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An altar sits underneath.

I hold my arm out, grazing Verity’s belly. “Let me check it out.”

I can’t discount that this is a setup, a retribution for accusing one of the Barons of harming my child. Maybe Father was lying about hiring William. It wouldn’t be his first misdirection, but it could possibly be his last.

Turning on my flashlight, I let my eyes acclimate, searching the dark corners for the King’s Shadows.

But there’s nothing except more dust and marble, this time with engraved brass plates marking the tombs of past Kayes. Long benches sit underneath, a place for visitors to mourn. A muffled sound draws my attention back to the center of the space, where a large, black tomb sits above ground. On top is a bundle.

No. Abody.

Bound with rope, a black hood covers the head of our victim.

“What is that?” Verity asks, her footsteps following closely behind. Of course, she didn’t wait. Approaching the body, I scowl at the display and yank off the hood.

“Well, look at this, Princess,” I say, staring down into fearful, pleading, beady eyes. “Seems the Baron King left you a birthday gift. A bit late.”

“What kind?” she asks, her voice lilted, coy.

“A William.” I grab his neck and lift him into the light, ignoring the grunt he makes. “Look familiar?”

Her green eyes squint through the darkness. “I’m not sure,” she says, studying his body. She approaches, moving close, but I thrust out a hand before she can get within distance. Frowning, she commands, “Talk. Say something.”

He’s not gagged, which is a real shame considering the first words spilling through his gnashed teeth are, “Fuck. You.”

My punch snaps his head back, slamming it into the marble tomb. My knuckles ache, but it's worth it to see the first drop of blood slide over his lip. “You’re talking to my Princess. Show some respect.”

Verity’s hand rests on my shoulder, and she says, “Repeat after me: two sides of the same coin.”

He hisses when I jostle him with a violent shake. “Two sides of the same coin.” His lip curves, eyes sharp as a dagger when he adds, “Do you believe in fate, Sinclaire?”

Recognition flickers in Verity’s green eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with fear. “It’s him.” She steps back, hands protective over her stomach. It’s not the knowledge that this is the William who hurt the Princess and my baby that triggers my rage. It’s seeing that fear, the insecurity, in Verity’s eyes.

Verity Sinclaire isn’t a coward. She’s tough. A fighter. West End, through and through. She’s taken every single thing we’ve thrown at her for months without a flinch. But whatever this piece of shit did to her that night was enough to make her afraid.

And that makes me very,veryupset.

The anger that runs through me is toxic, a poison that fuels every cell in my body, but it’s the stillness that drives me. I turn away from the traitor and reach into the bag on the floor, taking out a narrow black box. That’s the real difference betweenEast and West. A Duke would be pummeling this guy’s face into ground Baron right now.

A Prince takes his time.

“We know my father hired you to scare my Princess, and trust me, he’s paying for that betrayal. But I need some answers, Willie.” I set the box on the tomb and open the lid. Inside is a set of knives, each with a different blade. The handles are made of jade, a deep green that reminds me of the Princess’ eyes. One has a fine, scalpel-like point. The other is jagged like broken teeth. Another with a hook on the end. The box came from Father’s office, from the same cabinet where he stored his whips. He always did appreciate things like these. Ceremonial tokens.

It seemed appropriate to bring them tonight.

“I need to know why a Baron, a man known for his loyalty to his King and to his house, would step across territory lines and harm not just another house’s woman, but a pregnant Princess.” I pick up the blade with the hook and touch the tip with my finger. A bead of blood comes to the surface. “Why would you do this, when the consequence of being discovered is certain death?”

William sneers up at me. “I don’t fear death.”

“No,” I agree, licking the blood off my finger, “you respect it. Or so they say.”

“You don’t respect death,” Verity says, pushing past me. “You crave it. I remember every word you said to me that night. How you’d like to split me open, pop my stomach like a balloon, and let my insides spill out.”

He laughs, and it’s interesting. I’ve threatened a lot of marks down in Father’s dungeon, but none of them have laughed at the prospect. “I remember you running scared,beggingme not to hurt you or your child.” His eyes go dreamy, like he’s lost in the memory. “You were perfect.”

I lash out, the blade slicing down his cheek. At first, there’s nothing but the flap of flesh, but then the blood sluices down his cheek. “I don’t believe you were acting for your King. Any Royal knows better than to risk starting a war between the houses.” I watch him, disgusted at this part of my heritage—my grandfather’s legacy. “You just wanted to kill something important for the thrill, didn’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, I press on him, catching the hook on the edge of his mouth, giving the slightest tug.

He inhales, erratic and fearful—pained. Good. Tenderly, he speaks, “Thatthinggrowing inside of her is an abomination. Unlike you,” he snarls, “I love my King. He earned his reign through the trial of death. You think loyalty means blindly following orders?” A ragged, sinister laugh spills from his bloody lips. “Real loyalty means protecting your King, even when it angers him. That abomination inside of her is a threat to his reign. It should be flushed out like the parasite it is and left bleeding on the—agh!”