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For some reason, this makes her laugh. “It’s a test, Princess. A Baron and his sinister sister have to be invisible. Silent. Ruthless. If a Baron catches the Baroness, that means he’s good at hiding, following, adapting to the shadows.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Her head cocks. “Doesn’t what?”

“Catch her.”

“Oh, Princess, healwayscatches her.” The words are said without mirth. “The King chooses his darklings very well.”

Reluctantly, I wonder, “What happens after they catch you?”

She hugs her knees, lifting a shoulder. “They bind you to their wicked path and worship death upon you.”

Shaking my head, I admit, “I don’t know what that means.”

Barons and their stupid, cryptic bullshit.

“You couldn’t. You’re a creator.” Smiling softly, Regina’s arm stretches over the distance between us, hand brushing the swell of my belly. “You foster life and light. But we’re servants of death, and this boy in your belly? He’ll be a part of it, one way or another.”

I watch her hand touch me, heart in my throat. “I’ll never let that happen.”

“Aren’t you willing to die for your Princes?” Her eyes dart down to my stomach. “Your son?”

“I’m willing to do something a lot more dangerous than dying for them.” Reaching out, I brush her hair over a delicate shoulder, heart clenching at the misery in her eyes. “I’m willing to live for them.”

We return homewith a carload of gifts and a deep desire for a nap.

“Where do you want all this?” Ballsy asks, parking in the front circle.

“I’m not sure.” I eye the pile of boxes and bags. The women of Forsyth went all out, giving me everything I’ll need for when the baby arrives. Everything I didn’t even realize I would need. From binkies to boxes of diapers, to clothes and blankets. There are cute things like stuffed animals, and Lavinia gave us a starter set of children’s books, but then Kira gave me some kind of paste for my nipples and a cream for stretch marks.

Ugh.

I forgot about stretch marks.

I decide, “Let’s just leave it for now, and I’ll talk to the guys about where we want to store it until the nursery is finished.”

The nursery is another one of those things on my never-ending ‘to do’ list that’s been weighing on me. It falls somewhere between fitting in my pregnancy yoga class and figuring out what to do with Danner down in his room. Yes, my ‘to do’ list involves everything from prenatal care to scheduled torture. I really may be an Ashby.

Danner doesn’t seem to mind being locked up day and night. If I had to guess, this is probably closer to a vacation than anything he’s had in years. Not having to pick up after and take care of three grown men and their father? Sounds like bliss. Although, I think we all know this has to come to an end soon. I get the feeling Wicker is the one dragging it out. I get it. Sometimes evil comes in difficult shades of gray.

Leaving the gifts behind, Ballsack and I walk in the front door. Without Danner manning the entry, there’s a rotating crew of PNZ who stand guard, which is why Tommy is standing in the foyer.

“Hey,” he says, looking bored, “how was the party?”

“Long, but fun.” I rub the crown of my belly, feeling more and more of a strain when I’m on my feet for extended periods of time. “I saw your girlfriend.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

“Sounds like you gave that Tucker kid the ass-kicking he needed.”

“Turns out DKS isn’t wrongallthe time.” He lifts his chin at Ballsack. “At least about this.”

Tommy may be less hostile to me, but I doubt that extends to the rest of my West End family, so I distract him by saying, “There are leftovers in the backseat if you’re interested.”

His eyes light up, and once again, I’m reminded these hardened PNZ soldiers are really just boys. “I’m definitely interested, but I told the guys I’d take you upstairs when you got home. And…” He holds out his hand, revealing a strip of fabric, “that I’d make you wear this.”

“Is…” I frown and peer at the scrap of fabric, “is that a thong?”