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She has her hair up today, but it’s messy and wild, which is fitting. She’s been a fucking tornado all week. I don’t know where the sudden surge of energy has come from, but I’ve grown fascinated by watching her zip-waddle around the palace with that spark of aggressive determination in her eyes.

“For one thing,” she says, dragging out a sack of flour, “Danner’s pantry looks like it hasn’t been cleaned out since before your father became King. I know you guys love your oldshit, but I don’t think expired salad dressing qualifies as an antique.” I pick up a bottle of dressing, check the date, and make a face. Yikes. Arching a brow, she continues, “And for another, I realized we needed room for all the baby stuff.”

“Red, the baby has a whole room.” I hop up on the counter, my hip knocking over a few small boxes ofantiquecornbread mix. “Why does he need a pantry, too?”

She cuts me a look, like she’s unsure if I’m being intentionally dumb or naturally dumb. I give her an expression of pure innocence, but honestly, I have no fucking clue.

“Well,” she starts, using a slow voice she must use with the Dukes when explaining algebra, “there are things like bottles and formula, little bowls and spoons, bottle cleaners, whatever supplements Lex is surely going to?—”

“Formula?” I lean back on my palms, eyes darting down to her tits. “Isn’t that what those things are for?” My eyes are fixed on her chest and I don’t even try to hide the fact that I want them. They’re so full now, enough to cup one in both hands, and ever since I tasted the milk dripping from her tit I’ve wanted to do it again. That night had been such a rush for all of us, and given the chance, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. With the way her nipples tighten from me looking at her, I’m pretty sure she would, too.

Her cheeks grow the prettiest shade of pink. “Yes, but the moms at the shower were saying that some babies don’t take to it, or maybe I won’t produce enough, or possibly my nipples will get too sore—we just don’t know.” I frown and she sets two more boxes of crackers on the counter next to me. “It’s just best to be prepared for any circumstance.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him not taking to it.” I reach out and reel her in between my parted legs. “We all know the Ashbys are boob men.”

She rolls her eyes, even though that flush on her face deepens. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” I shrug nonchalantly, but my stomach feels like I’ve just taken a leap off the sheer cliff over the river, and when the hell didthatstart happening? “Or am I just a man who knows what he likes?”

My fingers curl around her ribcage, thumb rubbing under the heavy weight of her breast. Verity’s mouth parts, breath hitching. The need to taste her is intense.

“You know,” I start tentatively, feeling it out, “I did come down here for a snack.”

It’d be so easy to just pull down the front of her shirt and suck those pretty things until she feels relief.

Her eyes glaze over, but just as I hook my fingers into the neck of her tank top, she deflates. “No. We promised Lex this is something we’d only do with his supervision,” she says.

Fucking. Lex.

But she’s right. We did. And we have to be… what’s the word?

Responsible?

Ew.

She wriggles away, taking a wide step back from temptation. “If you’re going to keep distracting me with all your muscles and hair andmouth, then you can at least help me get the rest of this out of here. I’m pretty sure that bag of flour is older than I am.”

I grunt in disappointment but slide off the counter, adjusting myself in the process. She seems surprised when I don’t leave, instead opting to help her sort and remove everything from the pantry.

“What’s that up there?” she asks, leaning against the door frame and cradling the baby with both hands. “That brown thing?”

The ceilings are high and the top shelf is almost out of my reach, but pushing up on my toes, I catch the corner and grab it.It’s a wooden box, small yet big enough to require both hands. I carry it out and place it next to the other items from the pantry.

“I’ve seen this before,” I say, blowing a layer of dust off the top. “It’s Danner’s tea box.” Opening the lid, I’m greeted with the heady scent of trapped spices. The inside is divided into small slots, tea packages filling each one. Chamomile, peppermint, lemon-ginger.

Verity stretches her back. “Those are the teas he made me.”

A strange sense of wistfulness overcomes me as I run a finger down the packages. “Danner made the best night-time drinks.”

Verity pulls the box toward her and frowns. “It’s heavier than expected, right?” She tilts her head and touches a corner. She then pinches her fingers on one of the dividers and lifts. The tray moves. “Look,” she says, “there’s a second layer.”

“Or a secret compartment.” I help her lift off the entire tray. “Sure enough, secret tea.”

I’m joking, but the items at the bottom aren’t the pre-packaged teas from the store. There’s a small mortar and pestle, and bottles line the box, each with peeling labels on the side. A stack of thick cards rests against the back wall. Verity picks up one, squinting at the words, which are faded and in a squiggly cursive. I pluck up one of the bottles labeled in that same curled script. More old, weird shit. No matter how much Verity spruces, this house will never be rid of it. I drop the bottle back inside with disinterest.

“Can you read this?” Red asks, showing me the card. “Is that Danner’s handwriting?”

“Maybe.” Now, I squint, reading aloud, “Purple Mercy. Crush seeds—ten to twenty-five. Bring ten ounces of water to a boil in a saucepan. Add one tablespoon of fresh or one teaspoon of dried foxglove, reduce the heat, and simmer for five to ten minutes. Strain the tea into a cup with a sieve, add crushed seeds, and add honey to taste. Speak now a prayer for the fruitless...”