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“Apologies,Your Grace,” Wicker’s sarcasm is as thick as the bald hatred in his glare. “We’ve been focusing on issues inside our house, like trying to force a psychopath into accounting for the five bodies he buried in the solarium. Or,” he glares at Killian, “telling us anything he knows about the current missing women in Forsyth.”

“As well as attending to our Princess and child,” I add. “Who, by the way, are both healthy and improving every day. Thanks for asking.”

Not missing the barb, Killian levels me with a scowl. “We’re well aware of the shit East End’s been through this past month, but ruling as a Royal means more than focusing on your own house. As much as I couldn’t personally care less, being the leader of a territory in Forsyth is about balance and presentation. It’s about assuring the members of your community—in and outof your house—that things are running smoothly. People need a sense of safety, dependability, and reliance. Rufus, for all he might be a piece of shit, was aconsistent presence that made not only East End feel secure, but the whole fucking city.”

My nostrils flare with a restrained sigh because Payne isn’t wrong. Father is the devil PNZ knows. His absence is making people jumpy and suspicious. Clearly, we’ve been too absorbed in our own family dynamics. “We’re prepared to spread the word immediately that Father, along with his personal valet, is on an extended business trip.” When no one argues, I continue, “What started off as a week-long excursion to Asia turned into a much longer affair.”

“What kind of business?” Killian asks.

“His kind,” Pace responds. “After the assault on the palace and the attack on the Princess and our unborn child, we’ve been forced to elevate the security of East End. He’s found that the best in the business are not located in the US, but overseas.”

“Security is your specialty.” Sy eyes Pace. “So why didn’t you go with him?”

“With Verity on bed rest?” he snorts. “Like hell.”

“I don’t see the connection.” Sy leans back, his massive arms crossing over his chest. “It’s not like you protected her before.”

“This shit again?!” Pace’s hands slam down on the table and he bolts to his feet, the chair kicking out behind him. “Our commitment to the Princess is unwavering, and I’m sick and tired of West End acting like we’re holding her against her will. She chose to honor the contract.”

I reach for the back of his shirt, trying to get him under control.

“You say that,” Sy says, shrugging, “but she never got hurt in West End.”

Pace’s eyes flare hot. “Because I never took my eyes off of her when she crossed into your crusty, rundown territory.”

Sy’s face hardens. “Are you implying you’ve got West End wired, Ashby?”

“If our woman and child are there, then you can bet your ass I’ve got it under surveillance.”

This time, when I yank at his shirt, he relents, dropping back down into his seat with a huff.

Pace has spent the last two weeks researching exactly what he says Father is doing on his trip—just from inside the palace. The security surrounding the property is now military grade. Upgraded cameras cover every inch of the exterior. There are no weak links. No blind spots. No places for Father to bury bodies unnoticed. Pace has all of our devices synched, so honed in on the Princess that we can pinpoint her exact location at any time. And that’s just in East End. I’m not even sure what all he’s doing outside our territory, but I’ll put nothing past him. Not when it comes to protecting Verity or our baby.

“Do you hear this?” Sy says, looking between Killian and Maddox. “No one is going to believe that these three idiots can handle East End without Daddy’s involvement.”

Wicker scoffs. “You just want Verity to come back to West End.”

“Maybe we do,” Sy growls. “You’re not fit for protecting her, let alone her baby.”

My jaw clenches. “I think you meanourbaby. And we can protect both of them just fine.”

“Then maybe someone,” Killian grinds out, “can finally fucking tell me why a South Sider disappeared in your territory.”

“Stella St. James disappeared in North Side,” Wicker corrects.

Killian gives a malicious smile. “How convenient.”

“Not especially,” Pace replies. “Ballsack and I have been going over footage for the last three fucking weeks. What has South Side been doing? Involving the feds?”

Killian balks at the accusation, straightening in his seat. “We had nothing to do with bringing that agent here. Augustine acted as?—”

“As one of your senior staff members,” Wicker offers, picking a piece of lint from his knee. “This mutiny is going to get a lot harder with them sniffing around, so kudos for that.”

Killian looks close to murderous, his eyes bugging out. “While we’re on the subject of staff members acting suspiciously, maybe you’d ought to look at your own.”

Pace snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means there’s a common denominator in at least two disappearances, and the Lords are done beating around its bush.”