Page 27 of When Kings Rise

This surprises me; I hadn’t heard anything about a second body. “Do you know who the woman is?” I ask.

Niamh shakes her head and takes another sip. “That’s why Rian gave me his number. He said if I was interested in what happened, I could ring him.”

“Are you going to ring him?” I ask.

Would I ring him? Would I want to know more? I’m not sure.

“I don’t know,” Niamh answers honestly before sipping her tea.

I checked the time; we don’t have much left before the event.

"So, what are you planning to do to get ready for tonight?" I ask, watching her closely. Niamh's reaction is immediate, a mix of confusion and dawning realization.

"What do you mean? What's tonight?" Her voice is tinged with genuine puzzlement, the weight of her earlier ordeals clouding her memory.

I can't suppress a slight smile at her baffled expression. "The annual Diners of Influence event at the Hand of Kings mansion," I remind her, emphasizing the importance of the evening. This event is not just any social gathering; it's a cornerstone of our community's calendar.

Niamh's face drains of color, panic rising in her eyes like a storm surge. The reminder seems to hit her with the force of a physical blow.

Seeing her distress, I step in, a surprising sense of protectiveness washing over me. I’ve felt protective of her since meeting her; it’s nice to take care of someone else and forget my worries for even just a moment."Don't worry. I've got it," I assure her, my voice gentler than I would have expected. It's a strange sensation. But, I recognize it for what it is: I want a friend.

I lead her to the bedroom, my mind already racing through the logistics of preparing us both for the evening. "Take a shower," I instruct firmly, pointing towards the bathroom.

Niamh nods, still wrapped in the blanket, and enters the bathroom, closing the door after her.

While she's in the shower, I turn my attention to the wardrobe, laying out dresses on the bed. Each piece is beautiful and sexy, designed to make an impression. I’ve laid out the last dress when Niamh emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair damp and her expression wary. She surveys the dresses I've chosen, a flicker of admiration in her eyes quickly overshadowed by concern. "I'm worried about showing off my shoulders," she admits, her voice small. "My mother always called them manly."

I meet her gaze; all the dresses are sleeveless. "They’re not manly; they’re strong. Men don’t own strength." It's a declaration, a challenge to the insecurities that have been unfairly thrust upon her. It seems I’m not the only one with an asshole for a mother.

As we dress, the room transforms into a whirlwind of fabric, shoes, and accessories. I help Niamh with her jewelry, hair, and makeup, each step bringing us closer to the image of sophistication and power we aim to project.

"Why are you helping me?" Niamh asks, her voice laced with wonder as I apply her makeup with careful strokes.

"I’m not concerned about the results of this competition between us," I reply truthfully. This night, this event, transcends our personal battles. There's something greater at stake, a realization that's slowly dawning on both of us.

Niamh's next question catches me off guard, a piercing look in her eyes. "All of us are here because we have something to lose. What do you have to lose?"

For a moment, I'm speechless, the question striking at the heart of my own fears and doubts. "I have no idea," I confess, the admission more revealing than I intended. It's a moment of raw honesty.

The two of us are now ready for the event, and we both look at ourselves in the full-length mirror.

I still see the shadow of fear in her gaze.

“The woman….from the grave?” I start.

Niamh nods. “I’ve been thinking about her, too.”

I smooth down my navy dress before turning away from the mirror. “She probably has a family out there. Someone waiting for her to come home.” I frown; that must be horrible.

“Someone who misses her.” Niamh continues as she turns to me.

There is a brief silence between us. It’s wrong that no one knows who she is or that she is dead. Why was it kept out of the spotlight? But with Rian’s help, we might be able to get answers.

I nod at Niamh, a confirmation of what we should do. “Then, let's get her home.”

Niamh smiles. “I agree.” Before we leave, she picks up the card with Rian’s number on it and stuffs it into the pocket of her dress.

CHAPTER TWELVE

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