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“Because I haven’t seen anyone in weeks,” I explain, harried. “Not only do I look like I shoved a beach ball into the front of my dress, but the lack of activity and sunlight has made my skin look like a vampire sucks me dry every night.” I unzip a compartment and pull out whatever my fingers touch. Pens, pencils, art markers, erasers. “Dammit!”

He grabs my shoulders with firm, tattooed hands. “Verity, calm down. No one has any expectations of you. They’re just excited you’re coming home, even if it’s only for dinner.”

I look at his face, seeing the sincerity, and force myself to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“Mama has been sending me over food every week, but it’s not the same as actually being at Family Dinner.” I return to my rummaging, unzipping another pocket. “Nothing is the same.”

He doesn’t respond, leaving us both in a stretch of quiet. That’s the whole fucking problem; the quiet.

“I hate it,” I confess, tossing out a pack of ginger gum. “I hate how quiet it is without her here. Everything feelswrong. There’s no way I should be able to walk from the bathroom to the bedroom without her in the background going off about some random thing, like…” I huff. “I don’t know, one second she’s talking about this cute Matryoshka doll she had as a kid, and the next thing you know, she’s explaining how ‘decimation’ was a punishment for mutiny in ancient Roman legions, and the path from A to B shouldn’t even make sense, but?—”

“Because one soldier out of every ten would be randomly killed,” Ballsack says, eyes solemn and sad. “It’s one of the games she used to play as a kid, but she didn’t have toy soldiers. All she had was?—”

“The Matryoshka doll.”

Ballsy gives a heavy nod.

I’d become used to the incessant, non-stop chatter. The way she flitted around, expertly assisting me as my handmaiden. She had an instinct. A way of knowingwhatI needed exactlywhenI needed it, but it was more than that. She knew what they expected of me.

“Being Princess—living here, having this life…” I look around the room, remembering that not too long ago, it was a more literal prison than not. “It was unbearable. And she made it better. Easier. She took care of me after the ceremonies when I was bleeding or covered in gross frat boy fluids. She held my hand when I took the pregnancy test, checking the results when I was too scared to look for myself. She brought me tea and crackers when I suffered through morning sickness. And she wasthere when I was in danger and scared, trying to protect me.” I swallow, meeting Eugene’s pained eyes. “I took her for granted, I realize that now. She was the thing—the friend—I didn’t realize I would miss until she was gone, and it sucks, Ballsy. It sucks so fucking bad.”

After a long beat, he says, “I know.”

I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge. “I saw Ashby today,” I say, picking at a fingernail. “The guys finally took me down there. I got to ask him about Stella.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Ballsack’s hopeful, “And?”

It’s agony to meet his gaze, giving a small shake of my head. “He wouldn’t give an answer.”

Ballsack’s face falls. “Apparently, her sister has been talking to some cop.”

My head snaps up in shock. “Auggy went to the cops?” I try to reconcile the former escort, now Hideaway manager, talking to the authorities. Royals are notorious for handling issues internally, and South Siders especially.

“No,” he shakes his head, “she’sfuckinga cop, which is weird too, but she’s South Side so who the fuck knows what they’re thinking. Probably some customer or someone dirty, taking a cut.” He shrugs. “Anyway, she filed a missing person report.”

I blink. “Wow.”

Shrugging, he says, “I already told your Princes. You know, in case they come around asking questions.”

“Good idea.”

My eyes land on the bedside table. There’s a stack of pregnancy books on top, the spines cracked and worn. A pair of Lex’s reading glasses are sitting on top. Leaning over, I pull open the drawer, pushing aside a bottle of lube and a cluster of hair ties. The rose gold tube catches my eye and I grab it.

“Ah ha!”

The thin ghost of a smile touches his lips. “You think she put it there?” he asks.

“Not a fucking chance. This is what happens when I’m left to my own devices. The lipstick gets mixed in with the lube.”

He grimaces. “More information than I need, Princess.”

With the lipstick in hand, I rise and cross the room. “We’ll find her,” I say, knowing this down to my marrow. There’s no other option.

Ballsack doesn’t seem as confident, collapsing into the wingback chair by the window. “We haven’t found Laura. Or the Livingston girl. Or?—”

“We’ll find all of them,” I amend. “And when we have her back, everything will be better. You’ll see.” But as I’m putting on the lipstick, I catch his reflection in the mirror, the way he drags a heavy hand down his face.

“Verity,” he begins, looking impossibly more exhausted. “Can I… tell you something? Something I haven’t told anyone.” The words are imbued with a graveness that makes me turn to him, but it’s the sorrow in his eyes that makes me hold my silence. “Stella… there are things we don’t know about her.”