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I nestle back into the blankets, already feeling pretty good about my idea. “By embracing my reign as Princess and heir, and instituting a new East End tradition.”

Pace’s mouth slants unhappily. “A new tradition? What would that be?”

“The thing that brings any well-organized frat together.” I grin. “Family Dinner.”

All three of them groan in such perfect unison that it’s all I can do not to laugh. Wicker bursts, “Red, come on.”

“We don’t do that kumbaya shit here,” Pace argues. “Forty snobby pricks trying to make small talk over a casserole every week? It’ll be torture.”

Lex mutters, “I’ve seen some torture that would be preferable.” Pausing, he adds, “I’vedonesome torture that would be preferable.”

“It’ll be perfect.” I aim my glare at Lex. “And since you won’t let medo anything, it’ll give me a project to keep me busy. I’m not spending the next month in East End twiddling my thumbs.”

“It’s not like we have much choice,” he says, which sounds enough like an approval for me. “We’ll get started on it tomorrow. Right now, the Princess and baby need some sleep.”

Pace glances back at the tablet, and Wick says quietly, “She’s right, bro. Give it a rest. Father and Danner are locked up, and the William is no longer a threat.”

“There’s always another William,” Pace mutters, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. “And dozens of shadows. They’re like cockroaches. You can’t be sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure. That creep was trying to impress his King, and given what we know, it didn’t work.” Wick’s hand is heavy on my hip. Stabilizing. “But I have a feeling the Baron King is about to clean house. What about you, Red?”

I lean into him, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. “Definitely. Will wasn’t entirely wrong when he said his King was lost. If he’s going to find a place in the new Forsyth order, he’s going to have to make some changes, too.” Or maybe William just meant Timothy Maddox himself is lost. I don’t know. It sounded sad more than anything else. I look up at Pace, who still seems unsure. “We’re all here, sleeping on top of a bed loaded with weapons, attached to a panic room. Stay in bed.” I meet Pace’s gaze, an ache stirring deep inside. “Stay with us.”

It’s an invitation, and I like the way his hands feel on me as he rolls me back to Wicker, his fingers plucking my panties aside. Lex, on the other side of Wick, opens his mouth to admonish—to lay down rules—but I shake my head. “It’s past midnight,” I point out. “It’s a new day.”

Pace is too worried, too focused on the outside of this house. I need him here—with us. Lex must understand because he simply nods and lies back on the pillow he shares with his brother.

“Look at me,” Wick says quietly. “I want to see your face when he fills you up.”

I meet his eyes at the moment Pace enters me, swift and deep, stretching me with a gasp.

“Night, Rosi,” Pace whispers, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear as I drift off surrounded by my men.

It endsup not being a dinner. These are Princes, after all.

We settle on a luncheon, but I reject the cook’s suggestion of tea and sandwiches, because men are men, regardless of what territory they reside in. They’re hungry. They want to be fed something hearty and filling. And more than that, they want to beserved.

Unlike my mother’s family dinners at the gym, there are no ancient folding tables and hard metal chairs. Lex took me to the storage closet off of the ballroom the next morning, which I found to be filled with everything we needed: large round tables, gold-plated chairs with soft cushions, and stacks of white linens.

“You can’t seem like you’re changing it too much,” Lex said, pointing out the crates of plates and glasses. “The key here is making them feel comfortable—familiar—while showing them what you can offer.”

So when Saturday afternoon arrives, I survey the room. It’s the same room the masquerade was held in, with its high ceilings and chandeliers. Only now, I’ve had some of the guys open the heavy brocade curtains, filling the room with summery light. Sunshine catches on the crystals overhead, making everything sparkle and shine.

Ever since we locked our father in the dungeon, it’s like the palace is waking up, spreading its arms, and indulging in a long, invigorating stretch. No longer are the corners dark and dusty from disuse. I can’t enter a room in this place without angrilychasing away the shadows, unable to shake the feeling the mortar and stone have been prisoners to him, too.

I want to erase every mark Rufus Ashby has made on this place.

But Lex is right.

I can’t do it all at once.

“You’re really taking this seriously,” Pace says, sliding up behind me. His long arms engulf me, tugging me into his broad chest, and I don’t need to glance up to know he’s following my gaze to the display of tables that we’ve been arranging since yesterday. He groans. “Are those golden name cards? Christ, you really are an Ashby.”

I swat the hand that comes to rest on my belly. “Fuck off.”

“Ah,” he says, bending to press a kiss beneath my ear. “There’s the Sinclaire.”

Shivering, I try not to get distracted. “Are they here?”