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“Verity Sinclaire is West End down to her very marrow. Rebelliousness, defiance, and that stubborn hunger for conflict will make her reign uncomfortable for all of us.” He nods, as if he’s coming to the decision at this very moment. “We’ll need to be able to bring our Princess to heel.”

My eye twitches. “I see.”

“You will not mark her,” he says, pointing his glass at me. “You will not harm her.”

Unbidden, my mind flashes with the memory of Bruce Oakfield’s initial, branded into the small of her back. “No, sir, I won’t.”

Sometimes Father has this way of looking at people like they’re bugs. He’s looking at me just like that when he adds, “I believe she could fall for Lex.”

Every cell in my body rears back in stunned fury. “Why?”

“He’s gentler than you are,” he replies, “and more patient than Wicker. I can see her forming an attachment to that. Don’t you think?”

“No.” The answer is automatic and a little too brusque. Schooling my voice, I explain, “Lex doesn’t bend enough. He’s too even-keeled. Like you said, she’s West End. She’d be drawn to someone emotional. Someone volatile. Someone–”

“Like you.” He watches me over the rim of his glass as he takes another sip. “Your features and her eyes.” The words are barely a murmur, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to me. The odd dazedness of his eyes snaps to clarity when he declares, “The two of you would make an exceptional child.”

I’m so fucking speechless that for a long moment, all I can do is gape dumbly into his eyes. There’s a softness there that makes my stomach violently churn. “Thank you,” I finally manage, because I know Father well enough to understand he’s just paid me the highest compliment possible in his dead, empty soul.

He wants me tocreatewith her.

The softness falls away gradually as the car crosses the bridge, both our gazes trained out the window. I can tell before we even reach the gate that the driveway is packed with cars. Tonight is our first official PNZ meeting. The whole frat is probably waiting as Danner prepares the parlor with refreshments and extra chairs. Much like Wicker had the other day, I wonder how the fuck we’re supposed to get the Princess pregnant when we barely have time to breathe, let alone nail her.

Only when we enter through the gate does Father break the strange, curdled silence. “If you don’t win the game this weekend,” he says, sharp as broken glass, “I’ll have Lex remove your index finger.”

My teeth clench, sweat springing up on my brow as the car comes to a stop. “Yes, sir.”

17

Verity

Thump.

Wisteria is hardy and fast-growing. That’s what I’m thinking of as I pick at a golden thread on my duvet, winding it around my finger.

Thump.

It can grow in poor-quality soil, but prefers somewhere moist and fertile where it can climb. A trellis. A wall. A tree.

Thump.

It’s invasive here, quick to choke out native plant species, and yet it can take decades for specimens grown from seeds to bloom. From what I’ve read, it’s better to obtain cuttings.

Thump.

“Fuck!” Wicker growls, his fingers digging in as he slams his hips into me from behind. I feel him swell and surge as I watch the tip of my finger, which has gone purple above the golden thread.

I let the thread go, watching the blood creep back beneath my skin.

“Shit, that’s good,” he gasps, giving his hips a lazy nudge, like he’s drawing it out. Probably is. From the reflection I see of him in the mirror above my dresser, I watch him look down at where we meet, lip disappearing between his teeth as he pulls out.

The drag is slow and slick and makes me shudder, but I refuse to confront the fact that I’m throbbing with the hope of a release I won’t get.

I’m too tired to mourn it much.

Wicker came in at precisely midnight, but this time I was expecting it. Maybe that’s why they make the Princess go to bed at nine–so that she can get a few hours of sleep in before whichever Prince comes barreling through her door like a sex-crazed maniac.

At least Wicker didn’t try to strangle me first. He just snapped his fingers, pointed at the foot of the bed, and started unbuckling his belt. Wriggling out of my panties before being bent over the bed and driven into from behind is probably the best I could have hoped for.