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

by Angel Lawson

Maddox braces his hands on the table, shadows blotting his eyes. “Hunter? Oh, I choose my darklings meticulously, and this one will have a very specific role to serve.”

“They wanted me to kill you.” The words are chilling, aimed at Wicker. “Saul Cartwright, Lionel Lucia, and Daniel Payne; the new Kings.

“I just couldn’t bear the thought of killing my wife’s creation.”

OH MY GOD

“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.”

🤣🤣

“Oh my god, that means Remy’s his uncle!”

“Don’t,” I whisper when we break away, resting my forehead against hers. “Don’t take him away from me.” She doesn’t ask who I’m talking about—our son or Wicker, maybe even Lex too—which is good, because I couldn’t give an answer. I just know that I’m nothing without all four of them. She responds by touching my cheek, the scent of blood and old rain heady in the air between us. “Never.” She breathes, “On our blood.”

If I’m the empty, watching eyes, then my fingers are lost, wondering where they belong. In the end, it’s her hand that finds mine, dragging me onto the couch beside them.

“Look at me,” she rushes out, grabbing Wicker’s face. Her mouth lingers against his, green eyes capturing him. “I wanna see your face when he fills you up.”

AHHHHHH

Our relationship is no longer just about one another, it’s this—the bond—that ties us together. Our bodies; slick and wet. The baby; ours.

“It feels like he’s giving it to me so I can give it to you.” Some spark of excitement in Verity’s expression collapses into desperation. “Because you're ours,” she says, plucking a wet kiss from his parted lips. “Aren’t you?”

I wait for the panic to hit, the stress and worry, the compulsive need to just go check, but it doesn’t come. I’m met with an unfamiliar sensation buried deep in my chest. It’s warm and lax and void of fear. I think it might be contentment.

The way she chases my touch, even in sleep. How Wicker chases her, a divot digging into his brow. The twitch of Lex’s fingers as he watches him, like he’s anxious to get into bed alongside us. “They’re still ours,” I finally accept. “They are,” he agrees, so easily, as if it’d never occurred to him otherwise.

Lex has never been a cuddler, but tonight he throws his arm around my waist, and I feel the heat of his breath on my shoulder.

🥹🥹

If he thinks wearing his hair down all week can thaw the ice between us, he’s wrong.

Vaguely, I recall watching the Baroness and her Williams that day by the elevators, months ago, and being completely unable to imagine my Princes ever worshiping me like that. But that’s exactly how this feels.

The chandeliers are dark, but the tall candelabras glowing with fire around the cavernous room still catch the crystals, flinging glitter along the dance floor. Candles upon candles. There must be hundreds of them, both tall and stout, wide and slender. They cast everything in a warm, flickering light that reaches all the way to the dark corners. And in the middle of the room, Lex is rising from his seat at a small, round table.

“It’s the only way I know how to show that I want you,” he says. It’s not just a ring, but a Princess ring, almost exactly like the one I’m wearing. “That I respect you,” he adds, plucking something smaller from the bed of velvet beside it. I don’t realize it’s a key to the ring I’m wearing until he gathers up my hand, pushing the pointed end of the tool into the top stone. “That I care about you.” The ring on my finger expands, and for the first time since my coronation, it slips off the knuckle without sting or pain. His amber eyes glow in the candlelight as they meet mine. “That I love you.”

To my beautiful Queen. May she reign.

“Because we’re not ‘Sides’ and ‘Ends’,” he corrects. “We’re all linked somewhere down the line, and maybe if people understood that, they’d stop trying to divide everything by streets and territories.”

“That’s how you show you care about Forsyth,” I realize.

“They’re bare?” he asks, disgust clear in his voice. “I’ll—I’ll be back.”

I love remy 😂

“We’re doing the ascension? There hasn’t been a Royal Ascension since⁠—” “Michael. I know.” Shrugging, I remind him, “Our son is the heir to the kingdom. He deserves his birthright, and that’s how people need to see him.”

If he wanted to stay in West End under his own King’s protection, we wouldn’t have held it against him. When I asked, he just laughed, saying Verity and our little cantaloupe need a chauffeur. It was said as a joke, but we both know it’s true.

I love him and I need him to be FREEEEE FUCK THAT COP

DK hooked you up, right?”

Red: violence, energy, chaos, overwhelming

“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.”

Remy flips through them, his face transforming from one color to the next. His forehead tenses, jaw tightening with each one. “Just colors,” he begins muttering. “Not feelings. Just colors. Not bad. Just colors.”

“Oh, it’s just…. Vinny and Sy say I need to find the good in every color. But, like—” He flashes a neon yellow swatch at us. “A guy can only handle so much.”

Pace adds, “And she says he seems calmest when he hears music.” Remy’s expression turns curious. “What kind of music?” “Classical stuff,” he answers, sliding his gaze to Wicker. “Cello.”

“You saved Nicky,” he says, as though that covers it. “And I’ll do anything for Ver. She deserves the best.” If I’ve learned one thing that ties the Dukes and Princes together, it’s that one simple fact. Verity deserves the best.

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,

I lift her chin, taking the opportunity to swipe a kiss. I do this more often now. Taking little pieces of her when she’ll allow it. Getting closer because it feels like the only way I can breathe.

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.

🤣🤣

“That’s so the baby always knows how to get home, even when it’s dark.”

Green: sickness

There are the stars, a moon, and the silhouette of a bird taking flight. When I point it out, Remy grins. “Oh yeah, that’s Effie. She’s a big soul. I bet the house loves her.”

“That wasn’t us,” Tristian says, hand pushing through his hair. “But it was orchestrated. By Story.” I frown. “Why?” Mercer snorts. “You haven’t noticed how close those girls are?” Every guy in the room stares blankly, confirming that none of us had noticed, and I think about how I had to push her out the door to go to the shower today. “None of you have sisters,” Mercer continues, “but I do. There’s a vibe. Our women have a connection.” Wick nods, face pensive. “I can see it. You know how women like to travel in packs. Ours don’t have that option. Not even with their court or,” he waves his hand at Sy and Remy, “or those cub-sluts of yours, or,” he shoots the Lords a look, “the whores at your brothel. Sure, they have other women to talk to, but no one who gets what it’s like to be Royal. It’s an exclusive club.”

but the idea of Verity being a Queen of Forsyth… It feels destined.

“Remy’s cousin called late last night, and that girl they found by the river? The dean’s niece?” He glances over. “She’s going to be initiated as the new Baroness in the next few days.”

HERE WE GO

Arianette Hexley.” Shrugging, he elaborates. “Nineteen-year-old black female, sophomore, pretty, related to the Dean of Admissions. All fairly surface-level details.”

It’s who isn’t here. Laura Walker. Kelsey Livingston. Stella St. James.

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.

“He always has a theme, doesn’t he? My Freshman year, the Barons were all CS majors. The year before that, anatomy experts. The year before that, it was chemists. He always has a plan. But lately, he’s been… hungry,” she explains with a troubled tilt of her mouth. “To build a family. And William is his middle name. His father’s middle name. His son’s. They all knew what they were meant to be, but Liam and Bill understood it was symbolic. Will, though…” She inhales, jaw tightening. “He took it too literally. He wanted to protect his father’s legacy. The wicked path can be like that, you know.” Meeting my gaze, she stresses, “It’s not just a title or a game. It’s more than life or death. It’s a skin we wear. They might take off the masks at the end of the ceremony, but the sense of self never returns.”

I visited the House of Night the other day, and it looks like they’re preparing it for a—”

I KNOW WE’LL FIND OUT NEXT BOOK or SOON BUT A WHAT

Her eyes flare. “Easy? There’s nothing easy about the hunt.” I pause. “The hunt?” “That’s what they do,” she explains. “The King sets the four of you loose in the forest behind the crypt, and the Barons hunt you. It’s not just the Baroness’ initiation. It’s the Barons’, too.” “They hunt you?” I ask, horrified. “Like an animal?” For some reason, this makes her laugh. “It’s a test, Princess. A Baron and his sinister sister have to be invisible. Silent. Ruthless. If a Baron catches the Baroness, that means he’s good at hiding, following, adapting to the shadows.” “And if he doesn’t?” Her head cocks. “Doesn’t what?” “Catch her.” “Oh, Princess, he always catches her.” The words are said without mirth. “The King chooses his darklings very well.”

It’s a garden, filled with blooming flowers and butterflies. Monarch butterflies.

Obsessed 😫

I don’t know where the sudden surge of energy has come from, but I’ve grown fascinated by watching her zip-waddle around the palace with that spark of aggressive determination in her eyes.

but my stomach feels like I’ve just taken a leap off the sheer cliff over the river, and when the hell did that start happening?

A prayer for the fruitless…