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“you hold your head high. You’re the Princess. The creator of the next heir.”
“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t just hear the nasty bullshit being spewed in here. Verity is one of us, and that’s forever.” Her gaze locks in on Maggie. “She’s got more DKS roots than that ombre dye job on your head. Don’t forget that.”
We all need an LB in our lives
“We’re in a new era–one where the women of Forsyth stop bashing on one another. At least as long as you’re in my house.”
But I know now that the men of Forsyth aren’t always what they seem on the outside.
“Then let’s go prove to everyone you’ve got what it takes to be a Royal. Teflon skin and fantastic hair.”
“Donating that seat to you may be the closest he’ll ever get to a fine ass. That way he can brag about it for the rest of his life.”
I need someone to talk to who won’t feel guilty about how grisly the truth is. I need someone to tell me it gets better. I need to cry and vent and punch out all the rage I’m feeling over having all autonomy over my body stripped from me, day after day. What I need is my mother,
it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you the master of your fate.”
Someone whose eyes you can look into, and when he looks back, you can feel how much he wants and loves you, and it’d be scary, except you can’t feel scared with him, because he’s the epitome of safety, and you can still feel his arms around you even when you’re not together.”
People are willing to do a lot for comfort. For safety. Release.
This girl grew up around the Bruins. No, she’s not weak. She’s just innocent.
A few days spent in the hole? Man, that’s just childhood nostalgia. I’m still in control, but I’m aware.
Make her want me as much as I want her.
It’s not that I want her to want my baby. Love isn’t real. The closest I’ve ever come to it is the bond I have with my brothers,
I know Father well enough to understand he’s just paid me the highest compliment possible in his dead, empty soul. He wants me to create with her.
Purple Palace and probably even this solarium look beautiful; shiny people and places filled with promise. When the reality is that the inside is dead and decaying–bitter and strangling the life out of everyone inside.
Pleasure doesn’t live within these walls. It’s not a part of the covenants. It’s completely unrelated–frivolous, even–to the duty of creating an heir. I understand that. My body doesn’t.
I’m struck speechless at the flash of protectiveness in his eyes when he looks at his brothers. Not of them, nor of me. He’s protective of my right to keep my gift.
I may not control what happens to me inside the Palace, but out here I can present to the world that everything is perfect.
“Maybe past Princes were okay with disloyalty, but we aren’t. The next time any of you ask me to break my word, I’ll submit a motion to de-crown you.”
Lex is a man of his word. A rare thing to find in Forsyth.
So, yeah, maybe he is into women.
Because who the fuck appoints an impotent man to be the Prince?
“Just our luck, we get a Princess who’s been breathing in that toxic West End air her whole life.” “Or maybe you’re the deficient ones,” comes Verity's voice.
“If I’d gotten a set of Princes who knew how to properly fuck a woman, I’d be scheduling my coronation. But instead I get this!” She flings a hand toward Lex. “You and your crazy syringes, can’t even be bothered to kiss me, let alone make a life inside of me.” She flicks a hand to Pace. “Your sperm probably die off waiting for you to actually get the job done.” She levels her irate eyes on me next, jaw clenching. “And you–”
“Sure, that’s what they all say, but they must be talking about someone else. I’m pretty sure my uterus considers you a hostile invader at this point. Chasing me down five times a day, jumping out from the shadows, and then unloading into me like a cumdumpster isn’t the suave Casanova move the rest of Forsyth seems to think it is!”
“Oh, well excuse the hell out of me for not being sexy enough!” Her incensed eyes ping between me and my brothers. “It’s almost like you recruited the most inexperienced girl in the city, and then made her lose her virginity to a chair.”
“Show me a Prince worth being a good Princess to,” she says, low and caustic, “and maybe you’ll get one.”
I take advantage of moments of weakness, but Pace is the one who creates them. To create is to reign.
Suddenly, all the relief and praise I felt before is drowned with uncertainty and doubt. And I’m not the only one squirming.
Pain has never bothered my brother. The real wound is the failure.
We’re intertwined. A cohesive, symbiotic unit. My pain is theirs. Their guilt is mine.
The urge to protect them runs deeper than the scars on my body. Someone had to stand between them and Father’s ire.
More likely, it was all the time in-between, slowly figuring out that home wasn’t this place made of sticks and stones, but instead him.
Sharing a space with this girl is going to pull her closer into our shadows, magnetic and inevitable. Because I’ve seen her eyes. Strong but fragile. Paranoid and curious. Hostile but desperately lonely.
Something inside of Verity Sinclaire is horrifyingly like us, and the longer she looks, the more she’s going to see the truth.
“Unlike you, Verity Sinclaire does her duty. No matter how she feels about us, she shows up every night to fulfill her obligations. And I think that deserves something more special than roses. Don’t you?”
Ugliness and the men who inflict it on others.
romance is necessary, then it’ll need to be given in a language she’s familiar with. Violence.
If kissing is an art, then Wicker Ashby is Picasso.
“I thought Princes were… you know. Sweet.” Propping a hand on my hip, I reply, “Yeah, well, arsenic can be sweet if you put it into a milkshake.”
“If we need to pull you out of there, we can. You’re not pregnant yet. They might come for you, but not for long.” I stop her before she begins scheming. “I don’t want to quit, Story.” Looking her in the eye, I raise my chin. “I want to win.”
“Then here’s my advice. This isn’t a sappy romcom, Verity. It’s Forsyth. Royal men talk a big game about wanting submission and obedience, but you know what they really want?” She props her palms on the edge. “They want a partner. Someone who can match them. It’s why they always run three or four deep. Once they find someone they can trust–someone who gets them–they don’t let that person go. It’s hard to find in this town.”
you know the pressure these guys are under? Like really under, as Royals? Their Kings are breathing down their necks, unless they kill them. Then they become them. They’ve got dozens of soldiers, employees, and businesses to run, all while trying to carve out a little space in life to just be who they are, if they even can find out who that is. It clearly sounds like your guys already think you’re a burden. Letting them set all the terms isn’t going to make any of this easier on you.”
“They’re Royal men, and all of them have three things in common. They’re fueled on ego, nursing trauma from growing up in this godforsaken system, and always thinking with their dicks.”
She’s right. I can’t just be a Princess. Not if I want to survive. I need to be their Princess.
“tell me this means you’ll get in a catfight or something mid-match. These matches always lack a little girl-on-girl action if you ask me.” “No one is asking you,” Lavina says.
“Stop looking at my uterus,” I say, slowly rising. “I’m not getting in a girl fight with Lavinia just to entertain you.” I shoot Remy a look. “And a little advice? Don’t underestimate my Princes. They’re far more vicious than they look.”
If my Princes were a crown, he’d be those little comb things in the back, holding it on.”
“Really, who among us can resist the charm of being given your enemy’s severed finger?”
