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The baby will be here in less than three months. And since Lex seems to think we’re already cutting it close if we want the nursery to be done first, we’ve had to accelerate the timeline on my nursery plans. Early mornings, late nights. All of this despite the man we’re currently holding prisoner down in the basement.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” I sigh, rubbing my temples.

“Going to West End?” he asks, sliding a look toward the half-full suitcase. “Probably.”

I shake my head, throwing another pair of socks into the bag. “You know what I mean.”

“The construction is proof of life.” Wicker shrugs, completely uncaring about the team of contractors hammering two floors above our torture victim. “Father would never let the baby come without tearing up the palace to make it perfect. The less of a fuss we make, the more suspicious it’ll seem.”

I know he has a point.

It’s just that I’m tired.

Once Wicker offered up his room, the three of them got busy, digging through Rufus’ files for his contacts. All of us then spent the following week meeting with an architect, contractors, and designers. There’s a benefit to being Royal, especially with access to a King’s fortune.

Money doesn’t buy quiet, though. Or sleep. It doesn’t soften the loud footsteps going up and down the hall, or the incessant radio chatter the workers turn on the minute they arrive, or this knot of nervousness in my stomach that they’re going to find out what we’re hiding below.

The construction chaos isn’t just in our wing, either. They rolled out paper covering the floor from the kitchen entrance up the backstairs and hung thick sheets of plastic in a futile attemptto keep the dust out of our living quarters. Pace pretty much wrapped his office in plastic wrap.

So when I realized the date—that it’s time for my month in West End—I won’t deny seizing it with a complicated gusto. I fold another shirt. “I have to get out of here, Wick.”

A loud crash echoes down the hall, and he grimaces. “Convenient that Dr. Lex decided he should be the one to go with you, while we get to stay here and ‘hold down the fort.’” He uses air quotes on that last part before flopping onto the bed. He picks up the small purple massage ball that helps with the cramps I’ve been having in my arches and tosses it in the air. “Take me with you instead, Red. I’ll feed you burritos. I even promise not to complain about sleeping on what I assume is a dirty mattress from some warehouse alley.”

“Thinly veiled insults about my family will get you nowhere.” I stifle a yawn. “But nice try. Lex has already worked out the deal with Sy to run the annual blood drive at the gym, so there’s another reason for him to go with me.” I shoot him a look. “Unless you want to join in the organization of dozens of volunteers, setting up the bus, and everything else?”

He considers it, or pretends to, and then decides, “Better me than Lex.”

I frown, walking to the dresser to get my toiletry bag. “You’re worried about him?”

“Sending my brother into enemy territory completely unprotected?” The look he gives me is mocking, all wide eyes and guileless expression. “What’s to worry about?”

It’s all I can do not to groan. “The Dukes aren’t anything like the three of you seem to think. Maybe if you’d stop treating them like the enemy, you’d see that.” I give a pair of leggings an aggressive shake. “And then maybe we could actually work together to find Stella, Laura, and Rory’s sister.”

Before he can refute this, there’s a distant slam.

“Son of a—” The sound of plastic ripping and cursing precedes Pace ripping through the barrier between the hall and my bedroom door. He finally makes it through with a scowl on his face and Effie’s cage in his hands.

“Decay,” she chirps an exuberant greeting, “beautiful decay.”

“What?” I ask, laughing. “That’s new.”

“It’s that goddamn radio.” He carries the cage over to the window. “They listen to it all the time. She’s fucking obsessed with that one DJ.”

“Oh, that Royal Noir show? Yeah, I like him.”

“Well, I can’t take it anymore.” He strokes Effie’s beak and faces us. “It’s so fucking noisy this week, I can’t get her to settle down. She already curses too much, the last thing I need is for her to become fluent in a second language.”

Artis, the foreman, is Czech.

Pace finally sees the suitcase. I know he does because he suddenly freezes.

“Maybe Lex and I can take her with us,” I offer, ignoring the storm brewing in his eyes. “I know Mama will be happy to see her again.”

Wick glances between us, a smirk flirting at the corner of his mouth.

He’s enjoying this way too much. “Yeah, bro, let her take your most precious possession with her into a rival territory.”

“You’re really going through with this.” Pace’s words fall like a boulder, dull and flat and twice as heavy.