Theo was gone when Galen woke up. He’d known it would happen from the moment his friend ordered him to strip last night. The fucking phenomenal sex didn’t make up for the fact that things weren’t working in their current situation. Theo wasn’t normally the kind of man to dodge hard conversations and impossible scenarios, but none of them had fully anticipated what being in Thalania would do to them, individually and as a unit.

Nothing was the same.

“Morning.”

He turned to find Meg watching him. She was tucked under a mound of blankets so that only her face was free, her dark hair a tangled wave over her pillow. She got cold when she slept, and the only time that seemed to abate was when she was sandwiched between him and Theo. The amount of blankets around her gave him a pretty solid timeline about when Theo left their bed. Early.

The old, familiar anger wrapped around him. When they were younger, he could channel it into productive things, but there was nothing more useless than being a fucking Consort. Galen didn’t do the political bullshit. He didn’t pretty up his words, and he didn’t bother to play nice to people who would just as happily stab him with a steak knife as pass the salt over dinner. The problem remained that being the Consort required exactly that skillset.

Meg frowned. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He didn’t want to say it. They’d made promises when they decided to stay, and bitching about the consequences was worthless. He refused to give up Theo or Meg, which meant he was stuck as playing Consort for… Fuck, forever.

If that wasn’t depressing, Galen didn’t know what was. He couldn’t tell her, though. “Have you thought about school?”

Instantly, her expression closed down. Meg sat up. “What kind of question is that?”

“A legit one. Theo said you had options when you decided to stay. It’s been six months. You’ll have to make a decision at some point.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Galen. I wouldn’t have possibly known how long it’s been without you reminding me.”

All too tempting to poke and prod her into a fight. Meg was good for it. She and Galen were too similar for anyone’s peace of mind, and he knew exactly what buttons to push to provoke a response. They’d fight and then they’d fuck, and then they’d go about their respective days with nothing having changed.

But Meg surprised him. One second she was glaring like she wanted to smother him with one of her pillows and the next she was straddling his stomach. She planted her hands on his chest and gave him a long look. “What’s really bothering you?”

Galen played through it in his mind. He’d sit up, toppling her to the mattress, and then his mouth would be on her pussy and she wouldn’t be worried about anything but her next orgasm. There would be no thought or energy left for uncomfortable questions.

She must have seen something on his face because she frowned and poked his chest. “Communication, Galen. You promised me honesty and communication.”

Damn it. There was no getting around this.

Maybe he didn’t want to get around it. He’d meant what he said to Theo last night—time was ticking and Meg wasn’t exactly exuding a happy vibe lately. Theo couldn’t leave Thalania, not with the crown on his head and the throne under his ass. There were no term limits on the monarchy. Galen wouldn’t leave Theo. This life might not look anything like he’d pictured it, but Theo had no one to watch his back in this nest of harpies. Galen couldn’t leave him. Not to mention the fact he loved the bastard.

The only thing leashing Meg to them was love, and love didn’t always last.

Something akin to panic seized his chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. A year ago, he had a solid plan; get Theo back on the throne and take down his treacherous uncle. Keep Theo safe in the process. That was it.

Now they had Meg, and Galen had his hands tied with this Consort shit, and he couldn’t protect the only two people in this fucked up world he actually loved.

Knock that shit off. You don’t deal in daydreams and wishes. Name the reality. Adapt as necessary. He ran his hands up Meg’s legs to bracket her thighs. Communication. It wouldn’t solve this particular problem, but he’d be damned before he did something to alienate her further. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Pretty sure that line hasn’t worked at any point in history.” She idly traced the most ragged scar that ran across his upper chest. “Okay, fine. I’ll play. Yes, I’ve thought about school. I only have a year left, and as much as I’ve learned that plans have to be allowed to change, I don’t want this to change.” She hesitated, obviously weighing whether to go on. “This, all of this, isn’t really mine. I know I’m Consort, but I’m only in the position because Theo put me there. I also know that even if things went horribly wrong between all of us he would never just turn me out on the street. But, right now, my entire life is dependent on him and I can’t stop playing doomsday scenarios in my head. I want my degree. I want my career. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to take classes when Alys has me scheduled down to my bathroom breaks.”

Galen kept stroking her thighs, the touch calming a part of him he didn’t know how to put into words. “You could scale back your responsibilities.”

“If I do that, it means you end up with more on your plate.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “We agreed on the plan that first couple weeks—divide and conquer. Theo needs the Families’ support, and the best way to do that is through us paving the way.” Meg made a face. “I just didn’t expect to screw up so frequently. There’s an art to this political crap, and I don’t have it.”

He cupped her hips, letting his thumbs play over her skin. This casual intimacy was something Galen never got enough of. Theo used to be the only person he’d shared it with. Galen didn’t let anyone else close enough to try. Intimacy required trust, and he’d seen time and time again how effectively trust could be twisted to hurt and manipulate. It was something his old man had always been particularly skilled at.

His old man. Dorian Mikos. One of the people that helped orchestrate Theo losing his throne in the first place. The bastard had slipped away right around the time Galen and the others were crossing Thalania’s border.

Out of Thalania, out of their jurisdiction, out of the justice he deserved.

Galen didn’t doubt for a second that they hadn’t seen the last of his father, but everyone’s energy had become devoted to the more present issues that kept showing up. He considered Meg’s words. “It’s not failing to have to reconfigure.”

“Really? Because no one else has had to reconfigure. I’m the weak link.”

“No.” He sat up and framed her face with his hands. “You’re better than that self-pitying shit. You know damn well that I’m struggling, too. Fuck, Theo is struggling, though he’s too proud to admit it. This hasn’t been easy on any of us.”

Meg stared him down. “How would I know that, Galen? We barely talk anymore. We scurry and rush around and fuck until we can’t see straight, and then rinse and repeat the next day.”

This was worse than he’d realized.

Liar. You knew exactly how bad it had gotten. You just didn’t want to face it.

Theo would know what to say to calm Meg’s fears. Theo, that asshole, always knew what to say. It wasn’t a gift Galen possessed. He didn’t have gentle words or reassurances. He just had the stark truth. “Being back here feels like being in my childhood home again.”

Meg froze as if she’d just stumbled into a clearing and noticed a wolf slinking through the trees. She opened her mouth, seemed to reconsider, and finally said, “Oh?”

Fuck, this was his fault, too. Galen didn’t talk about his childhood. Theo knew all the details—he’d been there for the aftermath and the nightmares and all the bullshit Galen went through before he pulled himself together—but he hadn’t talked about it with Meg other than in broad strokes. Not about the scars. Not about his father. Not about how fucked his reality had been.

He didn’t want to talk about it now, either.

Too late. He laced his fingers through her hair, smoothing it back from her face. They were too close, too intimate, her big hazel eyes threatening to expose his shredded soul, but if he set her back now, she’d see it as a rejection. “Ever since I moved into the palace when I was sixteen, I had a role set out for me. Theo needed someone to watch his back, someone he could trust, and I was that someone. I always intended to be his head of security, and even when we were fighting to get him out of exile, that was the plan. As head of security, no one expected me to play politics or mince words.” He was just himself, an identity completely divorced of his parents’ treasonous history.

“Now you don’t have that option.”

“Now I don’t have that option,” he agreed. “It’s like wearing a too-tight jacket. I can’t breathe. And every time I think about how happy my douchebag of a father must be to have a Mikos named as Consort, it fucks up my head. This is not who I am.”

“The things we do for love, huh?” Meg gave a sad smile. “This happily ever after is more complicated than I would have guessed.”

Galen pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Things will even out. The Families all retreat back to their respective estates over the summer, so that will be a welcome relief.” A Band-Aid. It was all he had to offer in the way of comfort, and it was nowhere near good enough. “We will figure it out, baby. Just hang in there for a little while longer.”

“I’m not tapping out. That’s not what this is about. I’m just… I’m so tired, Galen. And there’s no end in sight.”

“I know.” He glanced at the clock and cursed. “We better get ready.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t sound any more excited about it than he felt, but Meg climbed off him and padded to the bathroom.

Galen dropped back to the mattress and stared at the ceiling. They were going to lose her. It had always been a possibility, but with shit going the way it was, the possibility was rapidly sliding from theoretical into a sure thing.

And he didn’t know what to do to stop it.

By the time Meg headed to her tea date with Noemi, her mood had gone from grumpy straight into foul. She kept replaying the last twelve hours in her head—Theo’s promise to take care of them, the admittedly outstanding sex, talking with Galen that morning. Galen was better at hiding his emotions than she was, but he was hurting. And she couldn’t fix it. She wasn’t even sure Theo could fix it, but he’d damn well better try.

A familiar figure hovered in the doorway ahead and Meg gave her first genuine smile in hours. “Cami.”

Theo’s little sister jumped like she’d been caught doing something wrong. She was a cute little thing, and at sixteen, she still had a little bit of childhood in her face. She wore jeans and a flowing shirt, and her dark hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. “Oh, uh, hi, Meg.”

Yeah, she was definitely doing something she wasn’t supposed to be. Meg glanced around, but aside from her and Alys, no one was in evidence. “Looking for someone?”

Cami glanced at Alys, clearly not interested in sharing anything with her close. Meg didn’t even hesitate. She turned to the other woman and gave a small smile. “Could we have some privacy, please?”

Alys clutched her ever-present tablet. “We’re under a tight schedule, Consort.”

Irritation flared. She knew they were under a tight schedule. Alys liked to remind her every time she stopped the forward dash from meeting to meal to tea to meeting. There were only seven Families in Thalania, but the heads of each had dozens and dozens of children and grandchildren and, in some cases, great-grandchildren. And Meg was expected to entertain the half that qualified as feminine persuasion.

But none of that was Alys’s fault, so she fought to keep her tone light. “I think Noemi will be fine for a few more minutes.” She injected enough steel into her words that Alys got the picture. This was non-negotiable.

Alys finally nodded. “Five minutes.”

I’ll take as long as I damn well please. Meg didn’t stay it, couldn’t say it. “Thank you.” She took Cami’s arm and led her a bit down the hallway to a door that led into one of the many unused sitting rooms. Some ancestor of Theo’s, in peak Rich People Mentality, decided that he didn’t want to entertain in the same space, so he had fifty-two sitting rooms peppered throughout the palace so he could use a different one for each week of the year. They’d been slowly redone by the various queens who’d come and gone since then, and these days they were great places to grab a quiet conversation, though Meg had stumbled in on at least two couples making other use of the spaces.

She really hoped she wasn’t about to stumble onto a third with her boyfriend’s underage sister in tow.

Thankfully, the room was empty. It housed three delicate chairs and an equally delicate couch, all made of a pale spiraling design and floral cushions. “This should do nicely.” She shut the door and took a seat on the nearest chair, giving Cami time to make what she would of the situation.

When she’d come here, she’d expected Theo’s siblings to be spoiled assholes. Meg really should have known better. Edward had been kind of a little prick before he left for Oxford, but that was as much from having been raised under Theo’s shadow as his age—eighteen. Cami was… not fragile, exactly, though everyone treated her like she was made of spun glass. She was perfectly polite to Meg, but she resisted any overtures of friendship.

Cami perched on the edge of one of the chairs. She smoothed her shirt down and sighed. “This will sound silly.”

“Try me.”

“Lady Nibley is in the palace today, and she’s supposed to be meeting with my brother this afternoon.”

Okay, that was the last thing Meg expected to hear. “Yes, I had tea with her yesterday.” The old woman with her freaking pimp cane had played an instrumental part in Theo regaining his throne, and even though she didn’t seem to know what to think of Meg, she was a refreshing breath of fresh air every time they interacted. It didn’t happen often enough—Lady Nibley preferred to spend her time in her estate near the Mediterranean Sea in the southern portion of Thalania. “I thought she was heading home today.”

“She is.” Cami’s fingers fluttered against her jeans. “But she came here because she wants Theo to convince her grandson to come home, and she’s dragging her feet about leaving before he promises to see it done.”

This was all news. “Okay.”

“There was an incident when her grandson was a child. He went missing for a very long time, and only recently has it come out that he’s alive and well.”

Meg waited, sure the girl would get to her point eventually. This was all interesting, but she missed the part where Cami had a reason to care. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

“I don’t know if okay is a good word for it.” Cami fiddled with the hem of her shirt, all confined nervous movement. “He won’t come back to Thalania, and our father couldn’t convince him to change his mind. Lady Nibley thinks Theo can succeed where our father failed.”

She didn’t check the clock ticking on the table next to the door, but Meg could practically feel Alys’s impatience on the other side. “Cami,” she said gently. “While I’m sure that’s very tragic for the Nibley family, I’m a little confused on why it’s got you lurking in the hallways.”

“We’re promised.”

Meg blinked. “What?”

“When we were children, our parents had an arrangement in which I was promised to him.” Cami stared hard at the floral pattern on the rug beneath their feet. “He went missing almost immediately after, but he’s been found and I’m sure Lady Nibley will want to see it brought to fruition.”

She was still trying to catch up. “But… Does Theo know? I can’t imagine he’d authorize his little sister playing the part of a child bride.”

“It’s nothing like that.” Cami made a face. “I get a choice, of course. My father always stressed that part. It’s just…” She hesitated and, for a moment, Meg was sure she’d wilt. She underestimated the princess. Cami jerked her chin up and her shoulders back, meeting her gaze directly. “No one ever tells me anything. If my brother is organizing a retrieval of my so-called betrothed, I should be involved. I know I’m only sixteen, but at my age, Theo was already running some of our father’s operations within the country. Edward was in training in addition to his schooling. I’m just… here.”

Ah. Feeling useless wasn’t something Meg had ever dealt with—at least not as a teenager. She’d been too focused on getting out of the hellhole she grew up in to worry about her place in life. All she’d cared about was that it wasn’t there, in that trailer, following in the footsteps of the mother who seemed intent on drinking herself to death and bringing everyone in her life down alongside her. There hadn’t been time for doubt. There was only Meg’s plan. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” She finally dropped her gaze. “I don’t even know what my options are. I don’t want to marry some guy who I haven’t seen since I was four.” She lowered her voice. “And he was so old.”

From what Meg understood, Cami should have had more freedom than either of her brothers when it came to who she married. Her children would likely never end up on the throne, so it should have allotted her a wider choice in partners. “How about this?” Meg pushed to her feet. “Why don’t you meet me after I have tea with Noemi, and we’ll sit down and figure something out? If you want to be treated like an adult, then going to Theo directly instead of sneaking around is your best bet.” Cami would have to find a way to pin him in place long enough to have that conversation, but Meg would help. It was the least she could do that this point—and it had the bonus of being something she actually wanted to do.

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.” She took the girl’s hand and gave it what she hoped was a comforting squeeze. “Now, come on. I think Alys might have a stroke if I’m late for this tea.”

“You’re probably right.” Cami made a face. “Tea with Noemi, huh?”

There was such a teenager tone of disgust in her voice that Meg burst out laughing. “I take it you’re not a fan?”

“Oh, it’s not that exactly. She’s nice enough—nicer than a lot of the other nobles. She’s just…” Cami made a vague gesture. “Perfect. Every time I’m in the same room as her, I feel like I’m looking in one of those backlit makeup mirrors that display your every pore and imperfection. I feel dull.”

Meg cast a critical look over the girl. Cami was anything but dull. She had inherited her father’s bone structure—same as Theo had—and if she stopped doing her best to blend into the background, she would own any room she walked into. Part of that would come with age and confidence, but maybe Meg could help her out on that note, too. She was hardly a fashionista, but she was old enough to know a few tricks. That said… “Do you want the kind of attention Noemi gets?”

Cami hesitated. “No, not really. Maybe at some point but… No. I already feel like I live under a microscope as it is and the last thing I want right now is more of that.”

The teen years. Meg could still vividly remember the push and pull of wanting to fit in with everyone else and wanting to stand out in a way that made other girls in her grade shine. She’d never discovered the knack for it, but then, very few people did. “Come on.” She pulled Cami to her feet and led the way to the door.

Alys met them there, her blue eyes wide. “Cami, the King is looking for you.” She shot a panicked glance at Meg. “Can you find your way to the tea room down on the main floor? Just follow this hallway to the stairs, down them, two lefts, one right, and it’s the third door on the right.”

Meg did her best to memorize the harried instructions. “I’ve got it.” She gave Cami’s hand another squeeze. “Come find me later if you need me.”

“I will. And Meg? Thanks.” Cami hurried off with Alys, leaving Meg staring after them. She didn’t let herself think about the conversation too long. Palace life was complicated enough without her showing up late for tea. Noemi had never done anything truly terrible—or even been rude—but that feeling of being three inches tall was a sensation Meg shared with Cami. Even though she knew better, she couldn’t help comparing herself to the other woman.

Damn it, she knew better than to indulge in that kind of thinking.

They weren’t in competition with each other across any platform, and disliking Noemi just because she was beautiful and poised and perfect was a bitchy thing to do. Meg’s best friend from New York would reach across the damn ocean to slap some sense into her if she knew how Meg was letting this whole thing get to her.

She started down the hallway, picking up her pace. No, she couldn’t do a damn thing about being late today, but she would stop dodging the other woman. Noemi may never be a friend, but Meg wouldn’t know one way or another unless she gave the woman a chance. Today, she’d do exactly that. She reached the top of the stairs, but a rustling sound behind her stopped her in her tracks. The small hairs on the back of Meg’s neck raised and she started to turn to see who was behind her.

She never got the chance.

Hands planted themselves on her upper back and shoved. Meg screamed and scrambled for the bannister, but it was too late. She tipped over the edge and down the stairs.