Dukes of Madness (Royals of Forsyth University, #5)

by Angel Lawson

“I know Sy’s over there.” He points to a spot that would be close to his parents’ neighborhood. “How?” “It’s shrouded in black.”

“Because he’s hooked on you as much as the rest of us, Little Bird.

“How the fuck do people like you sort these?” Shoving his hand into his hair, tugging at the roots, he rants, “Colors and numbers and letters—they just slither in and jerk me around, but you… you just fucking bat them away. Red, yellow, twos and threes and sevens. He puts them in here!”

Mayhem 🥺

Earlier, Vinny looked like she’d been slapped. Now, she looks like she’s been punched.

He’s the only person who ever looked me in the eye and told me to be better, and then taught me how. I find myself missing the most unexpected things, like the way he fixes my plates in the mornings, as if he’s feeding a linebacker instead of a petite Duchess. I miss the way he’d pace around here at night, anxious to go to bed. I miss the way he’d feel next to me as I slept. The warmth of his skin when I woke in the mornings curled against his side. The softness in his eyes before he got too awake to realize he was holding me back.

He’s already mine. He’s always been mine. I’ve just been so wrapped up in the trauma and pain of my past, the never ending fight to survive, that I couldn’t grasp the gravity of it. “I’m ready.” I stroke his hair, pushing it off his forehead, and my hand trembles with the nervousness of giving this to him. “I’m ready to be yours.”

“Sy?” Hearing her voice calms the war raging in my chest.

And if he doesn’t, then he’ll still have me to answer to. I don’t say the last part, but I feel it. Some part of me might always feel this thing inside my chest, the responsibility to keep her safe. I’d like to say I don’t know where it came from, but it’d be a lie. The night I rescued her from the cedar chest, she became mine.

That means it could be Nick, Lavinia, or Remy. It could be any of them. Everyone I love is in danger.

"Are you still my girl?" There's a visible stutter in her movements as she turns those gray eyes onto me. I know it's a selfish question. I don't even have the right to ask, let alone know. But she still releases a breath, asking, "Are you going to come back?" "Yes," I answer, firm and sure. She shrugs, turning away. "If you're a Duke, then I'll be your Duchess." It's not the answer I want, but I hear the message, loud and clear. If I want her, I'll have to win her. Luckily, winning is what I do.

He whips around to peer at me, wide-eyed. “No.” His eyes, ringed with red, narrow into slits. “No. That’s not real. Vinny isn’t coming, asshole. You fucked that up. You fucked it up!” Flinching, I try hard to recognize that he’s not screaming at me. Inhaling, I call out, “Remy, it’s me.” Shaking his head, he glares and points at me with the marker clenched in his fist. “Vinny wouldn’t come out here. Not after what I did.”

Remy 😫

“No, it’s not.” He takes my hand, voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to give you the black, Vinny. You know what it means, don’t you?” My heart twists at the misery in his eyes. “It means sorry.” “No.” His face pinches. “I mean, yes, but—black. It’s the best of all the colors. The definition, the range, the depth. You can’t make other colors without it. It’s fucking essential, you know? And the best part is that it covers anything.” His face crumbles and he lifts my hand, flattening my palm to his chest. “I didn’t have enough black to cover this.”

“You and Nick?” He scrutinizes me closely. “So everything is white?” It takes me a moment to remember the color from Sy’s journal. “...white is healthy, renewal, clarity.” I lift my hand to brush his hair from his eyes. The platinum hair—the white hair—which I now realize hasn't been bleached to death for the sake of a fashion statement. He’s covering his head in white, as if it could fix him, as if it could make him— Healthy. Renewed. Clear.

His green eyes hold mine and his head moves, just a fraction, sort of wistful. “I love you, Vinny.”