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

by Angel Lawson

Lex brushes his hair away from his face. He’d never admit it, but he wears it down specifically because it gives Red the warm tinglies. I can barely remember the last time he had it up.

Verity lifts a trembling hand to her mouth. “Pace was born down there?”

“You’ve met him, actually. It’s, uh,” she tosses me a nervous look, “Pauly. You know, from the gym?”

As I walk down the hall to the security room, I try to think of the palace in this light. Home. With all its nooks and crannies and secrets, it doesn’t feel anything like the abomination I used to think of it as. It feels familiar and full of potential, and as I creep down the stairs to the kitchen, I do what Remy Maddox once accused me of. I put dibs on it. Mine,

“I wanted to love you because I wanted to be loved, and I didn’t know what it looked like—felt like.”

“I love you too,” she says, repeating what I didn’t exactly say, but she understood anyway. “And so will he.” 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.

“Why do I always have to wear white to these?” “Tradition,” Lex says simply, his hand moving slowly up my spine, underneath my hair to the column of my neck. “And I like it, you look stunning.” “You look like a fucking goddess,” Pace agrees, fingering the fabric covering my breasts. One tug would easily free them. “Jesus Christ, Rosi.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is low but strained, and when he glances at me, I see the regret. “I thought he was chaining me to him, and I resented you—everything about you. But I’m starting to realize that’s what he wanted. He never wanted us to think of you as a gift.” He rests his hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze. “But you were, Red. You were a gift. And that’s what this is. Remember that.”

“He took our ideals and twisted them into something ugly and wasteful,” he insists. “He wasted our women. Our creators. Our mothers and sisters. He used their flesh and discarded them when he was finished.”

“To create is to reign,” he says, and when I place my hand over his, holding it close, a tear slips down my cheek. “I’m sorry we haven’t found her, Ror.” Slowly, he shakes his head. “It wouldn’t make a difference, Princess. I know a kind heart when I see it. That’s all we need from you.”

I’m sobbing 😫

The men who watched and participated in those vile ceremonies didn’t know me, and I hadn’t yet realized how strangled their hearts were by Ashby’s rule. There could be no greater proof of Rufus Ashby’s failed kingship than the knowledge he hadn’t snuffed everything good out of his own men. I just hope I can keep finding more of it.

Reaching out, I stroke my fingers through his hair, watching his eyelashes flutter. “Are you okay with this?” His blue eyes rise to meet mine, and there’s no reservation there. Instead, the silence is heavy, filled with the weight of significance. “I never thought I’d be able to pass on a real legacy,” he says, the candlelight glinting in his eyes. “This is…” Visibly struggling to find the words, he pauses, inhaling, “everything, Red. Everything.”

Wick is a slut for soft affection and I LOVE IT 😫

“Red…” he begins, shifting uncomfortably. “Murder isn’t something you come back from.” “Neither is this,” I insist, cradling my belly. Creation and destruction, two sides of the same coin. “I can handle it.”

I think of him strangling this kingdom and turning it to ash. I think of Lex’s pained eyes after that whipping. I think of the way Pace can never quite relax until he’s alone with me in a room. I think of Wicker, two nights before, and the agony in his eyes when he questioned if his love was real. I think of my mother. But mostly, when I grip a handful of Ashby’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat, I think of my son. Of making this kingdom a home for him. Of hope and change.

They found me caked in my mother’s blood. It’s something Wicker and I always had in common—being brought into this strange house of decadence under a layer of death and decay. Verity’s origin in the palace is also marked in red, and as much as she hates it, there’s something glorious about the way she looks in that white dress, bloody handprints covering her abdomen. To steal a phrase from her Dukes… She’s a fucking victor.

She settles against me, her hands sliding over mine, and together, for a few quiet heartbeats, we carry this weight together. 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.”

She’s the one who broke our chains.

“It’s all in the way he moves.” She bites her lip, seeming to consider this deeply. “With Wicker, he sort of… stretches? I swear, it’s like my belly gets bigger. And Pace’s voice always makes him kick and twitch, these little punches that feel like flutters. And you…” She pushes my hair back, an unbearable softness in her eyes. “When he hears your voice, he squirms around, like he’s turning, searching...”

I would have been so good at it, baby.”

Lex calling her baby 😭😭😭

That’s what I’m gonna do when you’re fertile for me again. Won’t let you be empty again, Verity...”

“I love your eyes. I love that freckle behind your ear, and the stretch mark on your right hip.” I fuck in and out, delirious from it all. “I love your hands—soft enough to drive me wild, powerful enough to slay the monster in the palace.” I hunch over her, lips pressed against her forehead, watching her nipples as they start to weep. I swipe a thumb over it and stick it in my mouth, tasting the nourishment that will feed our son. “I love this baby and everything it’s doing to your body. I love you, Verity, so fucking much.”

“Justice,” I say, clearly enunciating the name. Black, shrewd eyes look into mine as Effie cocks her head. “Pretty bird?” “No.” I hold the treat just out of her reach. “Justice. It’s the baby.” “Baby.” Effie inches closer to the treat, bobbing her head with a trilled, “Baby bird.” Chuckling, I concede, “Yes, you’re my baby bird. Justice is our baby boy. Can you say Justice?” She lifts a foot toward the treat, straining. “Baby bird. Fucking baby bird.” “Fair enough.” Sighing,

So damn cute

“We can get to you,” I say, cock thickening. “All of us.”

🥵🥵🥵

Her belly is in his face, and I can’t help but notice how much he touches her there now. He spoke the words earlier tonight, declaring himself Justice’s father, but saying and believing are two different things. The way he looks at her—worships her—I have no doubt he meant every word.

Lex reaches out to brush a damp lock of hair from her cheek. “Take what you need.” Which is real sweet and special and whatever-the-fuck, but he’s holding her fat titty right in front of my face, and my whole world becomes narrowed down to the droplet of milk beading at the tip of her nipple. I lick my lips. This strange, almost primal urge to consume—to preserve—is a new bit of mindfuckery that I lean all the way into. But Lex, somehow sensing this, is the one to guide it to my mouth. “You too, little brother. Take what you need.”

Jesusssss🥵🥵🥵

“God, Wick,” she whines, threading her fingers into my hair. “What are you three doing to me?” The question is delivered on the cusp of a breathless chuckle, and it’s Pace who answers. “Worshiping you.”

This is what it feels like to be unencumbered. There’s no obligation here, no man in the dungeon pulling the strings. It’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

Clearly, I’m not properly fulfilling my role of being her sweets dealer. “Well, there’s only one thing to do,” I say, pulling her to her feet. “If my Princess wants a lasagna, then I’m going to get her one.”

My knife clatters to the cutting board. “He’s got a nursery already,” I snap, overcome by a sudden flare of red-hot panic. “They’re not coming to stay here every other month. The contract only covered her pregnancy.”

Sweet protective Wick 🥹

I exhale, trying to get that weird flare under wraps. Don’t know what the hell that was about. I just know the thought of Verity and Justice living here makes me see fucking red.

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.”

“I guess I should have spent it on another car,” Lex drawls, flicking his brother a wry look. “And plus, it can be used for her next pregnancy.”

Killian kicks back in his seat, head cocked. “A black wedding.” “The first black wedding in four decades,” Sy adds. “What’s a black wedding?” I ask, feeling confused. “An arranged marriage between a Baron and Baroness,” Sy explains.

“Congratulations, Princess. Welcome to the club.”

Wicker and I created this baby with blood and passion. Pace and I forged him in the heat of wild possession. But Lex and I made him right here, with a longing so fierce that it transcended things like science or territory lines. Smiling softly, I stroke my thumb over his. “Yeah, he is.”

“These are the dark days, my friends,” he’s drawling, “because they have to be. The smallest slant of light would show us that we shift around in our little crews, pretending we’re not part of the same rotting corpse, but we are. Limbs and corrupted organs. Hair follicles and fractured bones. Irises and perforated muscles. Our women keep getting plucked away like trophy molars because you’ve all forgotten. Your crowns are made of clay and straw and dead things.” Another one of those chilling chuckles. “Remember that you will die. Wake up, Forsyth.

His shoulders sink, face falling. “I think…” Reaching up, he grasps a fistful of his shirt, right over his heart. “I think I love her, Pace. I was too chickenshit to say it, but I felt it, and she’s out there right now, thinking she belongs to nobody. But she does.” He exhales, asking, “I mean, what if it were Verity?” This is easy to answer. “If it were Verity, I’d burn this whole fucking city to the ground to find her.” “Yeah.” Ballsy nods, glancing back at the forest. “You’re a Prince, you can do that. But I’m just a nobody who makes it easy to pin this shit on.”

Sometimes she hardly seems real. How did she bloom her way into our lives, filling it with such soft, sweet, warm things? And how on fucking earth did we ever think of smothering it?

As soon as we get up to speed, Effie trills, spreading her wings against the wind. Verity laughs. “She thinks she’s flying!” That’s exactly what she looks like, her wings extended to full span as the air speeds through her plumage. “This is a really big deal, Pace. Look at her—she’s loving it.”

I reach out and stroke her black feathers, remembering the day I brought her home. She was sick and badly neglected. Hardly talked at all. I looked at her and saw a sad, frightened, lonely soul—just like mine.

“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 in this world that could stop me from still watching over you, but—but I’d let you go.” A fat tear rolls down her cheek and I catch it on the tip of my thumb. “I understand now that you don’t cage the people you love.”

“You are cordially invited to bear witness to the eternal union of Baroness Arianette Gowen Hexley to The King of Barons on the evening of October thirty-first, at the House of Night.”

WTF

“I like it.” Effie trills from the branch of a camellia tree. “I like it, Euuugene. I like it.” “Shit!” Ballsack jumps a foot off the ground. His hand lands on his heart. “I didn’t know she was in here.” “I thought she probably needed to stretch her wings,” I explain. Ever since Pace and I took her out on the water, she’s been bursting with life, eager to go out again. “Well, warn a guy next time.” He exhales slowly. “I should kick Wick’s ass for teaching that bird my name,” he says, glaring up at Effie. “I told him in strict confidence that birds freak me out.”

“It’s not Stella.” Eugene swallows, but before the relief washes over me, he adds, “It’s Laura.”

God this makes me fucking upset. I loved Laura, she was so funny and sweet 🥺

After a moment, he relents, “Fine. But you’re not going alone.” “Verity will be safe with me,” Ballsack assures. “I promise.” Wicker is already snagging a set of keys from the hook against the wall. “I know she will be, but she’ll be twice as safe with both of us.”

“A couple more weeks,” I say, ignoring another twinge.

GURL

His jaw drops, the ladle in his hand thrust in my direction. “She said she had to! She gave me the big, sad eyes and everything.” Mama snorts. “Falling for the pout. Bush league, blondie.”

😂

“237!”

Making a big show of it, Sy goes down to his knees, and in a breathtaking unison, every man around him follows, each of them going down to their front, flat on the ground.

The exchange isn’t enough to calm the agony growing in my stomach, unable to even show solidarity by getting on the ground with anyone else. Sensing this, Wicker props up onto his elbow like he’s just hanging out—the very picture of ennui—and curls a hand around my ankle.