Page 66 of Dukes of Peril

I don’t forgive easily. Not my sister. Definitely not my father. But I’ve made exceptions before. The man in front of me deserves some grace and as long as he’s willing to try, I’m willing to give it to him.

As much asI love the library, and yes, the scent of paperbacks is as warm and comforting as a pumpkin spice latte in early fall, sitting at a table in a 4th floor study room with the other house girls takes away the charm.

The door is closed for privacy, but a glass window spreads across the front wall, giving all five of us the sporadic view of passing students. The itchy feeling on my neck, the tension around us thick enough to cut with a knife, tells me this is good. If any shit goes down, there will be witnesses.

“Is everyone clear on their roles?” Story asks, looking around the table. She’s spent the last ten minutes detailing our responsibilities.

Once again, I have both Verity and Story to thank for not looking like a complete idiot in front of the other house girls. Turns out, Bianca, the former Duchess, was the primary organizer of this event last year. Verity had all the details in a notebook stashed in Mama B’s office, although I feel that same twinge of guilt, knowing she only had it because she was meant to be in my place.

Regina nods, her long, glossy black fingernails clicking over the keyboard on her phone. She’s quiet, barely saying a word, but she’s also not disagreeable about anything. Maybe she’s never allowed to be. Then again, maybe she’s just pissed at me for orchestrating the hostage thing between Sy and Maddox. I’d called Ballsack myself, using Nick’s phone, and made sure the whole plan went off without any harm coming to her.

“Make sure Regina knows,” I told Ballsack, “that this was my idea, and that she has my word as a Royal that we won’t hurt her.”

Looking at her now, the way she pointedly avoids my gaze, maybe that little tip-off didn’t gain me as much civility as I’d hoped. After everything I’ve learned about the Barons over the last few weeks, from the night in the crypt with Nick to learning the truth about Maddox, the more curious I am.

“Do you think Autumn has the details from last year?” Piper, the Princess, asks from the seat next to mine. She looks like a neurotic Barbie doll. Massive chest. Tiny waist. Chestnut hair pulled up into a tight, slicked-back, fluffy ponytail. Not exactly sure how she’s supposed to get a baby past those narrow hips. “My time is pretty limited right now and the last thing I need is more stress.”

Stressed is exactly how she looks, eyes going constantly to her phone. The crown ring on her finger gleams silver every time she smooths back her hair, something a Princess is only given when she conceives.

As much as I want to know about the Baroness, I’m perfectly fine staying in the dark about the Princess. What I do know is that the role is coveted. Girls all across Forsyth, from freshmen to post-grad, all pray for the chance to produce the next PNZ heir. But if Wicker Ashby is an example of the kind of fuckboy pedigree that comes with the opportunity, then God help her.

“You can try,” Story says, frowning at the mention of last year’s Princess. I remember Autumn from the night Felix was killed, and I rescued Archie from that shithole apartment. “I know she’s still local.” Story shifts her focus across the table. “Sutton, we good?”

I stiffen to realize Sutton is staring vacantly at me from across the table, her fingers either scratching at the scabs on her forearm or twisting in the necklace around her neck. She hasn’t spoken since she got here, although she did kick the leg of my chair on the way to her seat.

“Sutton,” Story says again, this time louder.

The Countess’ eyes snap up, making the rings underneath more noticeable. “Yeah. Beer and food. Whatever.”

The rest of us exchange wary looks. Beer and food are mandatory for any successful event, but for a crowd of college students? It’s an absolute necessity.

“If you need some help,” Story says in a forced, polite tone, “I’m sure we can adjust the plan.”

Sutton’s eyes flare with anger. “What I need is for someone to rein in her psycho boyfriend.”

I look around the table. To be fair, any one of us can be accused of having a ‘psycho boyfriend’, but when her eyes snap to mine, it’s clear who she’s talking about.Whatshe’s talking about. Although we also all know there’s zero actual proof Nick killed anyone. Thanks to the fucking Barons.

“North Side is crumbling, you’ll be happy to know.” Sutton gives me a flat, humorless smile. “Charity work isn’t exactly a priority to us right now.”

“Why?” Regina snaps, abandoning her phone. “Because the drug trade is more profitable?”

“Fuck off, Elvira,” Sutton says, but doesn’t deny it. She shifts her gaze back to me, clearly not finished, and flashes a winning smile. “Duchess, you’re on rides and entertainment, right?”

I nod, not sure where this is going.

“Well, you should probably switch jobs with the Lady,” she gestures to Story, “because last year, Bianca lost her deposit from all the blood and semen she and her Lords left in the goddamn fun house.”

I had actually seen something about that in the margins of Bianca’s notes.

Story’s cheeks turn red, and she stands, slamming her palms on the table. “You’re lucky that blood didn’t belong toyourpsycho boyfriend! After what Perez did to me, he deserved worse!”

Sutton and I hop up at the same time, her to lunge over the table at Story, me to stop her. The Princess cowers in her seat, hands clutched over her flat stomach, while Regina slinks back in hers, eyeing the show.

“Look,” I say, voice low. “Perez was living a reckless life, and it finally caught up to him. It happens and you know it.” Looking around the table, I lock eyes with the other girls, adding, “It could be one of ours someday, and we know that, too.” Ignoring how my stomach churns at the thought, I lock eyes with Sutton. “I’m sorry you lost someone who belonged to you, Countess. But North Side isn’t my concern anymore, so if it’s crumbling, then it’s up to you and whatever’s left of my father’s degenerate lapdogs to fix it.”

For the first time since the meeting started, I see a small glimmer of recognition in her eyes, and it legitimately startles me. Sutton is in deeper than I ever knew, pumped up on Scratch and barely functioning. Her fingers drop to her neck, scratching red streaks in her pale skin. “I’m not dealing with a bunch of traitors and whores,” she says, turning abruptly and walking out of the room. “I’m out.”

The room is quiet for a moment until the Princess sighs. “Does that mean one of us has to deal with the booze?”

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