Chapter 28
28
Verity
Wicker shoots to his feet, eyes ablaze. “Are you serious about that call, Ref?!” Thrusting out an arm, he gestures to the penalty box, which is empty. “How is that fucking guy not?—”
I grab Wicker by the arm and yank him down, giving him a stern look. Pulling a face, he mouths ‘sorry’ and tweaks J.J.’s beanie before continuing as if he never stopped, “How is that not a freaking high sticking? I mean, fuck.” He glances down, wincing. “I mean, fudge.” Rant over, he drops into the seat next to mine, grousing, “Face it, Red. This new no-cussing rule is hopeless.”
“We can try,” I stress, mouth twitching as I watch Wicker.
He perches on the edge of his seat, eyes fixed on the ice. A palpable energy radiates from him. Every play Pace makes is a symphony of emotion and Wicker's reactions mirror it, swift and intense. As soon as the Wittmore center gets the puck, Wicker leans forward, hands clenched, breath held, as if his sheer will could make Forsyth's defense check him harder. Around us, the crowd is a blur because I'm unable to watch anything but him and Pace, their connection still tethered, even when they're separated by a rink full of people.
I nudge him. “You miss it.”
Wicker exhales like a punch. “So fuck—” he gulps, “so freaking much.” He takes J.J. from me, adjusting the miniature version of Pace’s jersey—number three, Sinclaire —and holds him tight. “But if they advance, I’ll get to travel with the team to Northridge next week. Plus, this is pretty cool, too. Introducing my man to the most epic sport in the world.”
“You know,” I hedge, “it’s possible he won’t want to play hockey.”
I turn to Lex for support, but he and his brother just share an incredulous look. Lex decides, “Well, that’s just crazy talk.”
My phone rings, and now that my hands are empty, I pull it out of my pocket. It’s Mama.
“Hey,” I say, pressing a finger in my ear to dull the noise of the arena. “What’s up?”
Her voice comes sharp. “Is there a reason Pace is ignoring my calls?”
Down on the ice, he chases the puck, smacking it down the ice to Anthony Giles, who waits in the wings.
Lex erupts this time, springing to his feet with a booming, “Thatta boy, number three!”
“Yeah, he’s in the middle of a hockey game.” I smile over at the baby, tight in his daddy’s arms. “J.J.’s first, actually. It’s a big deal.”
She doesn’t seem to take this as the monumental moment it so clearly is. “Well, I need him to call me back.” She pauses. “A-S-A-P.”
Rolling my eyes, I promise, “I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you,” she says, but before hanging up, “and give that baby a kiss for me.” Abruptly, the call ends, and I send it a glare. “It’s really weird having my mom call you guys all the time. Don’t get me wrong, it’s better than her hating you, but it’s a little much.”
“Don’t look at me.” Lex holds up both hands. “She only calls me when she wants free medical advice. And most of it isn’t even for her. I’m never recovering from that picture of Kaczinski’s athlete’s foot.”
I wince, resting my temple on Lex’s shoulder to gaze ruefully up at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Well, I don’t mind it,” Wick says, blue eyes still trained on the ice. “How else am I going to get her to talk me through her recipes?”
Like I said.
Weird.
It’s not just me who’s had to learn how to share my mother in a new way. After talking to Adeline, Pace has a better understanding of what his mother went through and why his biological father was absent. He’s been making efforts to get to know Pauly a little better, and so far, so good. We even had Mama B and Pauly over to celebrate our first Thanksgiving with J.J.
I’m pretty sure the palace shuddered, Rufus rolling over in his grave at two West Enders drinking discount beer from his exquisite crystal goblets and fine china.
Down on the ice, Pace catches the puck and drops it down on the ice, already in movement toward the goal. Watching him makes gooseflesh rise on my arms. The way his body moves is so powerful and sure that I have to admit to feeling a little high on it.
He’s mine, I think, knowing everyone in these stands is seeing the passion I feel from him every night when he’s buried inside me. He passes the puck, then zig-zags down the ice, ready and waiting when Anthony slings it back over. Pace snags the puck and slaps it hard, zinging it to the back of the net. The buzzer rings and Wicker and I both shoot to our feet.
“Let’s go!” Wick shouts, beaming down at J.J. “That’s your dad! Suck it, Wittmore!”
The final score is three-one, and we head down to the waiting area just outside the locker room, buzzing on how we plan to celebrate.
“Burritos?” I suggest hopefully. “Pace loves burritos.”
Lex sighs, shifting Justice’s carrier to his other hand. “Fine, burritos.”
“You just want to beat him at pool again,” Wicker says, pausing to greet Anthony as he walks out of the locker room. “If we knew the key to convincing you to eat junk was billiards, we would have donated a pool table to Se?or Mexicana years ago.”
Ten minutes later, the door opens and Pace struts through, dressed in a dark suit. Unable to contain myself, I spring forward to leap into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist when he lifts me. “You were amazing,” I say, capturing his smirk in a long kiss. “To the victor.”
He nibbles my lip before letting me slide to my feet. “You the spoils, Rosi?”
“Me,” grabbing his tie, I tug him toward his brothers, “and burritos.”
Pace throws Lex a wry look. “Just can’t let me have a win, can you? That pool table at Se?or’s was the worst idea.”
“You killed it, bro,” Wicker says, extending a fist that Pace bumps his against.
“Thanks. That netminder was some kind of sorcerer, and offense has been dogwater without you on center.” He bumps his knuckles against Lex’s fist next. “But our defense is solid, and we’ll probably kill it in the tourney next week. You’re still coming, right?”
Wicker answers without reservations. “Fuck—” He flinches when I slap his arm. “Fudge yeah, I am.”
I watch as Pace squats, giving J.J. a breathtaking smile. “You rocking my number, little man?”
Justice kicks his feet happily when Pace tickles them, his eyes lighting up.
Loath as I am to break it up, I relay, “My mother wants you to call her immediately.”
His eyebrow lifts and he rises, checking his phone. “She called three times.” He presses the button, lifting it to his ear. “Hey, it’s Pace. Everything okay?” He’s quiet for a beat, and then, “Yeah, we won.” My mother talks, her voice unintelligible as she speaks quickly. His forehead creases, but is otherwise blank as he nods. “Okay. Right. I appreciate it. Yeah.” He grimaces, glancing at me. “Well, guess it’s like a Band-Aid, huh? Time to rip that fu—” I glare at him. “Fuuudger off.”
He hangs up, tucking the phone into his pocket.
Wick and I stare at him, until Lex asks, “What was that about?”
“Adeline called.” He takes the carrier from Lex’s grip, a nervous energy buzzing around him. “She found Odette.”
Pace fidgets, circling the room like a caged animal. I took J.J. out of his arms five minutes ago, tucking him into the car seat where he’s napping, which probably made it worse. Holding his son usually calms him down, but in this case, I don’t think anything will help.
He’s nervous about meeting his mother, and he’s not the only one.
I don’t mean me.
“I’ve been off hard drugs for a decade,” Pauly admits, looking out of place among the pink and lavender decor of the Gilded Rose, “but if someone offered me a hit of Scratch right now, I’d probably take it.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Mama reaches out, taking Pauly’s hand in hers. “You’re going to be fine. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Odette, but I know her, and she’s not blaming you.”
“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrow raising. My mother gives him a warm, supportive smile.
Wait.
I look between the two, their hands, their expressions…
What the fuck—heck—is going on?
Before I can ask, Adeline, who’s been peering impatiently out the window, drops the curtain to announce, “She’s here.”
I cross the room and take Pace’s hand, feeling his fingers curl tight around mine as we wait for her knock.
And wait.
And wait.
Pace is frozen, dark eyes fixed on the door. “Did she leave?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
“No,” Adeline says, peeking again. She releases a deflating sigh. “She’s at the bottom step. She looks really nervous.”
Join the club.
I squeeze Pace’s fingers, turning to look up into his anxious eyes. “Maybe you should go out there.”
His eyebrows twist into a frown. “Maybe she’s having second thoughts?” I can see—feel—the insecurities rushing back.
“Think about it,” I say carefully, keeping my voice low, private. “Can you imagine having to face J.J. after something like this? Explaining Rufus to him? All the horrible things you went through? The abuse and neglect?” I swallow, hating how every word is another wound. “Think about how you reacted to Pauly at first. Maybe she’s scared you’re angry.”
He releases a measured, calming breath, and nods. “That’s a good point.” Meeting my gaze, he dips down to push a lingering kiss to my forehead, inhaling me. “You’re so smart, you know that?”
“Well, some of us weren’t raised in East End, where the average emotional intelligence falls somewhere around narcissists and megalomaniacs.”
He squeezes my hand and grabs his coat, shrugging it on as he walks out the door.
I exhale, but it does nothing to quell my own anxiety, and now I’m the one who’s pacing. Adeline gives me a warm smile. “He’s right. You are smart.”
I’m also nosy, so I dart to the window and discreetly pull back the curtain.
The first thing I notice about her is how short she is. She barely comes to Pace’s shoulders, and as he approaches her, hands buried deep in his pockets, she turns enough that I can see her features.
She’s beautiful.
Her hair is longer than it was in the picture from her coronation, but the curls are still there, elegant and shiny. She’s wearing a long coat, cinched at the waist, but even from here, I can see that she’s shivering, her eyes full of emotion as Pace’s lips move.
“What’s happening?” Wicker asks from across the room.
“They’re talking.” Immediately, I see the resemblance between mother and son—not so much in looks, but in how they carry themselves, intense and on edge. Odette has her hands shoved into her pockets too, both of their shoulders drawn high. I get the ridiculous notion that Odette also has a lot of security cameras around her house.
“No one looks mad. Odette does look like she’s been crying.” Sure enough, she extricates a hand from her pocket to wipe away a tear, her brown eyes big and full of grief. Her lips move, and even though I don’t hear it, I see the sob rip through her.
Suddenly, they’re colliding. Her arms wrap around Pace’s waist, and he tucks her into his chest, the embrace hard and so still. I watch for a few moments longer, wondering if this is wrong—if I should give them some privacy. But then Pace turns to rest his cheek on her head and our eyes meet.
Instantly.
He gives me a sad but sweet grin.
Working through the lump in my throat, I let the curtain fall closed. “They’re hugging,” I tell the room, tears welling in my eyes. I know it’s not the same, but something in my chest twists at the return of one of Forsyth’s missing women—even if it isn’t one of my own.
I look at Mama. “I think it’s going to be okay.”
J.J. squawks from the car seat, and I bend over to pick him up. Just as I’m settling him against my shoulder, the door swings open, bringing in a cold gust of air with Pace and Odette’s entrance.
I stand, holding onto the baby as Pace shuts the door behind them.
There’s a brief stretch of electric silence as Odette looks around the room, taking in our expectant faces.
“You know Adeline and Liberty,” Pace says, pointing to the two women. His voice is thick, like he’s holding back tears, too. “And Paul.”
If she’s shocked to see any of them, she doesn’t show it. Pace must have given her a heads-up.
“Pauly,” she says, looking at him fondly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
He lets out a deep, thick laugh, reaching up to rub his hair-covered chin. “Neither have you. Still fibbing.”
Her face falls and she lingers in front of him, hands wringing. “I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone. If he’d found out who the father was…” Her breath hitches miserably. “Please forgive me.”
Pauly reaches out to tug her into his chest, wrapping her in a hug. “There’s nothing to forgive, Detty. We were both done dirty.” So quiet that I can scarcely make out the words, he whispers, “We made a damn good one, though.”
She pulls back, giving him a tearful smile. “To create is to reign.” Hearing her say the house motto—feeling her conviction in it, even after all she’s been through as a result of it—makes my chest clench. But then she’s turning to my mom, throwing out her arms. “Libby Sinclaire, as I live and breathe. You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Mama says, hugging her back. “The years have been good to you, Detty.”
“It was more than the years that were good to me.” She pulls away, approaching Adeline with adoring eyes. “Adeline—my dearest friend.” Their hug seems to last a little longer. A bit tighter. “How did a heart as kind as yours end up in this wretched place?” Odette wonders.
“Sheer stubbornness.” Adeline rubs her back, sending me a wink. “It’s the Princess’ way.”
After greeting her old friends, Odette turns misty eyes onto my Princes.
Pace points. “These are my brothers. Lex and Wicker.”
She approaches them with a calm, radiant smile. “You,” she says to Lex, head tilting as she inspects him. “You’re the protector, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
He blinks, checking everyone else for our reactions. “You can see what?”
Odette reaches up to cup his cheek, nodding. “An old, fierce soul.” The words themselves might as well be a hug for how stunned he looks at hearing them, a quiet, tender emotion on his face.
“Hey.” Wicker waves, always a pro at breaking the tension. “I’m the pretty one.” He shrugs, sniffing. “It’s been said.”
Pace snorts. “Modest, too.”
Odette steps up to him, her eyes locking on Wicker’s nervous gaze. Ultimately, she smiles. “You’re much more than that. A ferocious heart, I bet. The mask you wear is all Kayes.”
His face goes slack. “You can see that in my eyes?”
“Just as clearly as I can see the shadow of your father, Benji.”
Wicker jolts in surprise. “You knew my father?”
“A little.” Odette takes his hand, urging him, “And you can let that shadow go. Whoever killed him did you a favor, and this,” she stresses, “is coming from someone who knew Rufus Ashby.”
Wicker absorbs this with a stunned expression. She’s barely known him for a full minute, and just like that, she’s gotten right to the heart of him. How many years did he spend wondering if life as Benji’s son would have saved him from all that hurt?
In one sentence, Odette Delisle completely obliterated a million what-ifs.
“Thank you,” he breathes.
Pace gives his brother’s arm a squeeze before turning to meet my gaze. “And this?—”
“I know who this is.” Odette approaches me with an eager grin. “This is your Princess. She saved you. And even though she doesn’t know it, she saved me, too.” My throat tightens as she pulls me into a loose hug, careful of Justice, still in my arms. Through a thick voice, she whispers in my ear, “Thank you for loving my son.”
It takes me a couple swallows to make my own voice work. “Thank you for creating him.” When she pulls back, her eyes dip down to the bundle in my arms. “This is Justice,” I say, turning to show her. “Justice James Sinclaire. Your grandson.”
“Oh, my word.” Her hand flutters over her awestruck smile. “Pace, he’s beautiful.”
“Do you want to hold him?” I ask, lifting my arms.
Handing him over doesn’t feel like I’m giving away a piece of my heart, just adding another layer of people who love and protect him. I step back, letting Pace and his mother fuss over Justice.
Eventually, she looks up, addressing Pauly. “Have you met him yet?”
Pauly reaches up to rub his neck. “It’s a long story that’s about fifty percent firearms and profanities, but I basically watched him be born.”
I toss Pauly a dry smile. “Fifty percent is generous.”
He lifts a hand, waving it back and forth. “Seventy-eighty.”
Odette’s eyes flare to life. “Long or not, that’s a story I want to hear.” She looks down at Justice, her gaze growing wistful. “I have a quiet life now. Bare, because it’s had to be. But I’d like to visit Forsyth again, I think.” She glances at Mama and Pauly. “See how much our children are changing it for the better.”
Later, when all of us are sitting around the table, the elders trade stories as my Princes and I laugh along, struggling to think of our parents once having been as young as us. Driving fast cars down the Avenue, causing trouble at Friday Night Fury, traversing territories like bandits. We drink it in, never having heard these stories before.
The good stories.
“I didn’t steal the birthday cake,” Mama insists, pointing at Pauly. “I stole the booze, and those fuckers had it coming.”
“Mama!” I chide, covering Justice’s ears.
“He’s asleep.” She gestures to him, conked out, draped over Lex’s shoulder. “Anyway, we stole these freshmen’s booze?—”
Pauly pointedly adds, “And their birthday cake.”
She flaps a hand, bangles jangling. “And the Psi Nus declared all-out war.”
Adeline gasps, setting down her tea. “Oh, gosh, I remember that weekend! You’ve never seen so many pouting boys in your life.”
Odette releases a melodic laugh. “Even Miranda was on the warpath. No one,” she stresses, “steals cake from a Princess’ frat boys. Didn’t she put sugar in your gas tank?”
Pauly groans, head dropping back in misery. “My Pontiac. It took me years before I could get that thing up and running down the Avenue again.”
Odette smiles sadly. “I remember that, too.”
The fondness that runs between them might not be full of heat, but there’s still an unmistakable warmth. When Pace looks at me, I realize it might take a while for him to feel it—to find a place to put the bursting shock of having so much family—but in his eyes, I see a man made whole.
Gazing over at Justice, I wonder if he’ll be where I am one day, listening to me and his dads relay the blinding brightness of our reigning days. If he does, I decide I want it to be just like this.
No dungeons or pain or death.
Just love.
I remember my coronation feeling like a wedding.
It was almost a year ago that I entered the ceremonial room with Rufus Ashby giving me away to his three vicious sons. I think about that and my throning—even the cleansing—less and less these days. It feels so far away, as if it happened in a different place with different people. And I suppose, in a way, it did.
But today feels a lot like a wedding, too.
Not between me and a man—or three men. It’s the Royal Ascension; a ceremony to bind me as the mother of the next leader of East End.
“Okay, turn and let me look.”
I turn and face my mother, who adjusts the neck of my dress. I made a decision weeks ago that East End wasn’t going to hold women to some bullshit purity standard anymore. Nothing about being Royal is pure. Maybe that’s why they covet the idea of it so much.
This new idea of mine begins with the dresses. No more fucking white.
The one I’m wearing is a deep, emerald green.
The color of thriving life.
That’s what East End should be about.
“Never thought I’d say it,” Mama tells me, eyes darting up, “but goddamn, you look good in a tiara.”
I grin, reaching up to fidget with it. “You don’t hate it?”
“Because Rufus gave it to you?” She scoffs, giving Justice, who’s nestled in the crook of her arm, a gentle bounce. “Isn’t like that fucker ever wore it. You know who did? Miranda. Odette. Adeline…”
Getting her point, I inhale deeply, turning to the mirror. It’s been almost two months since I had Justice. I’m not quite back into my pre-pregnancy clothes, and my tits are still massive, but slowly, I’m starting to feel like myself again.
“Thank you, Mama.” I stand still while she fusses with one of my curls with her free hand. Justice, still sleepy from a feeding, will hopefully stay mostly quiet for the event. “And thank you for coming. I know none of this makes sense to you. Why I’ve embraced this world.”
“It’s definitely not what I expected,” she says.
Even though I don’t hear disapproval in her tone, I still feel compelled to put it into words. But it’s hard to explain something that’s so fragile and new. “I’m trying to change things for the women of Forsyth, just like Story and Lavinia.” I think of my mother and Adeline, rescuing Odette from the dungeon, and add, “Like you.”
Her face softens, a sad smile springing to her lips. “I’m afraid I didn’t accomplish much, Ver Bear.”
I argue, “Because it’s not easy. It’s definitely not fast. And it’s come with a lot of pain, which I only survived because of the strength you gave me.” I stress, “You did more than you give yourself credit for.”
“Son of a—” Blinking, she dabs under a watery eye. “You’re going to make me mess up my goddamn eyeliner.” I laugh, because my mother isn’t good at emotion, but her hand still clasps mine, squeezing.
“I thought you were raising me to be a Duchess, but it turns out the draw to East End came naturally.” I peer through the glass doors, down to where my Princes wait for me. Taking a steeling breath, I tell her, “The guys want to take our name.”
She blinks harder. “They do?”
I nod. “I love them, and they love me. I have a family, and all of us consider you part of it, territory lines be damned.”
She presses a kiss to the baby’s head. “I see the way they look at you and J.J.” Her chin lifts, mouth set in an angry frown. “I also saw the marks on Lex’s back. I can only imagine the scars Wicker and Pace carry run just as deep. Those men went through hell to get where they are today, to get to you.”
“They did,” I agree, so relieved and grateful she’s able to see not just the pain in them, but also their devotion.
She bobs her chin. “Then I’ll be proud to call all four of you Sinclaires.”
Overcome with it, I pull her into a hug, careful not to squish J.J. My whisper comes thick and quiet. “I love you, Mama.”
Hers is just as lumpy-sounding. “I love you too, Ver Bear.”
The door opens, and Adeline slips into the room, dressed to the nines in a sparkling golden gown. “Oh, attendance is just fantastic, Princess! That baby sure does know how to draw a crowd.” I already know what she’s going to ask when her eyes fall on him, fists balled beneath her chin. “Can I hold him?”
Mama hands him right over, and I watch with a pang in my chest as she cradles him close, beaming.
“What a blessing you are,” she whispers, eyes full of adoration. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and you know what?” Glancing between Mama and me, she squares her shoulders. “I want to foster or adopt. Rufus is gone, the Princes are letting me keep the Gilded Rose, and there’s three bedrooms upstairs. There’s nothing stopping me anymore.”
“Good for you!” Mama says.
I give Adeline an excited smile. “You’re going to be a great mom, Adeline.”
I hear a knock behind us, and I turn to see Pace peeking his head through. “You decent, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” I answer, giving my dress a spin. “What do you think?”
He lets out a low whistle, pushing through the door. “I think that dress is going to look fantastic on our bedroom floor in about five hours.” Before Mama can voice her passionate disapproval of the comment, her hand dramatically covering Justice’s ears, he saunters in, holding the door open behind him. “But I wanted to introduce the three of you to someone.” He quirks a brow. “Or someones.”
“Oh, my god,” I breathe when the two kids enter. They’re fresh-faced teenagers, their complexion as dark as Pace’s. The boy is almost as tall as him too, sporting a bright green suit. The girl has long, curly hair, and her bright green dress is a perfect match to her brother’s. Both of them are wearing intricately creative makeup, sparkles of gold stars around their brown eyes.
And they look like Pace.
“This is Micha,” Pace says, gesturing to the boy, who does an exaggerated curtsy. “And Michaela.” The girl gives us a spin much like the one I’d just performed for Pace.
“Pleased to meet you,” Micha says. And then, “Your house is fucking dope.”
“Well.” I prop a hand on my hip as my mother snorts. “I guess the cursing is genetic.”
Michaela nods. “Damn right.”
“But don’t tell our mom,” Micha adds, pulling a face. “I hope the green’s okay. Pace said there was a theme.” He places a palm over his heart and I see his nails also match. “I live for a theme.”
Wearily, Michaela explains, “We went through five shades of green before landing on this one. Be careful,” she urges, “with the themes.”
“Got it,” Pace says, nudging them forward. “So, this is my girl, Verity. Her mother—we all call her Mama B. And this little guy,” he says, stepping forward to kiss J.J.’s cheek, “is my son, Justice.”
I worry at first they’re going to ask questions. I knew they were coming, but we haven’t had the discussion yet about how to explain our weird little family. In the end, all the worry is for nothing, though.
Micha just leans in to look, saying, “What a cutie.”
After a pause, Michaela glances at me. “We don’t babysit.”
I laugh. “No problem. We have plenty of volunteers.”
“And this,” Pace says, addressing the stunned woman still holding our son, “is Adeline. It’s a long story that I’m definitely never telling you, but she saved your lives once.”
Adeline gazes upon them, clearly overwhelmed with emotion. “I never thought I’d get a chance to meet either of you. It’s such a pleasure.”
Micha looks at her, the glint in his eyes screaming that he’s dying to ask. “Who does your makeup?”
Pace and I share a look.
Not quite the question I was expecting.
Adeline stammers, “I-I do.”
He raises a hand, making an ‘o’ with his forefinger and thumb. “Flawless.”
Adeline blushes. “Thank you.”
“Okay,” Pace says, dipping down to give me a slow kiss. He pulls back a scant inch, grinning. “Just wanted to see you before the Ascension.”
I grab his tie—green silk—and adjust the knot. “Your game is really on point today.”
“Every day,” he calls, tossing a wave as he ushers his siblings out the door.
Adeline visibly gathers herself. “Are we ready then?”
She oversaw the planning of the entire event, from the chairs to the place we put them. Even though she’s a stickler for preserving East End tradition, she’s well aware of the pain and trauma associated with the ceremonial room in the palace. The harm it’s caused so many Princesses, including herself, can’t be ignored. So we didn’t.
She embraced the idea of something fresh and new—a place that truly represents the ideas of creation.
My solarium.
The result is something out of a fairytale. The enclosed space is filled with winter plants, primarily the bright red from the poinsettias, which, along with a metric-ton of fairy lights, give the room a lush warmth.
“Now,” Adeline begins, passing J.J. to me, “you’ll just head down the aisle carrying the baby. Obviously, this ceremony is a little unconventional since the King is only seven weeks old, but the protocol is the same. Your Princes will take the lead.”
I give her a gentle grin. “Thank you, Adeline.”
“No, Verity,” she says, touching her heart. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be part of this historic moment.” With a deep breath and a flourish, she leads us out of the parlor and toward the doors of the solarium.
Immediately, I hear the first strains of music.
Cello music.
Peering past the people crowding between the edges of the flower beds and the purple carpet, I see Wicker playing, body curled around the instrument as he draws the bow back. His blonde hair is in fine form, swaying with each drag of the bow.
Leaning down, I whisper to Justice, “That’s your talented daddy,” and take the first step.
The walk down this aisle feels different than it did those times in the ceremonial room. There’s no pain waiting for me at the end of it. Justice has the blessing of the members of PNZ, who are flanking the aisle, along with the women from our court. I see the faces of my tormentors, now my supporters. Tommy and Heather. Lakshmi and Kira.
I also see the faces of friends. Rory Livingston. Lavinia Lucia. Story Austin. My West End brothers—all three—are attending, as well as some of the cutsluts, Maggie and Kathleen close to Lav.
Pace’s new family sits near the front, his mother beautiful in a darker green, while Micha and Michaela turn to watch my progress up the aisle.
Even the Baron King is here, donned in his bronze devil’s mask, a veiled woman at his side. His wife.
And then, there’s them. I look toward the end of the path, seeing my Princes. Lex’s amber eyes glow as he watches me grow nearer, and Pace stands with his hands clasped behind his back, chin held high.
But even through the brightness and eagerness, I can’t help but think of the people who can’t be here, but should.
Eugene.
Laura.
Stella.
As in all PNZ ceremonies, there’s a throne, but as in all things newly Sinclarian, it’s been renovated. We had the throne I became Princess on stripped down, the insertion device removed. Now, the seat is covered in a plush, green velvet.
When I reach the head of the aisle, Pace shifts to make room for me, ducking down to kiss me on the cheek, and then Justice. “On. The. Floor,” he whispers, winking. “Five hours. Maybe four.”
I shiver.
Lex’s hand grazes my lower back before he steps in front of the throne, facing the audience. It’s uncharacteristic for him to wear his hair down at these sorts of events, but it’s draped over his shoulders in loose waves, the gold of his eyes accentuated by his own green tie.
The final strains of Wicker’s song come to a close, and he places his cello on the stand, rising to take his place next to me.
“That was beautiful,” I whisper, leaning in close.
“I wrote it for him,” Wick whispers back, blue eyes darting down to my mouth. Without hesitation or shyness, he captures my mouth in a slick, searching kiss.
In front of the Royalty.
In front of my mother.
Fatherhood has changed Whitaker Ashby in a lot of ways, but it hasn’t changed how passionately he loves.
Remy’s groan rings out. “Come on, get a room.”
Wicker pulls away with a scowl. “How about you come over here and make me?”
Remy shoots to his feet, smirking. “Maybe I will.”
“Hey!” I snap, pointing at Remy. “In your seat, right now! And you.” I give Wicker an exasperated look. “Behave.”
He sniffs, looking away. “He started it.”
Lex and I trade a glance that says the same thing.
These two are getting a little too good at being brothers, although there’s enough heat behind their words that I wouldn’t leave them alone without expecting bloodshed.
Clearing his throat, Lex steps forward, pulling the book from beneath his arm. “I’d like to say I know how to do this, that there was a book in the library that laid it all out but,” he holds up the pledge book before tossing it aside, “there isn’t one. There’s no easy way to claim a legacy.”
A row over, Killian coughs, and in the corner of my vision, I see Lavinia taking Sy’s hand.
Those are three legacies that definitely had to be fought for.
Lex continues, “My brothers and I aren’t Ashby blood, which is good, because Rufus never wanted to make us his sons. He collected us as instruments.” Pace stiffens as Lex’s gaze lands on him. “He wanted someone to be the eyes and ears on everyone and everything in Forsyth.” He looks at Wicker, his jaw tightening. “He wanted someone to sell, to trade for secrets and leverage.” Then he holds his hand to his chest. “He wanted a carver. Someone without remorse who’d hold his scalpel as he cut down his enemies.” His eyes drop to me, and then to Justice, still dozing in my arms. “And more than anything else, he wanted an heir.”
Absolutely no one can argue with that.
Lex gestures to Justice. “You all came here today to anoint the new Psi Nu Zeta leader of East End. A leader who will have the best interests of our community at heart.” He pauses, eyes scanning the crowd with a wry tone, “Although our son is the most amazing baby in the world—and no, I will not be taking any questions—I think that’s something we all agree an infant can’t do.”
There’s a chorus of chuckles and I shoot him a concerned glance. We agreed that although there are some things about our Royal arrangement that are true, it wouldn’t benefit us to call attention to them here.
But then Lex raises his voice, saying, “A Queen can, though.”
I whip my gaze to him, frowning. “What are you doing?” I mouth. The audience murmurs in equal confusion. I feel Wicker’s arm slide around my waist as Lex takes a step forward, speaking both to me and the crowd at my back.
“The members of PNZ have taken a vote, and we’ve all offered our Oath of Fealty to Verity Sinclaire.” His eyes meet mine, smile spreading. “It was unanimous.”
“Over my dead bodies,” a voice calls out. I only realize it’s the Baron King when he stands, adjusting his black gloves. “Women may not take the place of a King.”
“Actually,” Wicker says, leaving my side to stand next to my brother. “There’s nothing in any of the bylaws that say anything about what’s between the person’s legs.”
From the front row, Micha gives a quiet, “Awesome.”
“It’s almost as if you forgot about women entirely,” Pace adds, shrugging. “But accidental as it may be, the language specifying heirs is largely gender neutral. Verity is Rufus Ashby’s only surviving heir.”
Lex sighs, pinning the Baron King with a fed-up stare. “You and the other Kings wanted us to choose one ruler. Take it or take it.”
Flabbergasted, I step closer, pitching my voice humiliatingly low. “But I don’t know anything about ruling.”
Pace scoffs, waving over the crowd. “Verity Sinclaire, you’ve done more for East End in a year than Rufus Ashby did in two decades. I can’t wait to see what you do with an entire lifetime.”
“He’s right, Red,” Wicker says, grinning roguishly. “And I, for one, am completely ready to be your pretty, kept Prince, so get up there and claim that title.”
Lex cups my cheek, drawing me closer, and in his eyes, I see a promise that I don’t understand yet. “You’ll never be doing this alone.”
I blink, trying to follow everything, but slowly, it all comes together. My men want me as their leader. And so do the rest of PNZ. I glance over at Lavinia and Story, who both watch on with wide eyes, and it hits me that I can use this position to help more than just my family, my friends, and this fragile, new territory I now call home.
I can use it to help a cause.
The Monarchs.
Too stunned to speak, I bend to brush a kiss against Justice’s forehead, throat tight as I pass him into Pace’s waiting arms. Wicker takes my hand and leads me up the steps where Lex steps aside, giving me access to the throne. It’s so strange to look upon this seat and think of something other than misery, pain, and humiliation.
I look at it now and see change.
Turning, I scan the faces of the crowd, seeing my past and my present, but when I look into the eyes of my Princes—brown, blue, and gold—I see my future.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, knowing the only thing about this I’d regret would be letting all of these people down—them most of all.
“Positive,” Lex says, taking my hands in his. “The vote was recorded and witnessed by a member of good standing from each house, including brN. This is what we want, Verity.” He holds my shocked stare, insisting, “East End doesn’t need another troubled, self-involved man to weigh it down with his baggage. It needs…” He pauses, searching. And then the divot in his brow smoothes away. “It needs kindness. You’re the only person who’s ever promised that to them.”
I take a deep breath, looking at Tommy, Rory, Baxter, Dory, Loeffler, and Mitch—men who could grow into monsters under the pressure of a system that demands it of them. Or men who can grow into something better, if only they have the guidance.
Since that decision doesn’t seem very difficult at all, I take a deep breath, bend my knees, and sit.
“Let’s begin.”