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“Of course not,” he says quickly. “I’m just providing some perspective on the actions of a man as complex as your father.”

“Was it desperation that led to him burying those bodies down in the solarium?” Rage surges through me, something I used to have under control, but has risen closer to the surface with every trip down to the dungeon. “Was it desperation that had him whore Wicker out? Or lock Pace up for almost two years? What about my beatings? Did he do that out of desperation, too?”

To my disgust, Danner nods. “All of it, Lagan. Every step. Every move. These were all the actions of a terribly desperate man.”

Anger is one match strike away from a lit fuse. I try to cloak it with a cool facade, with the demeanor of a physician—steady like a surgeon—but at times like this, it’s impossible to hold back. “So that’s why there’s five dead bodies buried in the solarium? Because Father was desperate?” I scoff. “Bullshit. He’s nothing but a monster.”

He frowns at the language, but I notice he doesn’t even make an attempt to argue. “Have you made progress on identifying the bones?”

I weigh how much I want to tell him versus how much he can tell me. “Not as much as I’d like,” I admit. “Whoever placed them there did it with some care, which makes it easier. But excavating the bodies, tagging and sorting, is a big task, and we currently have bigger Kings to fry.”

I do know that they’re all female. And young—approximately eighteen to twenty-four. There are no obvious signs of trauma or violence. No bullet holes or broken bones. No cracked skulls. The bones themselves are old, having been in the ground for several years, and there’s no indication they belong to the current missing girls. I’m aware of all of this, but I don’t reveal it.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Danner says. “You’re a smart boy.”

Impatiently, I reply, “I think you can help me figure it out a lot faster. Who do the bones belong to?”

“Your science hasn’t told you?” There’s a trace of mocking in his tone that makes me want to glance at Wicker, as if to say,see?It’s a brief glimpse of the truth—the man Danner actually is. “I thought your father gave you access to the Forsyth DNA profiles. Surely, the answers to your questions are there.”

“Danner,” Wick interjects, his voice calmer than my own. “It may improve your position if you cooperate.”

The old man takes another long sip of tea, his throat shifting as he swallows. “Ask. I’ll answer if possible.”

I take my shot. “Why were they left here, in the solarium, and not disposed of by the Barons?” That’s the part that really gets me. It’s not that Father’s responsible for the deaths. My brothers and I were molded to be his weapons. We know firsthand just how casually he decides to end a life.

But he hid it from the Royalty, which was built to handle such things neatly and quietly and without complications. There are precious few reasons he’d circumvent those sorts of established procedures, and none of them are good.

“Even the Baron King and his shadows have their… moral limits.” Danner’s eyes are steady. “Innocent girls seem to be one of them.”

“Innocents?” Wicker asks, leaning forward.

“As innocent as one can be,” Danner clarifies, “after going through the throning ceremony and taking the role of Princess.”

“So it’s true,” I say. “They’re princesses.” The age of the victims and location of the bones had made me suspect as much, but it’s nice to have confirmation—something to help me narrow down the search.

“Each and every one.” He glances at his wrinkled, age-spotted hands. “Failed, of course. Of no use to East End.”

Wick and I share a look before he stands, moving closer to Danner. “Nothing you’re saying makes sense. Why would Father kill a failed Princess? Don’t they just get sent away?”

“Usually,” Danner says, but then there’s a stretch of silence that bothers me. It’s like he’s choosing his words a little too carefully. Tactically. “But there for… a time, there were some princesses he chose to offer a chance at… redemption.”

Wicker recoils. “Tell me this isn’t going where I think it’s going.”

“All princesses are chosen as vessels for a reason,” Danner explains, looking at me now. “Strong genes. Excellent behavior. Icons of purity and motherhood.”

“It’d be such a waste, wouldn’t it?” My grin is brittle, carved from the hot, wild thing that’s always throbbing in my chest when I look at Verity. “Letting those fertilevesselsjust waltz out of East End, unused?”

Danner gives me a serious nod. “Indeed.”

“So he’d rape them.”

His mouth forms a disapproving frown. “Every Princess gives her consent to?—”

“Her Princes.” Wicker bites out.

Danner’s eyes soften. “The covenants are very clear about our King’s place as head of this household.”

Uninterested in hearing more of the Royal spin, I ask, “So, he dumps his seed into East End’s finest disgraced princesses, hoping to get his precious fucking heir out of one of them, and then what? Why kill them? What happened?”