Page 26

But the moment he pushes off the door he’s been leaning against, I stop him. “Wait. What’s in here?”

Wicker turns, making a face. “That room? That’s?—”

“The nursery.” Pace approaches, dragging the slain drapes behind him. “It’s been closed off ever since the vandalization incident.”

Lex returns, mopping his brow with his discarded shirt. “According to Father’s calendar, we’re supposed to be cleaning it out right about now, calling the decorator, anointing it with oil.”

I check his expression for seriousness. Honestly, I can’t tell. “Is that last one true?”

“No.” His lips twitch. “I mean, I don’t think so.”

Turning to the door, my stomach flutters as I reach for the knob, swinging it open.

The smell alone makes me stumble back, Pace’s strong hands catching me. “Oh my god,” I choke, pushing my wrist beneath my nose. “Whatisthat?”

“That,” Wicker says, smirking, “is the smell of rancid pig’s blood.”

“They never cleaned up the blood?!” I gawk into the room, but it’s not what I’m expecting. There’s not any blood visible. It looks clean enough, if overly bare. There’s an old, ornate crib against one wall with no mattress or bedding. Against the other wall are a long antique cabinet and a rocking chair. There’s an empty iron clothing rack on the other side, and the walls are a dull, faded orange and lilac color.

But then I realize the orange is just the blood stains.

“It got into the base and floorboards,” Lex comments, ducking his head inside with a grimace. “We’re going to have to strip it down to the studs.”

“Like hell we are,” I squawk. “My baby isnotsleeping in here. The grossness of rancid floorboard blood aside, it’s like a mile from my bedroom. How am I supposed to hear him crying?” Turning, I notice the tense, grim looks on their faces. “What?”

Lex pushes a lock of hair behind his ear. “Well…. usually, a Princess’ handmaiden would sleep next door.” He jerks his chin to the room. “That door beside the crib connects the rooms.”

A lump grows in my throat as I inspect the room, imagining Stella waking in the middle of the night to pad her way in here, reaching down into the crib, and shushing our son with her soft, lilting voice. It’s difficult to shove it back down. “Well, I don’t have a handmaiden anymore,” I reply, clearing the ache from my throat. “And even if I did, I’m not letting some other woman mother my baby. That’s absurd.”

Lex nods like he agrees with me, but, “It’s just… there aren’t any free rooms in our wing.”

“Is anyone else going to say it?” Pace looks between the three of us, raising an eyebrow. “We don’t need to live in this house of nightmares.”

I shuffle my feet, frowning. “Where else would we go?” I see the way they look at one another, my emphasis onwenot having gone unheard.

“Our trust funds are still locked,” Lex says, sighing. He braces his hands against each side of the door jamb, his biceps flexing with the motion. “I have years of med school and residency ahead of me. It’ll be a long time before I can pull enough income to support us all.”

Wicker takes another pull from the bottle, snorting. “Fuck, I’ve barely chosen a major.”

“We don’t need a whole palace.” Pace crosses his arms, looking pretty serious about it.

But I eye Lex and Wicker, and know they’re wondering the same thing. Who would take the palace, if not us? Would Danner stay here? The next set of Princes, totally unchecked? A place like this needs staff, upkeep, and money, but most important of all is theideaof it. The Purple Palace is an institution just as much as a home—exactly like West End’s clock tower. There’s power in living here and the minute we walk away, there’s a power vacuum that someone will fill.

Lex snorts, tossing his brother a skeptical look. “So you’re ready to give up the military-grade surveillance of our massive estate? Because the baby is going to be here in three months.”

Pace reaches up to rub his neck, forehead knitted into a pensive frown. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

Wicker mutters a curse, drawing our attention to him. “Fuck it. He can have my room.” At the ensuing, stunned silence, Wicker just shrugs. “Pace needs his room for the equipment, and Lex needs his for the lock. But let’s be real, I almost never use mine. It’s mostly just there to hold all my clothes.” He freezes, eyes widening. “Wait. Is there any chance we can expand her closet?”

Lex rubs his chin, amber eyes lost in thought. “You know, if we knock out a doorway beside the bathroom, we can connect her room to Wick’s, easy peasy.”

That lump returns to my throat again when I face Wicker. “You’re sure you’re okay with that?”

He glances around, looking panicked. “I’m serious about the closet situation. Do you have any idea how many clothes I have?” He rolls his eyes, though. “But yeah, if it’ll get me out of having to pull up these floorboards, consider the room all his. No skin off my back.”

I grin at him, hoping he can see the softness in it. “Thank you.”

It was barely fifteen hours ago that we were in that big, half-empty bed, somber and quiet as Wicker visibly struggled to reconcile the concept of fatherhood.