Princes of Ash (Royals of Forsyth University, #8)

by Angel Lawson

I always think of that tiktok “where the hell is she”

He’s sitting between Wicker and Perilini—his King—the separation of our houses and his position caught between them more obvious than ever.

“Ballsack,” I call, knowing how I’d feel if it’d been Verity. I wait for his tired eyes to meet mine before nodding. “I’m sorry.” His mouth presses into a tense, joyless grin. “Funny, isn't it? How easily you’ll say it to me, but it’s taken you months to say it to her?” It’s loaded, but isn’t everything tonight? It’s like we’re walking on the edge of a knife.

The tension I feel is less about the Dukes or Father, or anything else. What’s the point of any of it if we lose her?

“It has the paternity results.” Pace shifts, the sound of his shoes shuffling nervously against the floor acting as an anchor. “Who?” he asks. Lex looks at me, the question clear in his eyes. Am I ready to know? That’s an easy question for me to answer. “The last thing we need between us is another secret.” Mechanically, he slots the chart back into place, glancing at his brother. “It’s you,” he says, and if someone had told me five seconds ago that I’d ever see light in Lex’s eyes again, I wouldn’t have believed it. But it shines like the fucking sun. “It says Wicker is the father.”

“The guys and I… we’ve been handing out flyers on the Avenue.” “For your sister?” He nods. “Yeah, I can make some for Stella.” My eyes begin welling. “Would you?” I ask, knowing I don’t have the right. PNZ is supposed to be at my beck and call, but I’ve never really harnessed or claimed them. “Of course.” He gives me a sad smile. “This is bigger than territory lines. If someone in another kingdom did it for my sister, Kelsey, well… I know I’d really appreciate that.”

“No matter what you choose, you’ll have three of the Royal houses on your side. Take a moment to let that sink in because it might be more power than anyone has ever had in Forsyth.”

“You little fucker.” Beside me, Effie walks the length of the shovel I’ve set up for her as a perch, her head jerking with each syllable. “Little fucker.” I give her a stern look. “I see Mama taught you some new words.” She trills before squawking, “Cute little fucker.” Laughing, I realize, “Thawed her heart, huh?” Which I already figured out, considering the frown Mama gave me when I went into her office to snag the cage.

Effie jolts at his name, zipping down the length of the shovel. “Pretty bird?”

She missed him 😫😫😫😫

But as soon as he says it, Effie is flapping her wings wildly, clumsily flying to his shoulder. “Pretty bird,” she squawks, the words rushing out so fast, they’re barely intelligible. “Good girl.” If there was any ice around my heart, it melts at the way he greets her, a painfully tender smile on his face as he touches her. “Hey, hey, girl,” he coos. “Miss me, huh?” She jerks her head. “Cute little fucker.”

THE CUTEST 😫😫😫

“You were saying we need more leverage?” That’s when I realize it’s not a stick. It’s a bone.

I KNEWWWW IT

A skull.

It’s gonna be paces mom & other missing Prince/princesses

At least this is a promise I know I can keep. Once she’s gone, we turn to him, and maybe it’s petty, but it feels good to know he’s seen what we’re like without him. Better. Stronger. A family.