Page 179

Story: Princes of Legacy

“He’s right, Red,” Wicker says, grinning roguishly. “And I, for one, am completely ready to be your pretty, kept Prince, so get up there and claim that title.”

Lex cups my cheek, drawing me closer, and in his eyes, I see a promise that I don’t understand yet. “You’llneverbe doing this alone.”

I blink, trying to follow everything, but slowly, it all comes together. My men want me as their leader. And so do the rest of PNZ. I glance over at Lavinia and Story, who both watch on with wide eyes, and it hits me that I can use this position to help more than just my family, my friends, and this fragile, new territory I now call home.

I can use it to help a cause.

The Monarchs.

Too stunned to speak, I bend to brush a kiss against Justice’s forehead, throat tight as I pass him into Pace’s waiting arms. Wicker takes my hand and leads me up the steps where Lex steps aside, giving me access to the throne. It’s so strange to look upon this seat and think of something other than misery, pain, and humiliation.

I look at it now and see change.

Turning, I scan the faces of the crowd, seeing my past and my present, but when I look into the eyes of my Princes—brown, blue, and gold—I see my future.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, knowing the only thing about this I’d regret would be letting all of these people down—them most of all.

“Positive,” Lex says, taking my hands in his. “The vote was recorded and witnessed by a member of good standing from each house,includingBRN. This is what we want, Verity.”He holds my shocked stare, insisting, “East End doesn’t need another troubled, self-involved man to weigh it down with his baggage. It needs…” He pauses, searching. And then the divot in his brow smoothes away. “It needs kindness. You’re the only person who’s ever promised that to them.”

I take a deep breath, looking at Tommy, Rory, Baxter, Dory, Loeffler, and Mitch—men who could grow into monsters under the pressure of a system that demands it of them. Or men who can grow into something better, if only they have the guidance.

Since that decision doesn’t seem very difficult at all, I take a deep breath, bend my knees, and sit.

“Let’s begin.”

29

EPILOGUE

January

“Wait, wait, wait,”I urge, stopping Baxter on his way to the champagne cart. “Your tie’s crooked,” I explain, adjusting the knot. He lifts his chin, giving me room to fiddle. When I’m happy, I give him a pat on the shoulder. “Easy on the booze, Bax.”

He throws me a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Looking around at everyone in the ballroom, I find it amusing how I can recognize every single PNZ member and their date, even with masks covering their eyes. Sending out the invitations for East End’s seventy-ninth annual masquerade ball had been an affair I struggled through, remembering receiving mine. I spent a week hammering everything out with Adeline, Wicker, and Rory Livingston, calling up the memories and trying to remember the good parts.

The throning has, obviously, been re-imagined into a much different sort of ceremony, and on my way to check in with Pace, I hear Gina, Heather, and Lakshmi gossiping about who has what it takes.

“She’s got great tits,” Heather says, glaring at one of the candidates, “but only because she’s overweight. I don’t think they’d choose someone without a waistline.”

The insecurity bubbles up, partly from the memory of them criticizing me in the same way, exactly a year ago. Another part is that, although I’m almost back to my pre-pregnancy sizes, I still look different.

“They probably want something new,” Gina is musing. “Do you think we’ll still get to wear the tiara?”

Nudging in, I say, “Yep.”

They jolt in surprise, turning to me. “Princess,” Lakshmi greets, and then stutters. “I mean, Queen.”

“Nervous about the announcement?” I ask, clasping my hands together. “We have a really impressive field of candidates this year.” My grin is pointed. “Finally.”

From the way Heather goes stiff, she takes it as the insult it’s meant to be. “Well, we were just discussing the,” her eyes dart down, “sizeof the pool.”

Smiling primly, I explain, “We’re looking at different qualities this year. Strength and resilience. Leadership.”Brains.

Heather nods at something behind me. “What about her? She has good, child-birthing hips.”

Twisting, I see a curvy girl dancing with one of the Prince candidates. What neither of them knows is that they both chose each other on the preference card attached to their invitations.

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