Pigs flying. Hell freezing over. Miley Cyrus keeping some clothes on.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely, knowing that the flip side to the Brotherhood’s closeness was that they all truly worried about each other.

The problems of one were the problems of all.

“I’ll let him know you’re home safe,” Z said. “Go have a rest. You look wiped.”

She nodded and hit the stairs, dragging her tired body up one step at a time. As she came to the second floor, she stared through the open double doors into the study.

The throne and the huge desk it sat behind loomed like monsters, the old wood and ancient carvings a tangible representation of the lines of succession that had served the race for how long? She didn’t know. She couldn’t guess.

So many couples sacrificing their firstborn sons to a position that, from all she’d seen, was not just thankless, but downright dangerous.

Could she put her own flesh and blood there? she wondered. Could she sentence something she herself had had a hand in creating to where her husband sat and suffered?

Stepping over the threshold, she crossed the Aubusson rug and stood before just two of the symbols of the monarchy. She pictured Wrath there, with the paperwork and the grind, like a tiger trapped in a zoo, fed well, cared for relentlessly … nonetheless caged.

She thought back to working at the Caldwell Courier Journal, for Dick the Prick as a copyeditor for his boys’ club while he tried to look down her shirt. She’d wanted to get out so badly, and her transition and meeting Wrath had been her saviors.

What was Wrath’s?

How would he ever get out of this?

Short of abdicating, his only saving grace … was getting killed by Xcor and the Band of Bastards.

Wow. Great future there.

And her solution was to threaten her own life by trying to get pregnant. No wonder he’d lost his shit.

Running her fingertips across the complicated edging of the desk, she discovered that the curlicues actually formed a vine. And there were dates inscribed along the leaves …

The Kings and the queens. Their children.

A long legacy of which Wrath was the current manifestation.

He wasn’t going to give this up. No way. If he felt impotent now, walking away from the throne was going to send him right over the edge. He’d already lost his parents too soon—to release their legacy over to another? That would be a blow he’d never get past.

She still wanted to have a child.

But the longer she stood there, the more she wondered whether it was worth it if she had to sacrifice the man she loved. And that was going to be the result—plus, assuming she could get pregnant and deliver a healthy baby, if they had a son, he was going to end up here.

And if she had a daughter? Whoever she married was going to take over—and then her daughter would have the pleasure of watching her man go insane from the pressure.

Great inheritance either way.

“Damn it,” she breathed.

She’d known Wrath was the King when she mated him—but for her, by then, it had already been too late. She’d been head over heels in love, and whether his job had been security guard or supreme head of state, she was getting hitched.

She hadn’t thought of the future back then. Just being with him had been enough.

But come on, even if she had been aware of all the implications …

Nope. She still would have thrown on Wellsie’s gorgeous red gown and marched down to have the crap scared out of her as Wrath had her name carved in his back.

Thick or thin. Richer or poorer, in human terms.

Child-filled … or childless.

When she finally turned away, she straightened her shoulders and walked out of the room with her head level. Her eyes were clear, her heart was calm, and her hands were steady.

Life was not an à la carte buffet where you got to fill your plate with whatever you wanted. You didn’t get to choose your entrée and your sides and go back for more when maybe you had three bites of meat left and had run out of mashed potatoes. And hell, when she thought about it logically, getting True Love along with Happily Married and Hot Sex Life was already one hell of a trifecta.

There were good reasons for them not to have a child. And maybe it would change in the future; maybe Xcor and the Bastards would meet their graves, and the glymera would come around, and the Lessening Society would stop killing …

Pigs flying.

Hell freezing over.

Miley planting her twerking ass in a chair and keeping it there as a public service.

As Beth headed for the private stairwell to the third floor, she wished she’d come to this conclusion before Wrath had gone to find Tohr, but that was yet another collision she had triggered that she couldn’t undo.

She could stop this from going any further, though.

However much it hurt, she could choose another path and put them both out of their misery.

For God’s sake, she wasn’t the first woman on the planet who couldn’t have children just because she wanted them. And she was not going to be the last. And all those females? They went on. They lived their lives and kept going—and they didn’t have her Wrath …

He was more than enough for her.

And anytime she thought he wasn’t? She was going to go back and sit in front of that desk … and put herself deep in her hellren’s shitkickers for a mile or two.

She didn’t want to let her father down and she hadn’t even met him. For Wrath, being King was the only way to honor his—and not wanting to subject the next generation to the throne?

It was the only way to protect the children he would never have.

The Rolling Stones were right. Sometimes, you didn’t get what you wanted. But if you had all you needed?

Life was good.

“Your cousin is getting mated.”

As Saxton was led through the doors of his father’s study, that was the greeting he received.

Here we go, he thought. And next time they talked, no doubt it was going to be about said cousin having a perfectly healthy baby boy who was going to grow up normal. Guess this was his birthday “gift”—a report on some relation living the right sort of life, with subtitles that he was a shame to the bloodline and a great waste of DNA for his father.

Actually, the happy little updates had started up soon after his father had learned that he was gay, and he remembered every single statement, arranging them like ugly figurines on the mantel of his mind. His absolute, bar-none favorite? The newsflash a couple of months ago about a gay male who had gone out with another gay male of the species, and ended up beaten in an alley by a group of humans.

His father had had no idea he was talking about his own son on that one.

The hate crime had been the capper on his first date with Blay, and he had nearly died from the injuries: There had been no going for medical help—Havers, the only physician in the race, was a devoted traditionalist, and was in the practice of turning away known homosexuals from treatment. And going to a human doctor had been a no-go. Yes, there were twenty-four-hour clinics open in the city, but it had taken all the energy he’d had left to drag himself home—and he’d been too ashamed to call anyone for help.

But Blay had shown up—and everything had changed for them.

For a while, at least.

“Did you hear what I said,” his father demanded.

“How wonderful for him—which cousin is it?”

“Enoch’s son. It was arranged. The families are going to have an eventing weekend to celebrate.”

“At their estate here or in South Carolina?”

“Here. It is time for the race to reestablish proper traditions in Caldwell. Without tradition, we are nothing.”

Read: You are worthless unless you get with the program.