Page 31 of When Kings Rise

“Is that why you were digging into Andrew’s death?” It made such sense. Niamh didn’t seem like the snooping type. Her shaken state when she arrived at my apartment, her desperation to find out more was now adding up.

Before she can answer me, the door swings open. Amira saunters in, her laughter cutting through the tension like a knife. "Oh, shoot. I thought that I would be the only one up here," she says, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Coming up to pick the grass blades out of your ass?" I retort, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. It's a petty jab, but I'm not in the mood for her games.

"Oh wow, slut shaming, are we?" Amira fires back, her tone mocking. It's clear she's not the least bit bothered by my comment.

"I don’t care about you having an active sex life, but don’t you think we should be making a good impression at an event like this?" I counter.

"Check the dew on the marble outside. My ass made a great impression," she quips, unfazed.

"Whatever. You can have him, Amira. We would much rather just be dropped so we can go on with our lives," I say finally.

As Amira laughs off my words, I turn to Niamh, seeing my own resolve reflected in her eyes.

Amira's laughter fills the space between the sterile walls of the bathroom, her amusement making me tighten my fists. "You really are morons," she says, her voice laced with disdain.

“You don’t understand…” Niamh says, her face is unnaturally pale even under the makeup I had applied not long ago.

Amira cuts her off. "I understand. What? Do you think that if Diarmuid rejects you,you just get to go on with your merry lives?"

"Well, I know that I would have to figure out a Plan B, but basically, yeah," Niamh says.

"Why couldn’t we?" I challenge.

Amira's response is a mix of arrogance and pity. "Oh my God, I should just let you go. I would win him, and you guys can figure it out yourselves. Luckily for you, I am already winning, so I don’t mind being nice." Her words drip with condescension. I want to tell Niamh to forget it. We don’t need to listen to Amira’s words. She’s just on a high from having Diarmuid.

"Once you become a Bride, you belong to them. Even if you get rejected, you still belong to them. Understand?" Amira's tone shifts, the gravity of her statement hanging heavily in the air.

Niamh's confusion mirrors my own. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice small.

The implications of Amira's words are chilling. The idea of being forever bound, with no true escape, is a cage I hadn't envisioned. I had naively assumed that rejection would be a release, a chance to reclaim my life and start anew. I knew I’d have to face my parents' wrath, but never being free of this world sends a cold dread that settles in my stomach.

This is a fate I can't accept. My mind races, desperate for a solution, a way out.

As Amira stands before us, a smirk playing on her lips, I realize that our understanding of the situation has been naïve at best. How does Amira know all this, and we don’t?

Amira's words cut through the air, each one landing with the weight of a verdict. "Diarmuid is a Duke, right? He is supposed to become a King?"

"In the mafia?" Niamh asks, before glancing at me.

Amira's laugh is humorless, sharp. "No, dumbass. In the Hand of Kings. You really have no idea what you have gotten yourself into. They are like the Illuminati, but they never fell. Hundreds of years of building power, and you are a Bride of a future King. If you fail, no other King or Duke is going to want you, so you get passed to the Marquesses, then the Earls, and so on. Fail enough times, and Wolf will get you."

"Who's Wolf?" The question escapes my lips before I can stop it, a reflection of my growing horror. Each word that leaves Amira’s mouth keeps getting worse and worse.

Amira's answer sends a shiver down my spine. "Diarmuid’s cousin. He operates the O’Sullivan sex trade."

The room spins as the gravity of our situation becomes painfully clear. Niamh and I exchange a look of shock, our shared fear unspoken but palpable. The world we thought we knew, the dangers we believed we understood, pale in comparison to the nightmare Amira unveils.

She has got to be lying. But why would she?

"You can try to run, but you won’t get far. Your passport will magically stop working. Your family will be stalked. Your money will disappear." Amira's voice is cold, matter-of-fact.

"Face it, ladies. Your options are on Diarmuid’s arm or someone’s whore." The finality in Amira's statement is a death knell. She doesn’t seem to care how we are taking this as she turns to the mirror and fixes her hair. She smiles at herself.

Panic wells up within me, a tide of desperation and fear threatening to drown my resolve. The thought of being passed down the hierarchy of power like a pawn in a sick game is unbearable. And Wolf... the mere mention of his name and his vile trade sends a wave of nausea crashing over me.

Beside me, Niamh's eyes are wide with the realization of what Amira is saying. The revelation of the Hand of Kings, of the real power and darkness behind Diarmuid's position, casts a shadow over any hope of escape.

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