Princes of Legacy (Royals of Forsyth University, #9)

by Angel Lawson

He needs to see this more than anyone. “You’re not scary, you’re just protective. It’s sweet,” I decide, but then amend, “annoying, but sweet.”

He smirks into the kiss, shifting the package tucked under his arm. “Well, kick me in the balls or something, because if anyone here tries to protect you from me, I’m going to start stabbing Dukes again.” I swat his bicep, ordering, “No stabbing this time! Remy’s still pissed about the scar.”

“Perfect.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a roll of cash, grabbing the money for the drinks and adding a fat tip on top. Autumn notices, eyes widening for a long, awkward pause. Ultimately, she stammers out a quiet, “Wow. Thanks.” I squeeze Verity’s leg under the table. “Thank her.” Their eyes meet, and sure enough, I see a flicker of understanding pass between them. “May she reign,” Autumn says, and it doesn’t even sound sarcastic. Jesus, sometimes it’s absurdly obvious that we’re not just Royals, but royally fucked.

“Then let me speak this language you know so well. My son—my real son—sees this girl,” he nods toward where Verity is peeking over my shoulder, “as a sister. Harming her and her baby would be unforgivable in his eyes. That trumps your flimsy motive.”

In the midst of the display, I give a stunned, gawking Verity an unimpressed glance, reaching to tug the knife from the table. “Fucking drama king.”

“None taken.” I think. At first. When it begins flaring in my chest, I blurt, “I’ve been really on board with the torture stuff, thank you very much.” He snorts, giving the massage ball a squeeze. “Chill, Red. No one here doubts your commitment to Sparkle Motion. But let's stop bullshitting ourselves. Our focus has been divided.”

The pitch of my voice is soft, curious. “Is this all I am to you?” I wonder, cradling the swell of my belly. The question isn’t made bitterly. I never know where I stand with these men. “Am I just a… responsibility?” His jaw hardens when he glances at me. “Trust me, Princess. Things would be a lot easier for both of us if you were.” I turn the lights off when I leave, my heart in my throat, and crawl into bed alone. Ashby’s damage runs deep. He broke his sons in ways they’ll never comprehend. Not just with whips and punishments, but the places inside. Places I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to reach.

“One last thing,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders and spinning me around. He reaches for a roll of tape on the table and Lavinia’s eyebrows lift in question. I shrug, also confused, until I hear the sound of tape ripping off the roll, and feel him lay the long strip across my shoulder blades. The firm press of a pen follows as he writes on the tape. “There,” he says smugly, dipping down to brush his lips against my cheek. “My woman. My baby. My name.” I swallow in understanding. He’d just marked me for everyone to see. “And for what it’s worth, you make that hideous shirt look gorgeous.” The low, silky whisper immediately brings a flush to my face. “You’re obligated to say that as one of the fathers of my baby,” I say, aware of Lavinia watching us.

I’m not here for that.” His gaze dips to my chest. “Well, I wasn’t. What do you mean ‘not here’?” “Spit it out.” “Alright.” He glances over at the kitchen. “You think your mother’s got any of that banana pudding in there?” “Good grief.” I sigh. “I should have known.” He gives me that wide-eyed, innocent look he thinks he’s good at. “What?”

“Now that one,” Lav says, tossing a shirt in the medium pile, “the way he looks at you?” “What about it?” “I’ve seen that before too.” She turns to watch Wicker approach Lex in the middle of the room. “He’s not ready yet, but when he finally is…” She trails off, but honestly, I’m dying to know. “What? What happens?” “It’s going to feel like falling off a cliff.”

By the time we get back to West End’s tetanus factory masquerading as living quarters, my neck is fucking killing me.

“Because you saved him,” the Duchess concludes, drawing my gaze to hers. Sy nods toward the bedroom, adding, “Because she’s our family, and you’re her family.” He dips his chin in a grim nod. “Family is the only thing we trust.”

“Don’t stop, Lagan. Don’t stop.” “Never,” I tell her, realizing that I mean it. I am never letting this woman go.

takes. The quiet—the stillness—allows the demons too close to the surface.

My eyebrows hike up. “You missed me?” A small, put-upon groan expands her throat. “Oh my god, never mind.” But before she can flee, I trap her against the car, not even trying to tamp down my smirk. “What did you miss?” She pulls a face, but I don’t miss the way her eyes glaze over when I bend down, dragging my lips against the warm curve of her cheek. Swallowing, she fists a hand in my shirt. “Your insufferable ability to turn the smallest gesture into emotional blackmail?” Humming, I argue, “Although I’m good at that, I don’t think that’s it.” I nose in below her ear, sucking a gentle bruise into the skin there. I barely

This is my son. I brush my lips against hers. This is my Princess. I gasp for air, tasting the tang of blood and the edge of old, rusty death. This is my legacy.

lobs a punch over my shoulder to his brother’s forehead. “Don’t,” Wicker hisses, “wake her up. She went through a lot today.” “The Princess goes through a lot every day,” Lex replies quietly, “but what’s different is you asking about genetics and hereditary traits. Since when do you care about all that stuff?” There’s a long beat where I’m sure he’s not going to answer, but then he does. “What happened in the mausoleum. It was… intense.” “Torture and murder usually are,” comes Pace’s deep voice. “Even when we pretend like they’re not.”

These men don’t need a King. They don’t need a Princess. They need a mother.

As Wicker lifts his fist to rap on the door, he mutters, “God, you’re such a jealous freak.” And before I can argue, the door is swinging open, revealing⁠— I draw in a sharp breath, reaching for my gun, but it’s only a short thing.

“The only thing that saved you was the love I had for Remy. In the end, I couldn’t do it.”

His eyes fix like lasers on Wicker, and in them, I see something aged and weary. Something horrifically sad. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of killing my wife’s creation.” For a brief moment, the earth might as well stop spinning. I’m suspended in the gravity of what Maddox is saying, and for some reason, all I can hear is Lex’s voice whispering inside my mind. Green eyes are inherently dominant over blue… The Maddoxs’ green eyes. Wicker’s blue eyes. “Kayes or not,” the King confirms, turning away, “you’re still my son’s little brother.”

In my periphery, I see Wicker’s lips part with a halted breath. And then, “I flirted with him.” When I glance over, his expression is twisted into a disbelieving grimace. “I hit on my brother?” I wait until he meets my gaze to lift an eyebrow. He blinks. “Yeah, okay, that actually tracks.”

“Because of Maddox?” But then he shakes his head, guessing, “Because of Remy.” “He’s Wick’s brother. And the baby,” I say, resting my palm over the curve of her belly. “He’s his uncle.” There’s a stretch of silence, and I’m sure Lex is going to give me some lecture about how all families are complicated, and how it doesn’t have to mean we can’t all get along. Instead, he looks at me, his mouth set into a grim line, and quietly declares, “He’s a douchebag.” An abrupt laugh bursts from my chest that almost wakes her. The weariness I’ve been fighting off all day settles over me, and I yawn. “It’s late. Come to bed.”

“It has risks.” He steps back, a divot of worry appearing in his brow. “Too big, in my opinion.” Of course he thinks that. “Like what?” “Early labor for one thing.” His hands drop to my belly. “As much as I want you to have some relief, I’m not comfortable with the risk.” I gawk at him, the anger rising. “Oh, you’re not comfortable? Then heaven for-fucking-fend!” I glance over, realizing my outburst has caught his brothers’ attention. “You hear that, guys? Lex is uncomfortable.”

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 warm cheek. 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.”

“They’re bare?” he asks, disgust clear in his voice. “I’ll—I’ll be back.” And with that, he stalks down the hallway to the foyer, leaving. I turn a blank look on my brother. “Seriously?” Wick shrugs, spreading out on the couch. “He’s the only person in this town who hates Maddox more than I do. Seemed like some fun shit to stir.”

“Just a house?” Remy gapes at him, an odd flash of anger building in his eyes. “She’s sheltered you, hasn’t she? Showed you her secret places? She’s let you in, kept you safe, and made you a part of her soul.” When all he gets is our silent, blank stare, Remy growls, pointing to a spot on the molding all the way in the top corner by the closet. “Here, you see? You put your initials—your real initials—into the heart of her. WCK.” Wicker squints his eyes. “What, that little carving? I put those there in fifth grade.” “Exactly,” Remy says, nodding. “You showed her who you were. Called dibs. Don’t be a fickle little bitch.” Wicker shoots to his feet. “Excuse me?!”

If I’ve learned one thing that ties the Dukes and Princes together, it’s that one simple fact. Verity deserves the best.

“And you’ve done the work to repair it.” The crown of her belly rubs against my lower belly, and fuck, I like it. “Tommy said he and Heather are back together.” A small grin tugs at her mouth, giving away her pride at her leadership, but all she says is, “Aw. I hope they’re making each other miserable.” I laugh. “Yeah, neither is my idea of an ideal partner, but if it makes them happy…” She touches my cheek, fingers tucking my hair behind my ear. “I like it when you laugh. You don’t do it enough.” A shiver of want runs down my spine, and then she frowns. “But what if the whole thing goes sideways?” “It won’t,” I promise her.

“The rest of us have some frat business to take care of while all the women are busy. You’ll be safe with your very own Ballsack escorting you.” I pause, face scrunching. “Dude, your name makes for some really weird sentences,” I tell him. A ghost of a grin tugs at his lips. “One of the other guys I pledged with got ‘Sphincter’, so I count myself lucky.”

Sy sidles up to him, arms crossed. “Every time my Duke comes into this fucking place, he comes out with another family member. I’m here to make sure you’re not about to ambush him with a long-lost sister or some shit.” Ah. So he told him. “That,” I stress, “is between him and Wicker and whatever psycho is standing in as their father this week. I just wanted a nursery decorated for my Princess.” “Well, here we are. Even Picasso had an assistant.” Sy walks back to the SUV, hauling a paint-splattered toolbox out of the back. “At least that’s what Remy told me.”

“From our Lady,” Tristian adds, gesturing to the truck. “For your Princess.” “A gift?” Wicker asks, eyes skeptical. “Why didn’t she take it to the shower?” “It’s too big,” Killian says, glancing at Sy. “And it’s probably going to take three of us to get it upstairs unless you’ve got an elevator in this place.” Pace narrows his eyes. “How do you know the nursery is upstairs?” Killian and Tristian exchange a look, but the King replies, “Don’t get paranoid. I just assumed.” None of us have forgotten the condition of the nursery that we abandoned or the rumors that followed. “Anyway, she said you’d be here working on the room today and it would be a good day to drop it off.”

Remy breathes out slowly, assessing the finished product. “Right. To the victor.” “Those stars are cool,” Tristian adds. “I like how they look like they’re hanging by a thread.” Remy follows his gaze, pushing his wild, platinum hair out of his eyes. “That’s so the baby always knows how to get home, even when it’s dark.” He whips around, facing me. “Nightmares get in your head sometimes, Lex. You have to be watchful.” His stare is almost too intense—seeking and pleading. “You’ll watch him, right? Make sure he doesn’t turn green? Because my mom,” Remy’s eyes flick to Wicker, “she gave that to me through her blood.” I straighten, startled. “Wait. You mean something hereditary?” “I turned out fine,” Wicker offers, looking unconcerned.

“So now that this is all done, you can relax and finish gestating our son.” Pace lurches forward, slamming his fist into Lex’s shoulder. “Don’t say ‘gestate’! It’s fucking gross.” Lex doesn’t even flinch. “Except for the name,” he adds, mouth strained. “You still need to decide on that, because every week from now until delivery is a melon, and if we start calling this kid ‘pumpkin’, I’ll throw myself off a cliff.”

Exhaling, Lex leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He gives his linked fists a long, considering look. “Remember when I took those blood samples from the West Enders?” The only thing that greets him is silence, and I watch as Pace hovers over him, brows knitted in confusion. “You found a hit?” he asks. “Already?” I raise my hand. “When the fuck did this happen?” Nobody keeps me in the loop anymore. Assholes.

“We should go there,” I say, standing. Lex was right. This thing about keeping family revelations under lock and key? It’s bullshit. Secrets aren’t the kind of power I want. That’s Rufus’ MO. “Pauly,” Pace says the name like he’s testing it out, rolling it around his tongue. He crosses his arms over his chest, and then uncrosses them. “Well.” He crosses them again. “Fuck him.” Verity shoots Lex a stunned look. “What do you mean?” Pace’s jaw goes tight. “I mean he fucking left us to rot here, so he can rot in West End.” I watch, deflating as he storms off. When I turn my gaze to Lex, I raise an eyebrow. “Bet my secret family reveal with Remy is looking real smooth right about now, huh?”

Gently, she lifts a hand, placing a palm against my cheek. “You are loved, you know.” Her eyes are so unbearably penetrating that my stomach clenches. “Sometimes…” I start, needing to catch my breath. “Sometimes it really fucks me up to know that everything I’ve come to love was given to me by Father.” I glance down at her belly, thinking even that hasn’t been untainted

I’ve tortured the truth out of men before. Their deepest, darkest secrets. But Verity’s confession isn’t something forced. It’s what I’d hoped for, it’s something real, tangible. I kiss her mouth and take her hand, leading her away from what I accept as my past, instead guiding her back upstairs to our future.

Lex takes the knife first, kneeling on the pillow with a crooked grin. “I want you to know this is fucking disgusting, and I’m running a million tests on you tomorrow.” Still, he slices his palm, placing it over the blood-soaked fabric with a grimace. “To create is to reign.” Pace follows, licking his lips as he kneels. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” My laugh is half delirious. “Absolutely.” He doesn’t even flinch when he slices his palm,

“Neither is this,” I insist, cradling my belly. Creation and destruction, two sides of the same coin. “I can handle it.”

my first kill. The way his lungs shook—the sight of his flesh torn open—it was the first time I looked at a human body and saw a machine. And I was… well, annoyed, to be honest,” I confess, hoping she doesn’t think less of me. “I remember it taking a lot longer than I was expecting, and it made me super late for lunch.” She strains her neck to glance at me, like she’s trying to decide if I’m lying or not. Gravely, I explain, “It was my favorite casserole.”

There’s a small thump against my palm, and I jolt. She cranes her head to look at me, offering a tired smile. “He’s very awake.” I flatten my hand over the area and revel in the feel of our son moving around. “Can I…” I begin, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. “Can I talk to him?” Her smile widens. “Of course. He can’t come out of there only recognizing me and Effie, can he?” I snort. “Turn around,” I

oath of fealty, that’s the first thing I tell our creation. “Your mother is a real badass,” I say, shivering at the sensation of her fingers carding through my hair. To her belly—to Justice—I whisper, “I know this is a weird family you’re being born into. But we’re really excited to meet you.” Thump.

love you, Verity, so fucking much.”

Her eyes soften. “I don’t feel good about killing him, but I don’t feel bad about it, either. Honestly, I’m not the first Royal woman to kill her dad. Lavinia blew hers to smithereens.”

“So if you’re not homesick, then…” I pause, taking in her little pout. “Oh my fucking god, you really are out here brooding just because you want lasagna. And you call me melodramatic.”

row. Lex and I share a glance as she snags a bottle of liquor from the cabinet over the fridge. “Wait,” Lex says, frowning. “Is that…?” She pops the cork. “Yep. Your brother brought it to Family Dinner after the mutiny.” Pouring some into each glass, she raises her own. “To the victor go the spoils.” Grabbing for mine, I give it a sniff before raising it, correcting, “To create is to reign.” She laughs a low, scratchy laugh. “Oh, blondie. Same fucking thing.”

When it’s just me, I look back at Pauly and think, fuck it. “Shit,” he says, almost banging his head when he realizes I’m lurking beside him. “Goddamn, son, wear a bell.” The term of endearment—little too fucking pointed—makes my stomach drop. “What are you working on?” I inspect him more closely this time, trying to find any

“Back home, our trainer has this saying. Some men hit rock bottom and bounce back up. But others hit rock bottom and ask for a shovel.” He claps me on the shoulder, not realizing that it's the mention of Pauly that makes me stiffen—not the words. “I’m not a digger, Pace. I told Verity I’d do everything I could to find Stella, and I can’t do that if I’m hiding like a little bitch.”

“I love you, Rosilocks Sinclaire.” Watching the force of my words sink in, the tears spilling over, I whisper, “So fucking much that every breath I take when you’re nearby feels like a thousand daggers to the heart. So much that if you told me right now you wanted to leave and take our son to a better, safer place, I’d…” Pausing, I admit, “Well, I’d fucking hate it, and there’s not a power