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“The day after Michael died, I found Master Ashby in the water.” Danner’s eyes seem far away, lost in a memory. “It was winter. Cold and gray. Made my bones hurt something awful. I saw him out there, just standing in it, chest-deep. Not moving. I thought at first he was trying to end it. I panicked,” a shaky, wrinkled finger rises, pointing out the window, “waded out there myself, splashing around like a fool. And you know what I saw when I grabbed him?” He looks between me and Wick. “Nothing. He never cried for Michael, you know. There wasn’t anything there to give. He just became… empty. A shell of a person.” A slow, wistful smile touches his lips. “Until the night he brought Whitaker home.”

My fists clench. “Oh, bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Danner stresses. “Suddenly, he had a purpose. Not an heir—not really—but enough to make him want one again.” He reaches out to grab Wicker’s hand, the move making my chest burn with hot fury. “My boy, you were a miracle.”

It’s manipulation, pure and simple, and I worry that Wick’s too blinded by affection for the old man to see it.

But suddenly, he tugs his hand away from Danner’s grasp, face twisted in disgust. “I wasn’t a miracle. I was stolen. I was cut away from my real family. I was a fuckingpet.”

“You were a boy without a father,” Danner replies. “He was a father without a boy. In another life, maybe that would have been enough.” A shadow fills his expression. “But it wasn’t. Instead of filling Michael’s place, you reminded him of what he could have had: a blood heir.”

Frustrated, I snap. “You didn’t answer the question, Danner.”

“Oh, but I did.” Danner takes a slow, shaky sip of his tea, “You just didn’t listen to the answer.”

I give Wicker a tired look.Great. Cryptic horseshit. This isn’t any better than interrogating Father. At least when we do that, there’s a sense of satisfaction at the whip slicing into his flesh. “Who were the princesses?” I ask instead. “I’m going to find out eventually. Might as well save East End the lab fees.”

“Oh, I couldn’t remember their names if I tried,” he says, waving this off. “It was so long ago now—so many girls in and out of this palace. They’re all ‘Princess’ to me.”

“Here’s a name you’ll remember.” I watch him closely. “Odette Delisle.”

There it is.

A twitch of his eyebrow.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, I’m afraid.”

Deciding I’ve had enough of this game, I jerk my chin at my brother. “Let’s go.”

Wick doesn’t argue, and although he still says a quiet goodnight to Danner, I sense a change in him as we exit the room. At the back staircase, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” he says, climbing the steps with those long legs. “Finding out Father was inspired to kidnap, rape, and murder failed princesses because you’re not good enough is an excellent way to end the day.” We get to the landing of our wing and he turns to me, bitterness in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll go fuck out my shame with my own Princess, who’s undoubtedly curled up in that massive bed right now, sneaking the candy she has hidden in the weapons chamber.” He cuts me a look. “Oh wait, that’s not allowed either because even though we’re not in the dungeon, we’re all fucking trapped.”

Melodramatic much?

“You see, this is exactly why we didn’t want you going in there. Danner can’t be trusted. He’s a liar and a manipulator, just like Father. That story about finding him in the water? It’s bullshit, Wick.” I don’t know the truth, but I’m not letting that old man mindfuck my brother any worse than he already is. “He found an opportunity to get you off-balance, and it worked. Fatherisa raping, murderous monster, and Danner is programmed to make excuses for what he does.”

Wick stops in front of our shared bedroom. “What about you? Did that throw you off-balance?”

“Enough that I’m going to ask Pace to lock me in tonight.” I’ve been better lately, but the long days, sober life, and lack of sex has me on edge. Adding in a dose of white hot rage from the news Danner just told me is enough to spill out in my sleep. “Go to her.” I grimace. “And be nice. Don’t take all this shit out on her.”

“Fine.” He heads toward her room, then tosses back, “But I’m getting a handjob at the very minimum.”

An hour later, I’m exhausted. I strip down and turn on the shower, spinning the knob to make it as hot as possible. The room fills with steam, and I think about the bones. I don’t doubt that Danner’s telling the truth about them belonging to failed princesses. Father would believe he had the right to them until they were no longer of value, and in his twisted mind, that may have been after he’d tried to create with them. With the way the females are valued in East End—Forsyth as a whole—no one would have questioned where they went after being disgraced.

Stepping into the shower, I ease into the scalding water. I set my back to the spray, palms flat on the wall, and let the burn wash over me.

I’ve been too busy—too distracted by Father being down in the dungeon, taking care of Verity, and handling the needs of East End—to really focus on identifying the bones. Danner’smocking may have been a diversion, but he’s right. The proofwillbe in the science. However, if I’m lucky, digging through the files for a match may not be necessary.

Shutting off the water, I dry off and change into a pair of sweats before sliding on my glasses. I open my kit, grab what I need, and take it into Pace’s room. He sits behind his monitors, each one focused on a different part of the palace, interior and exterior.

Standing over him, my gaze goes directly to the screen in the center—it’s the largest—the one covering the Princess’ room. She and Wick are in bed, asleep, the image of them captured in infrared. He’s got her pulled close, because despite whatever tensions run between them, Wick is an aggressive cuddler. His face is buried in her neck, his arm wrapped tight around her body, although I notice that even in sleep, he avoids touching her stomach.

Fuck, I miss being there beside them.

The feel of the three of us all in the bed at once, surrounding her, and keeping her safe—we didn’t get many of those nights before everything went to hell in a handbasket, but it was enough to make me crave more. Unfortunately, right now, I don’t trust myself. Not until Father’s been handled.

“Hey,” I say, dragging my eyes away from the screen, “look at me.”