Page 38 of When Kings Rise

I hesitate, not sure how much to pry, but any opportunity to get to know Diarmuid better is one I will grab with both hands.

“They seemed very concerned when you fell.” I lie remembering how Diarmuid had released Wolf in anger, allowing his cousin to fall and bang his head.

“They don’t care about me.” His words are bitter, and he takes another drink. “They would be glad if I were buried alongside my father.”

“I doubt that is true,” I respond.

He snorts. “You don’t know my cousins.” He waves his hand in the air. “You will soon enough, and then you will be running.”

“He’s been very kind to me,” I say and think of how we shared a moment out in the garden. How he took my virginity from me and only me. He never touched Niamh or Selene, and why would he? They don’t compare to me.

“Kind until he gets what he wants,” Wolf says, watching me closely now.

He already got what he wanted, my mind sings. I shake the thought away.

A silence slips over the room for a moment.

“Who were you talking to on the phone? It seemed heated.” Wolf sits up even further in the bed. He grows more alert by the minute.

I’m wondering how much I should share with him. “My mother,” I answer.

Wolf doesn’t pry, but I need to talk; I never talk about her. “It's our brother's anniversary—well, two of my brothers’—death. Michael…well… we aren’t sure about him, to be honest.” I find myself drifting to the end of the bed.

“I understand loss like that. I buried my father,” Wolf says, with an almost vulnerable look in his gaze, but he doesn’t have pity in his eyes, and that is what keeps me talking. I can’t stand pity.

“I’m sorry about your father. It’s a burden.”

He nods in response.

“My brothers served the Hand of the Kings, also,” I say and fold my hands onto my lap.

“Oh, I may have known them. What is your second name, Amira?”

The fact he knows my first, surprises me. My last name isn’t a secret. “Reardon.”

Wolf’s eyes light up as if he recognizes the name, but he shakes his head. “I can’t say I worked with them, but then again, I’ve worked with a lot of people, being a Duke.” He offers a lazy smile.

“You're a Duke yourself,” I tease, a smile playing at my lips as I think to myself that if things don’t work out with Diarmuid, maybe, just maybe, being close to Wolf might save me from being stuck at home with my mother. He didn’t seem as bad as people made him out to be. In fact, I could see myself liking Wolf.

He returns the smile with a wry twist of his lips. Wolf suddenly pushes to his feet, a bit unsteady but determined. “I have to get to work,” he announces.

“Your work can wait for another day,” I protest half-heartedly, intrigued by what could possibly demand his attention so urgently. There's a part of me that knows all too well the nature of his duties, yet being in the room with him makes me wonder how much is really true.

He pauses, considering something. “Why don't you come see my office?” He suggests a challenge in his eyes. I hesitate, aware of the reasons why such an action would be frowned upon. “It probably isn't appropriate for a Bride to be alone with another man,” I murmur.

Wolf's response is immediate, confident. “I have nothing to hide from Diarmuid,” he states, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The invitation hangs between us. I stand and consider his offer, the knowledge of what he does, the intrigue of the unknown, and the sheer boldness of his invitation stirring a reckless desire inside me.

The transition from the luxurious, suffocating atmosphere of the event to the starkness of the old school building is jarring. We hadn’t far to go, just across the courtyard, before we arrived at what Wolf says is his office.

I’m reconsidering my decision, glancing back at the mansion with all its glistening lights. But as Wolf steps into the foyer, I find myself following him.The chill of the stone walls contrasts sharply with the warmth we've left behind, making me very aware of how scantily I’m dressed. The building, despite its seemingly abandoned exterior, exudes an air of careful maintenance. The wooden floors gleam under the steady glow of well-maintained lighting, free of the cobwebs one might expect in such a place. A calendar on the wall, its pages fresh and current, seems oddly out of place in the otherwise timeless space.

I can't help but feel a mixture of confusion and curiosity as we walk through the entrance. “This is not what I expected,” I admit, my voice echoing slightly in the open space.

Wolf glances at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “The O'Sullivans have always been good at hiding in plain sight,” he explains, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness. “Ever since they joined forces with the Hand of Kings, secrecy has become a cornerstone of their operations. Most of my dealings are through contacts within the Hand. Diarmuid's side of the business, given his involvement in the illegal arms trade, tends to work more closely with the O'Sullivan network.”

The revelation of Diarmuid's activities, while shocking, doesn't surprise me as much as it should. Yet, hearing it spoken aloud by Wolf brings new clarity. Maybe Wolf has more power than Diarmuid if he works so closely with the Hand of the Kings.

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