Page 15 of When Kings Rise

I rise at the same time as my grandfather, but my grandmother calls out to us. “I’ll get it.” We both sit back down, and I focus on finding the final word. I can hear the low, distant hum of conversation at the door. Grandfather gets up as the microwave beeps to let him know his pudding is ready for consumption. When the talking ceases, my grandmother enters the dining room with an envelope in her hand.

She looks so much like my mother; only there is kindness and laugh lines on her face, whereas, my mother’s is perfect due to all the Botox she has had over the years.

“It’s for you, dear.” She hands over the envelope, and my stomach tightens. I recognize the seal instantly. I force a smile and get up, the puzzle forgotten.

“I’d better get ready for the day.” I press a quick kiss to her rosy and freshly washed cheek and clutch the envelope to my chest.

“Will you be back for dinner?” she asks, her gaze darting to the envelope that she is curious about.

“I’ll try.” I press a second kiss to her cheek and inhale the scent of her moisturizer.

“Bye, Grandfather,” I call.

“See you later, love. I’ll have this new puzzle done in no time,” he shouts back from the kitchen.

My grandmother purses her lips and shakes her head. I laugh. “Twenty-four hours, Grandfather,” I remind him and leave.

I walk outside and across the small space to the apartment that my grandparents had converted for me above a detached garage. I didn’t mind staying in their home, but they believed a lady my age needed her own space. Their kindness never ceases to amaze me.

I climb the stairs and enter my apartment, which is always unlocked. I told my grandparents they could come in whenever they wanted, but they always knocked and never entered unless I told them they could.

I smile at how lucky I am to have them.

The apartment is cozy and always warm. It’s a bit of a sun trap. I appreciate the Velux windows that line the roof, allowing all the sunshine to pour in.

The small two-seater couch is scattered with cushions that my grandmother and I knitted over time. I love each one of them.

Stopping at my small kitchen table, I sit down and turn the thick envelope over, breaking the seal. I allow the contents to fall out, already knowing what it is.

Birth control.

Three months ago, these deliveries began. Part of my agreement with the Hand of Kings is to make certain that no unexpected princes are created. Tonight, I have to go to the house. To perform my duties, duties that I was born to perform. I’ve had years to let this knowledge sink in, but it never did until now. This is the destiny my parents decided for me before I was even born. It was the only reason I was born.

I was sixteen when they sat me down. I’ll never forget my mother’s cold exterior. They gave me everything but never affection. I never craved it, as my grandparents filled that void. I never understood why there was no “I love you” at bedtime. No morning hugs. I just assumed that’s how parents were with their kids. They were not our friends, but our parents. But it ran so much deeper than that. They literally had me so I could be raised to fill a role that terrified me.

“You are old enough now for us to tell you about your future.” My father had started. There was a nervous energy in the room. That energy was mine, but at the time, I couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Okay,” I responded. Was this the part where I got serious about my future? Would they push me into politics or law? But I nodded, ready to hear what path had been laid out before me.

“The O’Sullivan family have just given us great news.” My fatherglanced at my mother, and for the first time, shesmiled with real delight.

I’d never heard of the family and at the time wondered if they owned a firm or some business.

“You will be a bride to Diarmuid O’Sullivan.” My father had said while looking back at me, but the smile he shared with my mother was gone.

“A bride?” Confusion at their words had me squirming in my seat.

My father shuffled further in his seat. “Yes, he will have three to select from, and we know he will pick you.”

“What if I don’t want to be a bride?” What sixteen-year-old thought about marriage? I know I didn’t. My dreams were further from that path than they could ever imagine.

My mother spoke this time. “It’s not about what you want, dear; it is what is going to happen. Don’t get awkward. It’s already been agreed upon.” She seemed agitated.

“No.” I shook my head.

My father rises and walks to the fireplace. “Like your mother said, it's already been agreed upon, and you don’t say no to these people.”

His words were deadly. These people? “I don’t understand.”

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