Three legacies that were not inherited cleanly. Three that were taken, fought for, and claimed by a new generation. Four, if we include Lionel Lucia.
That leaves one.
Me.
The thought settles heavy and familiar.
Lex continues, his voice steady and confident, but my attentiondrifts to the woman next to me. She remains rigid, nails biting deeper. “…someone to sell, to trade for secrets and leverage,” Lex says. “He wanted a carver. Someone without remorse who’d hold his scalpel as he cut down his enemies.”
My focus snaps back to him.
A carver.
Thank God for the mask hiding my expression. I don’t look at any other Royal in the room. I can feel eyes everywhere, even if they aren’t actually on me.
Is Lex flaunting this? Is he careless, or bold enough, to toy with the truth in public?
In my peripheral, the Baroness swallows hard. I feel it through the faint shift of her throat.
Lex gestures to the sleeping child, blissfully unaware of the tension threading the room. “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, scanning the crowd with a wry edge. “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.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the audience.
Arianette flinches at the sound, shoulders jerking before she stills them again.
Lex doesn’t slow. “A Queen can, though.”
Verity’s gaze snaps to him, frowning.What are you doing?she mouths.
The same question burns on my tongue.
The audience murmurs, confusion spreading like static. Wicker’s arm slides around Verity’s waist as Lex steps forward, addressing both her and the gathered Royals.
“The members of PNZ have taken a vote,” Lex says clearly, “and we’ve all offered our Oath of Fealty to Verity Sinclaire.”
Arianette’s breath goes shallow–too quick, too tight–and I feel the barely contained tremor start again under my hand. Still not ready, I think. Not for the public. Not to represent the House of Night, butthis is beyond propriety. She’s barely holding it together, and staying here any longer… she’ll fully unravel. We need to get out of here, and fast.
“Over my dead bodies,” I proclaim, standing abruptly. I adjust my gloves. “Women may not take the place of a King.”
“Actually,” Wicker says, leaving Verity’s side. “There’s nothing in any of the bylaws that says anything about what’s between the person’s legs.”
Arianette curls into herself and whispers a single word, over and over again, so low that I can’t hear it.
“It’s almost as if you forgot about women entirely,” Pace joins in, adding to the fray. “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 me with a fed-up stare. “You and the other Kings wanted us to choose one ruler. Take it ortake it.”
I wrap my hand around Arianette’s upper arm and haul her to her feet, already turning us toward the aisle, toward escape. She sways, unsteady on her feet. I bend close to her ear, my voice low and lethal.
“Keep it together.”
Behind us, the ceremony grinds on–attention mercifully pulled elsewhere. For once, I’m grateful for another woman and child stealing the room from me. I spot a side door and cut for it, shoulder angled, authority parting the space in front of us.
Cold air slams into us the moment I push outside.
I spin her around and push the veil over her forehead, getting a good look at her face. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. Wrapping my hands around her upper arms I give her a shake. “How dare you embarrass me like this,” I hiss. “I knew you weren’t ready. Not ready to stand beside me. Not ready to support me like a Baroness, much less a wife!”
Her breath stutters, quick little gasps punching out of her chest. Tremors rack her body, violent enough that I feel them through my grip. She doesn’t look at me. She can’t. Her mouth keeps moving, the same words tumbling out, broken and frantic.
