Page 3 of When Kings Rise

“Very well done, Selene; maybe you aren‘t a troublemaker after all.” My cock bulges against my trousers.

Maybe Amira could have her first lesson in pleasing me. As I take a step toward her, my phone rings. I scoop it out of my pocket and turn my back on my three brides.

It’s Wolf. I assume he’s ringing to see what I think of his selection.

“I can’t fucking believe it.” That’s Wolf’s opening line.

I step toward the red velvet curtains.

“I don’t know who would do this.” He sounds upset. Almost distraught.

I don’t care. I like hearing him this distraught.

“They found my father, Diarmuid. He’s dead.”

I knew this moment would arrive. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“What?”

“Are you sure he’s dead? Did you see his body?” I ask.

“Yes, he was pulled out of a shallow grave. Yes, he’s very fucking dead,” Wolf snaps.

I turn to my three brides, who are back in formation. Selene looks flushed. Perfect in the light.

I hadn’t time to dig any deeper, but a shallow grave is all that Andrew O’Sullivan deserved.

Chapter Two

Amira

A WAVE RISES hard and fast, and I clench my fists so I don’t strike my own face like I want to. I can’t react, not with one of my guards’ thighs pressed firmly against mine.

My vision wavers, and I sneer at how weak I am. I failed today.

“Don’t you always.” A voice whispers in my mind.

I straighten my spine, my mind ruminating on the moment that Diarmuid had given all his attention to the other two girls and not me.

I want a mirror to check my face. I’m pretty—I know that—so what didn’t he like? A lot of people see me as angelic and innocent, and I play that part so well. Maybe not well enough this time. Diarmuid had looked at me with a tilt of his head like he had seen through the porcelain skin and bright brown eyes to the real me.

I divert my gaze to my lap and flex my fingers. Next time, I need to do better.

After seeing Diarmuid O’Sullivan, I know with every fiber of my being that I want to be his. I will win my place as his bride.

The darkness around the vehicle sinks deeper inside, casting too many shadows. I'm tempted to reach up and flick on the small overhead light, but I remain still. I know if I make a move, I will lose the last shred of my control.

My heart thumps as we travel down the winding road that opens a bit wider. Trees bend toward the vehicle, their long, bare branches like claws reaching out to me.

The vehicle slows, taking a left turn, past wrought iron gates that once shined with a polished black varnish, but now, the peeling paint makes a line across the driveway that gets crushed under the wheels of the heavy vehicle as we pass.

I don’t want to go home. I smash my eyelids tighter and conjure the image of Diarmuid O’Sullivan. My heart rate slows, and a sense of peace flows across my chest. The cogs of my heart loosen, and a smile plays on my lips.

He’s so handsome, like a prince from a fairytale who has come to take me away.

Thump, thump thump. My heart threatens to start racing again, and I will it to settle. I only have seconds before we reach my home, and I want them to be quiet seconds.

Diarmuid’s gray eyes are like the marble tops of my kitchen counters: soft, pretty, and soothing. My core tightens as I remember his large frame entering the room. He would be powerful on top of me. His shoulders wide and his arms strong. The vehicle comes to a stop, shattering my moment, and I open my eyes.

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