Page 9 of When Kings Rise

“It’s a beautiful day,” I say and focus out the window. We can’t get to the church quickly enough. He shifts gears, and the car moves faster like he wishes this ride to end as much as I do.

“I’m sure it will rain at some point today.”

I continue with the small talk until Diarmuid starts to shift, like he can’t take another second of this. Maybe this isn’t a bad thing. He slows down and takes a left-hand turn into the grounds of the churchyard. It’s lined with high-powered cars. This mass will only be open to people with an invite.

He pulls into a reserved parking spot and turns off the engine.

He doesn’t speak as he gets out, and I stay where I am until he opens my door. I thank him and climb out. I only have a moment to breathe when the junior priest walks with a quick gait over to Diarmuid and takes his hand, shaking it several times. “Fantastic to see you at service, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

Diarmuid removes his hand from the priest. “I’m looking forward to the service.” Diarmuid makes it sound as though he’s dead bored of everything. He reaches over and touches the small of my back, sending my spine into a tense straightness. If he notices the tension, he doesn’t show it as he walks me to the door, where two more junior priests wait and shake Diarmuid’s hand before we are led to our seats. Only then does Diarmuid take his hand off my back. We are fashionably late, and the church is full. Only a moment after we are seated, the mass starts.

Victor, who I know of, walks out onto the altar. Diarmuid tenses beside me, his jaw growing tight, but it’s like a flash of silver when a fish surfaces in the ocean. And like that fish, it buries itself swiftly back into the darkness of the water. The tension is gone, and I’m left wondering if it even existed in the first place.

Victor. He’s in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair is gray, black, and white, the gray mostly brushing the sides which are turning gray with age. He has heavy-lidded eyes that look both sincere and stern. He is a perfect man of the cloth—exactly what I would expect an old-world priest to look like.

Why would a man of the cloth make him uncomfortable? Recently, I’ve been educated about the world I might be marrying into. My parents wanted me to be Diarmuid O’Sullivan’s bride so they could gain access to this world. Being part of this world means being controlled by priests like Victor.

Everyone kneels, and I move to do so, a step behind everyone; my mind is reeling. Diarmuid stares straight ahead, his disapproval unclear.

The O’Sullivans, too, are dangerous. In the late 1800s, they were announced as a mafia family. I shiver at that, just like I had done when my father educated me late into the night about the family I may be joining. Right now, the O’Sullivans claim that era is over for them. I take another peek at Diarmuid as we rise to join in the prayer, that I don’t know the words to. Maybe they only declared they are no longer mafia as they are currently running for a position in the Dail Eireann, a political party who makes decisions with the people of Ireland as their interest. Most of their decisions are based on greed and climbing higher up the social ladder. My father said that one of them may be destined to be the president of Ireland.

We kneel again, and I’m glad when the service ends. Everyone files out and bends their knee to the altar before leaving. Once again, I’m grateful for my poise and manage to genuflect easily.

While I walk down the middle aisle, Diarmuid’s hand finds the small of my back again. For the first time, I’m aware of so many people watching us. We stop at the exit as Victor himself shakes hands with the departing patrons. Diarmuid’s fingers stiffen on my back, but his other hand encases Victor’s, and they shake.

“Thank you for coming,” Victor says, releasing Diarmuid’s hand.

“It was my pleasure.” Diarmuid’s words are polite, a complete contradiction to the pressing fingers into my back. Victor’s attention swivels to the next family as we leave the church. I’m very aware of how I am somehow invisible to these men. I don’t mind, and to be fair, I’d prefer to go unnoticed. Diarmuid doesn’t take his hand off my back until he opens the car door for me.

“That was a beautiful service.” My voice is chirpy, not because I thought the service was good but because I survived my first outing, and the idea of getting home and maybe taking a swim makes me smile.

Diarmuid doesn’t smile. “There is a map in the glove box.” He juts his chin forward, his eyes focused on the glove box.

Okay. I open the glove box and take out the small map that has many grid lines crisscrossing it, and making it impossible to read.

I hand it to Diarmuid. He opens the map, and a small, cream-colored piece of heavy paper falls out. I glance at the paper and see what seems to be coordinates. Diarmuid runs his finger along the map, glancing at the scrap of paper before he taps the map twice.

“You can put that back.” He tucks the paper into the map and hands it back to me. I’ve placed it back in its home when he reverses out of the churchyard. He doesn’t say where we are going, but it isn’t my home. I slouch in the seat but then remember that while he might have his eyes on the road, he is surely aware of my every move.

I open my clutch and take out some hand sanitizer, rubbing it on my hands. I’m tempted to offer some to Diarmuid but think twice and place it in my bag, which I leave sitting on my lap. I exhale at the thought of not going home.

“Are you bored?” Diarmuid asks.

Shit.

I glance at him, and a smirk plays at his kissable lips.

“No.”

“If you are having trouble occupying yourself, you are more than welcome to pleasure me.”

My heart thumps in my chest. I’m wondering if I heard him wrong, but I know I didn’t. “I… I…” I have no idea how to respond. I don’t want to pleasure him, but I also know I must do as he commands.

When a low laugh bubbles from his chest, my cheeks heat.

“You see, Niamh Connolly, I could make you do it.” His laughter is gone. “I won’t, but I could. Remember that.”

I nod, just glad that I don’t have to pleasure him. I know I won’t always be as lucky. But today, I’ll count my blessings.

---