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“A fight is good,” Mama says, voice rising above the girls’. Every eye swings in her direction. “But Delores is right, there’s something about a man on his knees, groveling like his life depends on it, that just can’t be matched.”

“You mean like flowers and jewelry?” Lakshmi asks.

“No,” Story interjects, twirling a lock of her dark hair around a finger. “Like when he comes to your door and carves your initial into his chest.”

Lavinia blurts, “Or when he brings you the head of your enemy.” At everyone’s shocked stares, she shrinks into herself, quickly adding, “Or, you know, when he takes care of your kitten or helps you fix a clock.”

Mrs. Crane’s scraggly voice pipes in. “Severed heads are a messy business. Best stick with him taking care of your pussy.”

Lavinia blinks. “Oh, I was being literal about the kitten. Although,” she gives a sly smirk, “the other kitten is well taken care of, too.”

I try to think if my Princes have ever groveled like that, with some big romantic gesture to prove their worth to me. Sure, there was Lex surprising me with the dance the other night. And I too know the charm of receiving a severed limb.

But what comes flooding back is the little stuff.

Lex bringing me coffee in the mornings, or Wicker sneaking treats to me in the dungeon. There was the time Pace washed the glue out of my hair with a gentle touch I didn’t know he possessed, and then made me a second appointment to get pampered.

“This is the most Forsyth of all Forsyth discussions ever,” Lavinia mutters, leaning in close. “But they can talk about pussy, beatdowns, and men doing sweet shit all day because I overheard Adeline say she had games to play.” Lavinia shudders. “I’m not playing any stupid party games.”

“Games?” Story asks, her expression reflecting my dread. “Like what?”

She flaps a hand. “You know, there’s the one where they melt candy in the diapers and you have to guess which kind?”

“No,” Story says, absolute horror overcoming her expression. “I don’t know about that.”

Two girls from West End wander over, joining in. Daphne points across the room, “That glass vase on the gift table filled with pacifiers and stuff? That’s not just a decoration. It’s a guessing game. And Adeline has some raffle planned, too.”

“Oh,” I reply, pulling a face. “Maybe I should fake a contraction or pretend like my water broke, and then maybe we can all just go home early.”

“You can’t go home!” Story shouts. Lavinia elbows her in the side and she winces. Rubbing her ribs she adds, “I mean, not yet. We have to open gifts!”

“In front of everyone?” Suddenly, it just all feels too much. I tug at the collar of my dress. It’s like all the doilies and pastels are closing in on me. “I think I need some air.”

“Is something wrong?” Story asks, forehead creased in concern. “Do you want us to come with you?”

“I’m okay,” I rest my hands on my belly. “I’m just hot and hormonal. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready for games and presents.” I give them a tight smile. “Promise.”

I can’t get outside fast enough. As soon as I do, I gulp in the air, greeted by the scent of roses. There was a time when the smell would turn my stomach, but now it just makes me long for the sanctuary of the palace solarium.

However, the universe must be on my side, because perched on the bottom of the porch steps is none other than my coveted target, Regina Thorn.

She’s resting her cheek on her knee as she fingers the bud of a new rose, eyes distant and wistful. Aside from Mama and Mrs. Crane, all the women inside are wearing bright, summery colors.

Not Regina.

She’s in a long, black, lacy cardigan, which is covering a short, dark dress.

Maybe Wicker had a point before about Barons and their theatrics.

Clearing my throat, I watch as she jolts in surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

I start to go back inside but she straightens, insisting, “Stay, Princess. It’s fine.”

Turning, I offer her a small grin. I know we’re outside, but there’s a huge fucking elephant in the room; the fact I witnessed Wicker slitting the throat of her Baron. In a heartbeat, I can feelthe warmth of his blood on my hands. I run them down my sides in an absurd attempt to wipe them clean.

“I don’t know if we’ve ever actually met,” I try. “I’m Verity.”

“Regina,” she says, giving me a nod. “I didn’t mean to be rude by dipping out. Honestly, I was surprised to get the invitation at all. I figured after recent…” she grimaces, “events… I wouldn’t have made the cut.”