He shakes his head as Kell pokes fun at Rhy's preoccupation with his looks, but he's grinning too. That definitely sounds like Rhy. And Kell is right — he could probably pull off anything. Robbed, and threatened, and beaten have his eyebrows raising. But he gets it. The freedom of being a nobody for the night, of trying on a normal life, is worth the cost of a black eye.

So even Rhy, who takes his duty so seriously, who would not lay down that weight willingly, feels that way sometimes.

"I would've been right there with you." Flipping his hair back, he affects a look of innocence that is highly suspect. "Can you believe that I've been thrown out of a club for getting in a fight before?"

Not his finest moment. His mother had been steel forged in fury. His father, quietly and distantly disappointed. The tabloids had pounced on his fuck up and inflated it into a whole narrative of an out-of-control prince addicted to partying. Enough time has passed now, though, that he can squash it down into a funny anecdote.