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Her frown deepens. “But Wick and Lex were.”

“I assume so.” I watch as Autumn takes the first tray of drinks across the room and delivers them to the poker table. Maddox picks up his glass of top shelf and glances over at us. Message delivered. “You know she didn’t mean anything to them.”

Groaning, she insists, “It’s not that I’m jealous. I just…” She truly seems like she’s at a loss for words, finally settling on, “I just know she went through all of that, and now she’s here. She went from the top of the Royal game to… this. It’s just really sad, isn’t it? How this machine can just chew you up and spit you out?”

Probably like me when I see people I was in prison with, like seeing DK the other day on my way into the courtroom. It’s like meeting a fellow combat soldier. Names, territory lines, kingdoms, loyalties… for a second, it’s like they don’t even matter. There’s a connection you can’t dismiss.

“If it makes you feel any better, I heard she wasn’t dethroned. And hey, at least she’s not buried in the solarium.”

Verity cuts me an unamused glance. “Neither of those things makes any of this better, Pace.”

I shrug. “Fair.”

Autumn returns to the table with my bottle of beer and a red, fizzy-looking drink for Verity. “Shirley Temple,” Autumn says, placing it in front of her. “I delivered your other drinks.”

“Perfect.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a roll of cash, grabbing the money for the drinks and adding a fat tip on top.

Autumn notices, eyes widening for a long, awkward pause. Ultimately, she stammers out a quiet, “Wow. Thanks.”

I squeeze Verity’s leg under the table. “Thank her.”

Their eyes meet, and sure enough, I see a flicker of understanding pass between them.

“May she reign,” Autumn says, and it doesn’t even sound sarcastic.

Jesus, sometimes it’s absurdly obvious that we’re not just Royals, but royally fucked.

After Autumn saunters off, Verity takes a sip of her drink, sucking in a cough. “Jesus, that’s sweet.”

All I want to do is lick that cherry syrup off her lips, but then a shadow hovers over the table.

“Regina,” a quiet rumble sounds from behind the mask, “be a good girl and wait for me by the bar.”

She keeps her eyes cast down, hands folded in front of her. “Yes, Daddy.”

Maddox watches her walk away, his dark eyes chilling from behind the mask. “It’ll be a shame to see her go at the end of the summer. I’d only just gotten her trained up right. That’s the bitter pill of Kinghood. You get them just long enough to make them sufferable, and then they’re on to greener pastures.” He sighs, as if to say ‘what can you do?’

Verity’s wide eyes say enough about what she thinks about those two.

There’s something that’s always bugged me, and the chance to ask the question is the only thing distracting me from the factthe man in front of me might be responsible for Verity’s stint in the hospital.

“What’s with the Barons’ whole daddy roleplay thing, anyway?” I ask, sipping from my glass. “What, you sucked so bad at the real thing, you have to make up a fantasy about kids who actually love you?”

It’s the first time any of us have touched on the ‘mutually assured destruction’ that was given to us the day we made our deal with the Kings.

The Baron King—Maddox—adjusts the golden cufflink on his jet-black suit, appearing unbothered that I know his identity. “The last place a father in Forsyth would look for love is from his own children. No one knows that better than the two of you,” he says, greeting Verity with a nod while lowering himself in the seat normally occupied by my father.

My smile drips with disdain. “Just seems a bit creepy and incestuous, is all. You should consider your public image.”

Maddox doesn’t even blink. “You’ve fucked the boy you call your brother.” He tilts his head toward Verity. “She’s fucked the boys her father adopted, and all of you are fucking your sister.” A tsk. “Glass palaces, Pace.”

I’m not sure what he sees in my expression, but internally, I’m wondering how the everloving fuck this piece of shit knows anything about what me and Wick have done behind closed doors.

Whatever he sees, it brings a low, ominous chuckle from behind his mask. “Oh, I’ve been keeping tabs on the Kayes heir for a while now. In truth, I’m surprised he’s not here. It seems like an opportunity he’d be eager to pursue—looking me in the eye.”

Verity squeezes my hand, and I realize I’m vibrating with anger. “He’s a little busy handling that Forsyth fatherhood thing.”

“Pity,” Maddox says, the word glaringly insincere. “I assume that if you’re interrupting my game, you have something for me?”