Page 28 of When Kings Rise

Diarmuid

Hands of the King Edict Six

Kings are made to lead our world, but they must be guided. One Hand shall place the Kings in their places. One Hand should make Kings. One Hand should destroy Kings.

THE RAIN HAS ceased its relentless assault on the world outside, leaving behind a serene yet sodden landscape. As I step onto the Hand of Kings manse's grounds, the aftermath of the storm is immediately apparent. Every surface, every leaf and blade of grass, is sheathed in a heavy coat of raindrops, like nature's own jewelry. The lights from the manse cast their glow onto the gardens and lawns, turning the water droplets into shimmering diamonds.

I hand my coat to the doorman, but he doesn't make eye contact. In fact, he barely acknowledges my presence beyond the necessities of his role. I suppress a smirk, finding a twisted amusement in their obedience.

The grandeur of the manse never fails to impress, a testament to the power and prestige of its occupants. But tonight, it feels different.

As I step into the warmth of the place, the murmur of conversation and the subtle strains of music greet me. The air is thick with anticipation, every guest playing their part in the night's proceedings. I scan the room, my eyes adjusting to the transition from the dimly lit gardens to the brightly illuminated interior. Here, in this den of influence and intrigue, every smile hides a motive, and every handshake is a calculated move on the grand chessboard.

I navigate through the crowd, acutely aware of the space that seems to open up around me. It's as if my reputation precedes me. I don't mind. Let them whisper, let them speculate.

Good. The last thing I need is drama tonight. As I move through the room, the precise orderliness of everything, from the perfectly pressed uniforms of the staff to the hushed, almost non-existent conversations among the guests, signals Victor's presence.

Michael, Victor's Page, finds me among the throng. His greeting is formal, almost excessively so, but that's to be expected given his position. His is the lowest rank in the Hand of Kings, yet tonight, he bears a message of supposed compassion. "Victor will not be attending the event, but he wanted to extend his condolences," he informs me, his voice steady, betraying no hint of the personal sentiment behind the words—if there even is any.

Victor is rubbing salt in the wound. Finding a chink in my armor. I smile at Michael. “Tell Victor I thank him for his condolences,” I say as Michael nods and departs.

As more guests arrive, the dynamic shifts subtly. My brothers, ever predictable, make their customary beeline for the open bar, their nods in my direction serving as our only form of acknowledgment. The crowd is a mix of actors, politicians, religious figures, and even a NASCAR owner/driver. It's a testament to the event's reach and the diverse interests it attracts. The air buzzes with the undercurrent of networking and deal-making.

Then, amid the sea of faces, I spot Niamh and Selene arriving together. Seeing them together shows me they are bonding. I’m not sure how wise that is.

As I watch them make their way through the gathering, the real work of the night begins. Beyond the handshakes, the polite smiles, and the arranged table settings lie the real battleground.

And so, I ready myself to join the fray, my eyes always searching, always assessing. Tonight, like so many nights before, is a game of chess played on a grand scale. But as I've learned, in this game, every piece has the potential to be a king—or a pawn.

“You ladies look beautiful,” I say as Niamh and Selene approach me, two stunning brides. I take each of their hands and place a kiss there that lingers longer than it should. Both blush, and I hope they are thinking about the pleasure I gave them. Both of them were equally delicious.

The moment is shattered when Amira appears. She’s barely dressed, her black tight-fitted dress more fitting for risqué entertainment than a high-end gathering. Her lips are painted red, and she reaches up on the tip of her toes and presses her lips to mine. The reaction from the crowd is mixed—a few gasps, a smattering of applause. Amira smiles under the spotlight and gives a shy smile to the crowd.

“Where is the rest of your dress?” Selene’s comment is biting, and I suppress a smile at her obvious jealousy. But she is just as stunning as Amira.

Amira grips my hand as if I have chosen her. The thought of pushing up the short black dress and fucking her right here and right now sends waves of pulsing want to my lower regions.

I don’t release Amira’s hand as the promise in her eyes has my mind reeling.

But the moment is fleeting. Isaac Waryn, the priest with ties to Brien Cahill's departure to the United States, appears at my elbow, pulling me back from the brink of scandalous indulgence.

“Diarmuid, how are you?” he asks, but it’s as if he wants to say more. The fact he’s even approaching me in the presence of the hand of the kings makes me annoyed. I release Amira’s hand.

“Very well, and yourself?” I ask.

“I’m good.” He answers and glances around.

“If you can excuse me.” I glance at my three brides as my reason not to talk to him.

He seems to understand that this isn’t the time or the place. “Could you give me directions to the main dining room?”

I’m ready to tell him where it is when Selene steps forward. “I can show you, Father.”

He smiles at her, and she walks away with an eagerness that I think is brought on by her annoyance with Amira’s earlier display of affection.

When Selene departs, this leaves Niamh standing alone. She’s a vision of elegance and nervous anticipation. She looks incredible, her beauty a stark contrast to the raw, unbridled allure of Amira. And yet, it's Amira who consumes my thoughts, her audacity and the glint in her gaze promising me so much more than …fun, and it ignites a fire within me.

Excusing myself, I take Amira's hand, leading her away from the prying eyes and whispered judgments. Together, we step out into the night, leaving it all behind. The cool air of the evening envelops us, a welcome respite from the intensity of the manse's interior. In this moment, with Amira by my side, I will be uninterrupted in exploring the depths of desire and defiance that she so effortlessly showcases.

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