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Right now, I watch as Justice meets his uncle.

“Oh,” Remy breathes adoringly as he lifts him. “He’s so small. Sy’s got books that weigh more than you, little guy.” He grins down at Justice, and if I inch a little closer as he adjusts to cradle him in his arms, then no one could blame me. “He’s got my chin,” he says, holding him up for the others to see.

Verity laughs. “Well, I think he’s actually got Wic?—”

“Ver,” Lavinia says with a sigh, “just let him have it.”

It’s still weird as fuck that Remy and Wick are half-brothers, but now that I know, it also kind of makes sense.

“Vinny, look,” he says, flashing her an excited grin. “Have you ever seen a brighter white than this?”

Brows knitting together, we all look toward Sy, and he snorts. “He doesn’t mean his skin color. White means?—”

“Fresh and clear, like a clean canvas.” Remy’s eyes light up, and he looks at Verity. “Can I give him his first tattoo?”

I jolt forward to take him. “Okay, enough of that.”

He frowns, but hands Justice over to me. “Notnow. I mean when he turns sixteen.” At Nick’s elbow jabbing into his side, he hisses, “Fine, eighteen.”

Nick wraps his arm around Lavinia and places his hand over her belly, “Maybe it’s about time we thought about putting a baby in you.”

Verity perks. “Oh my god. Yes! It’d be fun to have a baby together,” she pleads, looking hopefully at both girls.

“As much as watching Remy holding that baby has obliterated my ovaries, no freaking way,” Lavina says, attempting to push Nick away. He just holds on tighter. “I can barely manage the three of you and the Archduke.”

“I’m not ready either,” Story says, giving Verity an apologetic grin. “I’ve got to finish school, and we’re still getting situated in the new house. That basement renovation is taking forever. Have you ever worked with contractors?” Even as she rolls her eyes a small smile tugs at her lips. “But my guys will be great dads. I know that.”

Sy leans against the end of the bed, dipping his chin at me. “So what is he going to call each of you? Dad? Papa?”

Verity and I share a look, and she admits, “We haven’t talked about it yet.”

Nick snorts. “Trust me, figure that shit out now. We’ve got two dads, and it gets confusing.”

“But you call them by different names,” Verity says. “Pops and Dad. How is that confusing?”

“Nick’s right,” Sy agrees. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

Giving Justice a gentle bounce, I try to imagine him calling out for me. What would it sound like? Rufus went by Father. It was all formal, and knowing him, intentionally stiff.

I think of the shirt Wicker got for all of us with the word Dad on it.

“I know one thing,” Verity’s mother says with certainty. “There’s only one Mama in this family.”

It’s not until later, after everyone leaves and Pace and Wick return, crashing together in the bed, that I realize I’m still thinking about it. Not what the baby will call us—Mom, Dad, Papa, or whatever else he comes up with will be perfect.

I’m thinking of Verity.

She’s finally asleep. I’ve got Justice bundled up in my arms, and it strikes me hard how amazing his mother is. In a single day, she’s had the Queen of South Side delivering her food. The Queen of West End—born and raised North—giggling on her couch. Even Maddox and his young fiancèe sent a bouquet of flowers and a card. Kings and Dukes, East End soldiers, PNZ members… people from every corner of this city.

They weren’t drawn here because of a Royal birth.

It washer.

Justice isn’t just a baby. He’s our baby. APrincewho is going to need a hell of a long time to be ready to lead. Verity’s already more than a mom and a partner.

More than a Princess.

She’s a goddamn Queen.