Page 16 of When Kings Rise

My mother rose and joined my father at the fireplace. “You will be his bride when the time comes. You will obey him, and you will earn your place at his side. Make no mistake, Selene, there is no getting out of this.”

They had left me alone, trembling, and I had run. Run to my grandparents, never revealing the real reason that I couldn't stay under my parents’ roof.

The driver opens the car door for me, and I try not to gasp at the sprawling mansion before me. I’ve been brought up with wealth and have a healthy trust fund, but the sheer size of this place leaves my mind scrambling. I’ve already seen the Hand of the Kings’ mansion, but it still takes my breath away for more reasons than one.

Its sheer size is intimidating, but I know what waits for me on the other side of the door. My first meeting with Diarmuid comes to my mind, when he made me touch myself in front of the other girls, and how he made Niamh touch my breasts, but the part that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me was when he helped me.

I’ve never had a man’s hands on me. It was forbidden. Before I was sixteen, I had some stolen kisses, but that was it. I’ve never been touched. I hate how I liked Diarmuid’s touch so much.

It’s cold, and the breeze has me tightening my beige coat around me. I dressed for the autumn weather in warm pants, a cream polo neck jumper, and heavy black boots. My dark hair flows down my back, and I dip my head as I’m led into the hallways of the mansion. Our footsteps echo loudly as a wordless maid guides me through the house, and we don’t stop until we arrive at double doors that open into a bedroom.

Amira and Niamh are already inside, and both of them look at me when I enter. Amira can’t hide her disgust with me, but Niamh offers a warm, shy smile. I like her and can see kindness in her brown eyes. I wonder if she was introduced into this world the same way I was. Or if she always knew what she was.

Amira, on the other hand, has waves of hostility pouring off her. I try to ignore her as the maid closes the door behind me.

In the room is a large queen-size bed, and my stomach tightens. All of a sudden, I’m feeling hot and shrug out of my beige jacket.

Diarmuid is very attractive, more so than I could have hoped for, and I spent years trying to picture the man my parents handed me over to. His brother Lorcan was easy to find on the internet, as he is into politics, and his face is plastered across so many articles. He’s extremely handsome, too, and after meeting Diarmuid, it is easy to see they are brothers.

No matter how attractive Diarmuid is, though, this entire arrangement is so off-putting to me. I feel like a farm animal being led to auction, and I don’t know if I or that farm animal would be the better for winning.

I look around and place my coat on a chair where another one sits. I have no idea which girl it belongs to.

Awkwardness fills the room now. Amira folds her arms across her chest. A bold red paints her lips, and she raises a brow at me.

I don’t like her at all.

The door opens, and we all shift our stances but relax when a maid enters. She doesn’t speak but lays out three parcels all wrapped in deep green paper. Once she leaves, I walk to the bed and open the first one. What in God’s name are these? They can’t be called clothing. They would barely cover me, and the more intimate parts of the black underwear have Velcro that can be ripped open. The noise of pulling it apart is loud in the room. Amira’s elbow rubs against me not so gently as she opens the second parcel. It’s identical to the one I opened. She holds it up, and with a cruel smile in her gaze, she turns to me, stretching out the material.

“Hmmm. This one is kind of large. Might be for you.” I don’t take the garment, and she tosses it in my direction. It lands right beside my hand. I’m not heavy by any means, but I do have far more curves than Amira.

Amira opens the third one and holds it up. “This seems like it’s my size. I can’t picture either of you fitting in it.” She grins and begins stripping out of her clothes, unfazed that she’s naked in front of us.

I glance at Niamh, who looks uncomfortable.

Amira slips into the bit of material and does a spin for us. “What do you think?” She smirks.

“Save that for Diarmuid. We’re not interested,” I snap, hating how she grins at us.

“How stupid of you. This is a competition.” Amira walks to a full-length mirror and assesses herself.

“If you say so,” I remark, and my fingers toy with the undergarment. I am not shy, but I won’t parade myself before it’s necessary.

“When you fail, I want you to remember what you are seeing right now. This is everything that you won’t be.” Amira spins from the mirror.

“If I remember correctly, Diarmuid left you to the side the last time,” I bite back.

Amira marches to me with fire in her eyes. “Boys are always mean to the girls they want the most.” She continues to the bed and picks up a set of silver bracelets that have a small hook on them. She slips them on. “I don’t think he is into fat girls.”

I bite my tongue, not wanting to argue, but she grates on my last nerve.

Amira looks at Niamh. “Dear God, you look petrified.” She laughs. “He won’t want something like you.”

I spin toward Amira. “That’s enough.” I defend Niamh, as Niamh doesn’t fight back.

I hate bullies.

“Or what?” Amira asks.

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