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Nick fingers the scar. “Yeah. You did good work.” He looks back at me. “How much longer until this thing falls out of there?”

I grimace at the visual. “Any time in the next three weeks.” Every time I say that, it feels surreal. It seems so far away, but also excitingly close. “But no rush. I’ve still got a lot to do before baby Justice gets here.”

Nick smirks. “Justice, eh?”

I shrug. “Seemed appropriate.”

“Lex,” Wick calls out. “We better get inside.”

“You guys go ahead,” Nick says, jerking his chin toward the ominous set of doors ahead. “I’ll keep an eye on Verity.”

“Oh,” I say, glancing at my Princes. “No. I’m, uh…. going in, too.”

His eyebrow lifts. “It’s an official meeting, sorry. Kings and Royal invitees only.”

It takes everything in me not to explain, but it’s not right to let him know before the Kings.

“I know,” I say, feeling the warmth of Lex’s fingers as they thread with mine. “Let’s just say there’s been some changes in the hierarchy in East End.”

Those blue eyes pierce through me. “What does that mean?”

Lex drags me off before I can say more.

“Considering you’re the ones who called this meeting,” I hear Killian’s drawl when the guys enter the room ahead of me, “you’re skating right over the bounds of punctuality. Good thing the Baron King isn’t here, or he would have nullified the meeting two minutes ago.” Killian sighs, muttering, “Apparently there’s a situation with their new Baroness.”

Wicker raises his chin. “It’s probably best he isn’t here anyway, because I have a feeling he’s not going to like what’s about to happen.” Stepping aside to allow me to enter the room, he adds, “You know, with the old guard being so obsessive about tradition.”

The first thing I see, other than Sy and Killian’s confused faces, is the long table in the center of the room. There are five chairs, each one designed for a King. Killian and Sy occupy theirs. On one side of the table, the Count’s seat sits empty, as does Maddox’s. On the other is East End’s chair, which is being held for Rufus, and three standard folding chairs, which I presume are for the Princes. It’s clear the second they see me that I shouldn’t be here. They better get ready, because the rules in Forsyth are about to get real fuzzy.

“Verity?” Sy bolts to his feet when he sees me. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

I face them both, smoothing out my dress. “I’m here to update you on the current status of East End.”

Sy eyes Killian, and then Lex, before making an uncomfortable expression that’s about seventy-percent eyebrows. Gently, he says, “This is a meeting for Royal frat members only. House girls aren’t included.”

“Well, that’s the thing.” I move toward the East End King’s chair and stand behind it, my men flanking me. “As of two nights ago, I’m a little bit more than a house girl.”

“Explain,” Killian looks between us. “Now.”

After exchanging a nervous look with Pace, I begin, “My father, Rufus Ashby, was found guilty by the members of PNZ for carrying out the acts of kidnapping, rape, and murder during his reign over East End, as well as the attempted abduction and assault on me four months ago.” My gaze meets Sy’s. “These are not related to the current missing girls. I wish I could say it was, so that would be over, but it’s not.”

“Where is Rufus now?” Killian asks.

“Being processed by the Barons.” My tone is flippant. It’s hard to care. “He’s dead.”

Killian’s spine straightens and Sy manages to speak through his shock. “About fucking time. Who took the crown?”

Here, I wring my hands, understanding that it’s unconventional. “The frat gave my unborn son the Oath of Fealty, and once that was complete, Rufus was executed.”

Killian looks between the Princes, eyes narrowed assessingly. “You’re not answering my question—the only one that matters. Which one of you did it?”

I square my shoulders, looking him in the eye. “I did.” And with that, Pace pulls out the chair, while Lex and Wicker each assist me and my cumbersome belly into it. It feels so good to get off my feet that I groan, long and loud. Insulting or not, Lex isn’t wrong about my swollen ankles. “I killed my father and secured the throne for my son. But my Princes have agreed to help run the kingdom until he comes of age.”

“What?” Killian balks. “He isn’t born yet. That doesn’t mean anything. Your territory needs a King, not a fucking—” He makes a wild, belligerent gesture. “Whatever the hell this is! Don’t make this some weird group rule bullshit,” he says, eyes pleading. “Sy and I—we’re really trying to bring about change in Forsyth Royalty, but you’re running before we’ve crawled. You get one King, just like the rest of us.” He holds up a finger. “OneKing. Not three, a fetus, and his mommy.”

On either side of my shoulders, Lex’s hands squeeze the back of my chair. “The frat voted for this,” he says, voice low and challenging. “They did it democratically, without threat or manipulation. You don’t get to decide the future of our house. They do.”

“This,” Killian says confidently, “is a clusterfuck. We asked for a King and you brought us?—”