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His blank stare is unimpressed with my attempt at humor. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before, much less…” Nodding toward my belly, he shifts uncomfortably. “Whatever this is.”

“You’re trying to apologize,” I acknowledge, dragging my spoon through a melting scoop of ice cream.

But his amber eyes capture mine. “This isn’t an apology.” My stomach sinks, and he must see it because he straightens. “I mean, I’m trying to explain something to you. The apology—that’ll come after.”

I watch him carefully. “And what is all this explaining?”

Lex folds his hands on the shimmery gold tablecloth, head bowed. “My brothers are the only thing I’ve ever cared about, and somehow, in some way, I showed it.” He glances up, eyesfilled with such anger that it takes me aback. “I showed it too much. I showed it tohim,and he used them against me, time and time again.” His jaw tightens, the candlelight throwing his angular features in sharp relief. “I want you to know that you’re right.” His face pinches, as if he’s facing something unfathomably foul. “I am his creation, Verity. He tied it all together inside of me like tendons and muscles, where the smallest stretch of affection is always attached to the snap of a whip.”

My spoon clatters against the bowl when I drop it, stomach flipping sickly. “Oh.”

“I wasn’t created to love,” he goes on, head shaking. “But Iwascreated to understand the body. To know how it works andwhyit works. So when I bully Pace into getting a vitamin shot or force Wicker into a dark room for three days after a bad hit on the ice, they let me, because they understand something that you don’t.” Reaching across the table, he takes the small velvet box, tugging the bow away. “Taking care of you and the baby, making you as healthy as I possibly can…”

He grasps the top, clicking it open to reveal a ring.

“It’s the only way I know how to show that I want you,” he says. It’s not just a ring, but aPrincessring, almost exactly like the one I’m wearing. “That I respect you,” he adds, plucking something smaller from the bed of velvet beside it. I don’t realize it’s a key to the ring I’m wearing until he gathers up my hand, pushing the pointed end of the tool into the top stone. “That I care about you.”

The ring on my finger expands, and for the first time since my coronation, it slips off the knuckle without sting or pain.

His amber eyes glow in the candlelight as they meet mine. “That I love you.”

All the air leaves my lungs in a painful punch, that sagging tear finally brimming over, leading a track down my warmcheek. It’s when I’m chasing it away, watching Lex tug the new ring from the box, that I notice the gold cursive imprinted in the velvet of the box.

To my beautiful Queen. May she reign.

“But I want you to know I’m trying to learn more.” He stands, offering me an outstretched hand. “If you’ll let me.”

I stand on shaky legs, not having to wonder what this means. The ring he’s holding won’t hurt me—not like the one that was forged with tradition. This one slips on easily, snugly, but without the cinch of threat, and when I look into his eyes, I don’t see the vacant depths of an empty man, nor the simmering resentment of a Prince forced to give it to me.

I see my future.

“I love you, too,” I tell him, knowing that our journey to that future will be as thorny as the rose bushes surrounding this palace.

But knowing it’ll be worth it.

The tension falls out of him in a long, measured exhale, and when he takes my hand in his, he brings it to his lips, brushing a kiss against my knuckles. “Wicker said I should dance with you now,” he says, eyes sparkling.

Grimacing, I look down at myself. “Ever rolled a beach ball?”

Lex must take this as a challenge, because suddenly he’s gathering me by the waist and leading me into an expert waltz. When I laugh, his lips tick up, and I’m hit with the memory of our first dance.

“When I saw you that night, you looked like Prince Charming,” I say, tightening my hold on his hand. “You’re finally living up to the hype.”

He snorts. “You looked scared out of your wits.”

Groaning, I recall, “Everyone was so cold to me…”

“I know I was,” he replies, the mirth falling from his eyes. “You might not believe me, but that’s why I took the samples, Verity.”

I scoff when he spins, the bottom of my gown sweeping along the floor. “Because East End is full of snobs?”

“Because we’re not ‘Sides’ and ‘Ends’,” he corrects. “We’re all linked somewhere down the line, and maybe if people understood that, they’d stop trying to divide everything by streets and territories.”

I’m more surprised than I should be at his answer, and in this moment, I look at him and see so much more than a father, brother, or lover.

I see a potential King.

“That’s how you show you care about Forsyth,” I realize.