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“You have no idea. Last night, I had to referee a confusingly violent round of competitive gift wrapping.” Her head tilts curiously. “Who won?” This is an easy answer. “I did.”
“We should make a toast.” Perking up, I wonder, “To what?” “Girls who are fucking three guys? Being Queens?” Some of the mirth fades from her eyes. “Being a member of the shitty parent club?” I hold up my mug and clink it to hers. “To all of that.”
“It’s okay to grieve for people who don’t deserve it–to grieve the people they could have been.”
“Verity.” I catch her eye in the mirror. “I need a distraction from the horror that has become my life. Do I really look like the kind of girl who wants to wrestle my friend in front of two-hundred horny frat boys?”
“To the victor go the spoils.” I smirk, holding up my milkshake. Smirking back, she touches her mug of coffee to my glass. “To the loser go the amazing consolation sex. I’m not mad.”
found Lavinia, and she’s… well, nice isn’t quite the word.” She wriggles, shooting me a glare. “Oh, please,” I demand, poking at my milkshake. “Stop pretending your vag hurts because of my knee and not all that fantastic loser sex you got at the end of the night.”
That there are no Queens around for very long. That we’re given to the Royal men to keep them in line until they don’t need us anymore.” I exhale, shoulders sinking. “The sad thing is, he wasn’t wrong. My mother. Sy’s mother. Killian’s mother. Hell, probably even your mother. They were toys.” Story clears her throat. “But Lavinia and I aren’t willing to be expendable. Not anymore.”
“You have a lot of faith in a rejected South Side Duchess.” “You're not a reject,” I stress, grabbing her hand. “You’re a trained assassin. Sexy. Smart. A virgin–” Story snorts. “Oh yeah, girl, you’ve already got the job.” I shake my head. “You’ve said it yourself. Mama B spent her life raising you to be a house girl. Maybe she just didn’t realize which house that’d be.”
“If this is going to help you and Sy–if it’ll help change Forsyth into a place where women like my mother and the cutsluts can become something other than Royal waste–then I’ll give it a shot.”
“I always wanted a big family. I always wanted kids. Did I ever want the Princes’ kids?” She grimaces but lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “My mom raised me all by herself, and she did just fine, but a little security would be nice. There are perks that come with the job right?”
But wings aren’t just for running away. Sometimes they’re for soaring. “We’ll call ourselves the Monarchs.”
