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“Torture and murder usually are,” comes Pace’s deep voice. “Even when we pretend like they’re not.”

They fall quiet, the admission a weight too heavy to consider, but I think I know what Wicker is trying to say. He had an awakening in that cemetery. A rebirth, maybe. It’s like, for the first time, he stopped running. From everything: his past, his bloodline, his child. Instead, he faced his truth head-on. I felt it when he asked about him, checking to make sure we were both okay. When he didn’t panic, but remained strong. Forus.

There’s never been a doubt about Wicker’s loyalty to his brothers. They’re his life. But I wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to carve out space for me and this baby—at least, not without resentment. But since that moment in the mausoleum when his blue eyes met mine, wide and full of steel, it’s been different. It’s the same look I see in Lex’s eyes when he examines me, or in Pace’s when he holds me close.

It means this baby and I are his.

Still, when we left that cemetery, he was raw, and I suspect he’s not ready to articulate this, not even to Lex and Pace.

“He’s going to looktired,” I gripe, abandoning the ruse. When I open my eyes, I’m greeted with the bluish glow of a large tablet, which has been propped on the bedside table. It’s shifting automatically through security streams of the palace. I drag my eyes away and look at Pace. “No. Not in bed.”

His eyes shutter. “Then I’ll leave.”

“No, you won’t.” I grab his wrist. He could easily get out of my hold, but he doesn’t. “You told me once that this ridiculous, ornate Princess bed was made for one thing: creation.” I run my hand over my belly. “I’m creating right now, growing your child, and I need your attention and focus here,” I tilt my head toward the screen, “not there.”

“The house is secure,” Lex tells him, “with both your security measures and guys from the frat pulling shifts.”

This doesn’t seem to make Pace feel much better. “There’s alwayshim.”

A stretch of silence engulfs us before Wicker casually offers. “We should kill him.”

“Not yet,” Lex says.

“Why? Father’s useless to us,” Pace grumbles. “He hasn’t given us any usable intel in weeks, and he’s clammed up even more since Wick used him for carving practice.” The glare Pace sends his brother is some strange mix of annoyance and pride, which explains almost anything anyone needs to know about the Ashby brothers.

“It’s also starting to smell down there,” Wick adds, unhelpfully. He’s got me pulled up against his side, his hand flat against my hip, not quite touching the baby, but not-nottouching the baby either. I consider it progress. “I’m with Pace, let’s end this.”

“It’s not that easy and you know it.” Lex shifts to recline against the headboard, raking his hair from his face. “There are rules and procedures. If we just kill him, there will be outright pandemonium. A sub-mutiny.”

“Why would they care?” I ask, although I’m in agreement about the mutiny. There are some guys, particularly Tommy, who won’t be onboard.

“Just because we know Rufus is a princess-murdering, sex-trafficking, egomaniacal psycho doesn’t mean the rest of PNZor East End sees him the same way.” Lex reaches over to the nightstand, plucking a book from the tall stack that’s collected there. The cover is dark purple, with a gold emblem on the front. “Maddox was right. Rufus kept East End running smoothly. He managed a balance between the territories that provided comfort. When the rest of the frat finds out that we’ve had him locked up in the dungeon all this time, they’re going to have questions, and I don’t know how many we want to answer.” He passes the book to Wicker, who purses his lips at the cover, emblazoned with the words ‘PNZ Pledge Book’. “If we’re going to dethrone Rufus, we need the backing of every single member of PNZ.”

“We have most of them,” Wick says, not bothering to open the pages. “Rory obviously. Giles and Turner will sway the other guys from the hockey team. Maybe Mitchell. But yeah, there are a few that are a problem.”

The guys share a look—a look obviously regarding me.

“What?” I press, eyes narrowed.

At first, no one speaks, but then Pace releases a hard sigh. “They don’t like you, Rosi.”

“Me? What did I do?”

Wick snorts. “Well, let’s see. You hit Heather with a frying pan. Got all the girls in your court to dump their boyfriends…”

“She was flirting with you, knowing you belonged to me. And those guys! Every last one of them came on my face!” I refute. “They gave me dead, black roses! I’m the victim here.”

There’s a sudden frisson of discomfort, so thick that it’s almost visible as it ripples through us, at the mention of my Royal Cleansing.

Lex doesn’t meet my eye as he takes the pledge book back from Wicker, clearing his throat. “Tensions were high, and conventional wisdom is that a Princess should be compliant and cooperative.” He raises an eyebrow. “You were anything but.”

“As far as they see it,” Pace adds, “you were an outsider—a West Ender, for god’s sake—who took the Princess spot away from one of their girls. And because of Father’s manipulations, we took their spots away from rightful legacies.”

Rolling my eyes, I read the clues. “So what you’re saying is that in order to get PNZ on board with killing Rufus, I need to win them over.” I think of Tommy standing over me, cock in hand, a mean snarl on his lips as his seed spilled on me. I don’t want to win him over, but I do want Rufus’ reign to end. I remember the bodies down in the solarium—what they endured. What they sacrificed. Far worse than I had. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Pace asks.

Wicker frowns. “How?”