just not his type. Maybe he likes women who know what they’re doing in bed. Maybe,” he pitches closer, into the light, “he’s justnot that into you.”

My jaw clenches, but I know what he’s doing. I just shrug. “Maybe not.”

Wicker scoffs, leaning back. “Don’t go crying tears into your silk pillowcases,” he mutters, setting the bottle down on the ground. “If he could get it up, I’m sure the good son would rail you like a fucking–”

“Princess, surely.” Danner’s voice makes Wicker’s cut off, and I spin to find him standing in a doorway. “Sir? If you’re done paying your respects, I think it’s time you retire to bed.”

He doesn’t argue, placing his cello in a large case I hadn’t seen resting on a stone wall behind him. The latches snap, echoing against the high glass ceilings. He turns to me. “Don’t stay down here too long, Red. This place has a way of turning people into ghosts.”

He winks, tosses his beer bottle into a thick mass of dying grass, then exits through a doorway across the room.

“Enchanting, isn’t it?” Danner steps into the moonlight, lifting a mug. “I make a special effort to take my tea out here when Prince Whitaker is paying tribute.”

I take deep breaths, trying to calm the thunder in my chest. Wicker has that effect on me–erratic and dangerous–seemingly everywhere all at once. And although Danner is an old man, a bit hunched, I can’t forget that he was the one to ‘anoint’ my throne.

He’s just so hard to feel threatened by.

I look up at the round dome, wondering, “What is this place?”

“A solarium,” he answers, sipping his tea. “Or it was. Everything is dead now, I’m afraid.” The words are said with a touch of wistfulness, and when I follow his gaze, he’s looking past the overgrown, dead planters, and at the graveyard. “I suppose it seemed strange to the King, keeping this place up. A mockery of his grief, perhaps.” His gaze wanders to the opening behind me, the one that leads to the passage, and he gestures to it, eyebrow arched. “I won’t keep this a secret from him.”

My stomach drops and I hug my middle. “Will I get in trouble?”

“For finding this? No, I would be cautious, however.” His soft smile turns somber, serious. “There are places you can’t be, Miss.”

“Like here?” I fret, looking around.

He shakes his head. “Quite to the contrary. In fact, I think he’ll be impressed with your curiosity about the palace. Most of the past Princesses are too distracted by the shinier parts of the position to take the time to explore the more intricate parts of the property.” He tilts his head. “But maybe next time, you can take the proper entrance to it, hm?”

Relief courses through my veins. “It’s beautiful,” I say, rubbing some warmth back into my arms. I’m not sure why–the nervousness, or Danner’s aggressively innocuous nature–but I find myself reminiscing. “I had a garden back home once, up on the roof of the gym. West End doesn’t have a lot of places for it, but I got some planters and everyone helped out over spring break.”

It was Freshman year, right after the incident with Pace, actually. I remember how comforting it was up there with the girls; the guys hauling bags of soil and mulch up the ladder for nothing more than a peek at the cutsluts in their bikinis as they sunbathed. It was the complete opposite of this place. It was bright and warm, full of laughter and life and the promise of a future laid out ahead of us.

This place might be beautiful, but it’s dark and cold, full of dead things.

My chest twists at the memory of when things were simple.

When I break out of it, Danner is looking at me with an odd sadness in his eyes. “Beautiful,” he agrees, eyes flicking to the cemetery, “but haunting. It’s been neglected over the years. The other Royals haven’t given it much attention or thought. Out of respect, I’d wager. Or fear.” He tips his head down, giving me a significant look. “And the King finds it too painful to spend much time here.”

I dare a question. “Because of his son?”

“Because it brings back too many good memories–the painful kind. This used to be a place of life. King Ashby held parties out here on warm spring and summer nights. The children spent hours playing out here.”

Now it’s an extension of the tomb outside.

“It could use someone–a restless Princess, perhaps–to make it beautiful again.”

I take an involuntary step back, head shaking. “The last thing I want to do is upset the King.”