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It’s a verbal hit, but the punch lands, Rufus unable to hide his shock at Danner ratting him out. If this were a coffin, his would have just been nailed shut.

“Rufus Ashby spent his life extolling the virtues of creation,” Lex says, turning his back on his father. “We’ve learned that Rufus Ashby isn’t a creator. He’s an instrument of death, and nothing more. He’s a selfish, narcissistic megalomaniac who’s never made East End his priority. If he had, he would have stepped down two decades ago. He was focused on his own needs. His own failed desire to procreate. His lust for torture and control.” Lex’s amber eyes glow violently in the candlelight. “As his sons and Princes, it’s true that we’re trained to apply pressure when needed. But we don’t do it for our own pleasure. We do it for the good of this kingdom. That’s the difference.”

It’s almost like Wicker absorbs the energy because suddenly he’s raising his voice. “He took our ideals and twisted them into something ugly and wasteful,” he insists. “Hewastedour women. Our creators. Our mothers and sisters. He used their flesh and discarded them when he was finished.”

The room is quiet for a moment, until Dorian asks, “What are you asking us to do?”

“We handle situations like this internally. No police or external investigations.” Lex pulls out the PNZ pledgebook and flips to a bookmarked page in the middle. “The King can abdicate, stepping down with grace and accepting his failed position. If he refuses, we can invoke an Oath of Fealty, whereeach member can decide if they want the King to continue to rule, despite the evidence presented today.”

“And who’d be King instead?” Tommy asks, raising his voice over the din. “You?”

Lex is unfathomably steady as he puts down the book. “We’ve given a lot of thought to that, actually. I can’t deny that I’d make an awful King. Since I’m about to begin med school, you’re all aware I have ambitions that’d require too much of my dedication and attention.” He gestures to his brothers. “Wick would make a fantastic King. He’d forge alliances that would enrich us, and he’d run the Royal businesses like a well-oiled machine. But he’d be miserable in a position that ties him to the obligations of ruling, and I won’t ask it of him. And Pace,” he adds, sighing. “My brother would make this kingdom prosperous and safe, but he’d never get to feel any peace, always looking over his shoulder.”

Dorian looks confused. “If not any of you, then who?”

“All of us,” Lex says, nodding at my belly. “Or rather, all of us until our son—the true heir—comes of age. And you can be assured,” he calls out over the rising protests, “our child will be taught how to rule properly?—”

“He’ll be taughtkindness,” I snap, giving Lex a disbelieving staredown. Turning to the men in the audience, I say, “My child will be given a choice to rule or not, but if he does, it’ll be to make East End a home that’s safe for his mother, his sisters, and his future daughters as well as yours.” I rest my hand on my belly, watching the way the dress tugs and pleats under the pressure. “If that’s not a kingdom you’re willing to serve, then de-crown me now. I’ll take my Princes and child with me when I leave, because I’ll—” I swallow, “—we’llwant nothing to do with it.”

A hush falls over the room, and I’m only mildly disarmed by Lex’s apologetic grin. “What she said.”

But Tommy shoots forward, demanding, “The King should get to say his piece, shouldn’t he?”

My stomach builds with dread at the naked betrayal in Tommy’s eyes. I’d come so far with him. For him to see this as deceit is disappointing.

“Fine.” Pace gestures to the men next to Rufus and Matt yanks the gag out of his mouth. Ashby coughs, and then swallows repeatedly before clearing his throat one last time.

“Matthew.” He gives him a look of disdain. “I always knew you didn’t have what it took for true leadership, always chasing the next thing.” He swings his gaze to Rory. “But you, Rory, I expected more of you. You come from fine Royal stock. If it hadn’t been for my own children coming of age, you would have been Prince.”

Rory’s face flickers with annoyance. “And I’m sure in the next two years, my sister might have become Princess. I mean, if she weren’t missing,” he adds, tossing Rufus a searing glare. “A lot of Royal women seem to go missing around you.”

Before Rufus can deny it, Wicker scoffs. “These are your final words, old man? Insults to the next generation?”

Ashby swings a glower around the room. “I have no fear of this generation, or the next, or the one after that. Your stories are nothing more than fabrications to justify your treasonous actions.” He sniffs, able to put on an air of pretentiousness even while bound like a prisoner. “Even if it was true, I’m a King. I rule this territory. I choose who lives and dies. Who creates.” His eyes land on his sons, and I feel the struggle between them. A father trying to get his children in line. Grown men, ready to forge their own lives. “Do they know what you’ve done? How you’ve locked away their King for months on end, and undoubtedly ruined everything I’ve spent the last two decades building in East End while you were playing house with my daughter?”

Dryly, Lex answers, “Well, we did just tell them.”

“And did you tell them about all your new Royal friendships? Oh,” he says at the looks on our faces. “You think I don’t know that you’ve allowed the FBI into our gates, and forged relationships with our truest enemies, the Lords and Dukes.” His eyes spark to life. “Yes, Lagan, I know you saved Nick Bruin’s life.” To Wicker, he adds, “I know you’ve tasted the curse of your bloodline.” Rufus lifts his chin toward Pace. “I know you’re still seeking a truth you’ll never find. One I’ll never give you.” Rufus releases a chilling, ragged laugh. “And to you, daughter. You think I don’t know you’re thirty-five weeks pregnant, craving salted mango, still fretting over your missing handmaiden, and trying your best to tame my sons?” He shifts his gaze to my Princes, snarling. “You think you’re in control, that you’ve got a handle on this kingdom, but I always know what’s happening in my house. In my kingdom. With mycreations.”

I freeze, heart in my throat.

He shouldn’t know these things, and from the look Wicker gives me, he’s thinking the same thing. Wick’s been so careful about keeping him contained like a quarantined virus. The things he knows are so precise, so personal, that he can’t know them.

But somehow he does.

Grinning, Rufus declares, “No, I will not be abdicating my kingdom, nor my throne. Because I know what you don’t. That the men of PNZ aren’t behind you. They’re behind me. As always.”

His confidence is unwavering, and for a moment, I feel like I’m back kneeling on that carpet in front of the fireplace. We’re all kneeling because we’ve taken a swing that we cannot miss. Yet the fist just whiffed past Rufus’ head and, fuck.

We’re screwed.

“Thomas,” Rufus’ voice rings out clear and controlled. “Start the proceeding.”

Tommy emerges from the crowd and passes us, a smirk lifting his lips. There’s no doubt I read the whole thing wrong with him. I’d never won him over. I’d never repaired the rift.

I didn’t do my job.

A sense of hopelessness drapes over me like a weighted cloak as I watch, nearly disassociating from my body as Tommy steps up to the table and removes the cloth. Underneath sits a crystal bowl and a purple velvet pillow. Placed on top is a sharp-bladed dagger with a gold, jeweled handle, the hilt flared out in the design of a crown, similar to the bed up in my room. He lifts it, allowing the glint of light to pass over the metal, revealing the PNZ crest and letters forged into the blade.