Page 32 of When Kings Rise

It can’t be like this. Amira spins and gives us one final look. “Best of luck.” She leaves the bathroom, and I can’t seem to find my footing.

Something ignites in me, a spark of defiance. The fear is overwhelming, yes, but the thought of succumbing without a fight is intolerable. I glance at Niamh, seeing my own determination mirrored in her eyes. No matter how dire the situation, we can't let fear dictate our fate.

"We'll find a way," I whisper, more to myself than to her. "We have to." With every fiber of my being, I vow to fight, to seek a sliver of hope in this darkness—for Niamh, for myself, for our very souls.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Diarmuid

THE CHANDELIERS CAST a warm, luxurious glow over the long dining table. I sit, somewhat stiffly, in my designated seat of honor, surrounded by the echoing laughter and the clinking of fine china. This dinner is Victor's doing, a chance to parade the prestige of our order before eyes hungry for the slightest hint of weakness. But to me, it feels like a gilded cage, each course a rib in the frame.

The starter arrives, a tiny marvel in the bowl of a spoon, crafted by a French chef whose name escaped me as quickly as he had introduced himself.

Next, the scallops, a sea-kissed treasure from the cold waters of Bedford, Massachusetts, are placed before us. They're seared to perfection, a testament to the journey they've undergone to grace our plates. Yet, as the flavors unfold on my tongue, I can't help but crave something as simple as a pot of stew.

The main course is presented with a piece of A5 Wagyu beef so small it almost seems lost on the expansive porcelain. The chef from Kobe, who had tenderly prepared it, speaks of the beef as if it were a piece of fine art.

As the courses parade before us, each more elaborate than the last, my thoughts drift to the real reason behind this grand display. I've watched other Dukes undergo this bridal ritual, a test to see how potential Consorts fit in with high society.

Amira shifts her chair subtly yet decidedly closer to mine, her movement smooth and deliberate. She has drawn the attention of nearly everyone in the room. It isn't hard to see why. Her dress, if one could call it that, openly displays her cleavage. The small black spaghetti straps are tiny on her tanned shoulders, and I know when she stands, the dress will barely cover her. The fabric clings to her form in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Plunging necklines and daring slits were its signature, making it a piece more suited for a sultry night out than a fine dining experience. The smirk on her face and joy in her eyes suggested she was fully aware of the effect she had, reveling in the attention. As much as I tried to focus on the culinary artistry before us, I can't ignore how sexy she is.

“Are you enjoying the meal?” She coos up at me, her hand slowly moving under the table to rest on my leg. I thought after having her, my need would die down, but now it starts to grow again.

“It’s delicious,” I declare.

Even though I want her body, I can’t help but feel a sense of distrust with Amira.She is someone who seems to crave the spotlight with such intensity. Was it a result of neglect, a plea for attention unmet by her parental figures, or simply a facet of her personality?

I glance at Niamh. She barely makes a ripple in the social currents of the dinner. Her modesty and poise suggest years of discipline. In her is a quiet strength, a resolute spirit that doesn't need the limelight to affirm its worth. Maybe she would be better suited to me.

I shift my leg away from Amira’s touch, and straightaway, a frown appears on her face.

My gaze then drifts to Selene. She elegantly navigates the raspberry champagne sorbet. She must sense me watching her as her gaze clashes with mine. In that glance, I see not just her earlier anger or irritation but a challenge, an invitation to delve deeper than the surface. It’s an anger that isn't raw or uncontrolled but calculated, a reflection of a mind as sharp as it is beautiful.

She drops her gaze from mine, not in shyness, but as if she has seen enough.

So, have I had enough? As the last course is served, people retire to the lounge. The ladies leave to refresh themselves, but not before I notice one last look from Selene. She intrigues me.

The lounge I enter is quiet. I select a glass of whiskey from a tray of assorted spirits.

I take my drink and step out onto the balcony, where I'm greeted by the cool evening air, a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere of the dining hall. The whiskey burns a path of warmth as I sip, watching the driveway stretch out before the main door.

Lorcan's presence is announced not by the sound of his footsteps but by the shared understanding of needing a moment away from the festivities. He leans against the balcony railing beside me, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond.

"Twelve courses." He finally breaks the silence, his voice carrying a mix of awe and incredulity.

"Yes," I reply.

"Twelve fucking courses," he repeats, with a chuckle that borders on disbelief.

I lift my drink in a silent toast to his observation. "I’m having my thirteenth now," I say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Lorcan laughs.

"I noticed that you had an extra appetizer," Lorcan says, his voice casual, as if he's commenting on the weather.

"I won’t talk about this," I respond firmly. What I do with my Brides is private, and my business alone.

"Come on, you know that Ronan or I will be next. I just want a little bit of information," Lorcan persists, but his 'just' feels heavier than it sounds.

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