Page 5 of When Kings Rise

My silence has her anger swelling; her hand strikes my face once, twice before she falls into a heap at my feet, sobbing. My face burns, and I step around her.

“Don’t walk away from me,” she calls, but the violence has left her words, and sobs rack her frame. I don’t stop walking. I make it to the stairs when I hear cabinet doors banging. She’s looking for more vodka. She hides bottles throughout the house but forgets where she left them.

I’ve found them in most corners of the house and enjoy pouring each bottle down the toilet. I often hear her frantically searching the house and smashing things in her search for her poison.

My bedroom is well—lit, and the bed neatly made. I close the door behind me and turn the lock—not that she would ever come into my room, but I won’t ever allow her to spoil this space for me.

I walk to the window and draw the curtains before entering my small ensuite. Taking a fresh face cloth from the top stack, I turn on the hot water, but only cold water pours out. I soak the cloth before rinsing out as much moisture as possible.

Taking a seat at my vanity that’s tidy and polished, I curse her as the red welt on my face burns. My stomach rumbles but I won’t venture back downstairs. I’ll have to wait until morning.

I meet my gaze in the mirror. “Let’s fix you up.” I smile at my reflection and dab my cloth against my face. The burn intensifies, and I remove it.

A child’s nursery tune comes to mind, and I hum as I clean my face. When I can’t do anymore, I open my jar of night cream and rub it carefully on the welt as I continue to hum. When the cream dries, I paint on my makeup; using a soft brush, I apply blusher across the wound before blending in the makeup. Placing a small dab of gray eyeshadow on my lids, I stare at my reflection as I apply a coat of red lipstick. I don’t look so innocent now. I look fierce. I smile at myself. This is the color I will wear the next time I meet Diarmuid. He needs to see me, and these bold colors will make him take notice.

I lean across the vanity and kiss my reflection. I giggle at my lipstick mark on the glass. Using the cloth, I wipe the lipstick away.

He will notice me next time.

“Yes, he will,” I say to my reflection.

Chapter Three

Diarmuid

Hands of the King Edict Two

Any sin can be forgiven except for the sin of abandonment. The wrongdoer will feel the abandonment of the order for three generations.

I TURN OFF the engine and climb out of my car. It’s low to the ground and when I rise to my full height, I can easily see all around me. The gardens here sprawl further than my eye can see. They are manicured yet hold a wildness to them that I know is intentional. It’s a sham. My tolerance for fakeness is low.

I laugh at the thought, considering my life is one huge charade rolled in a thick carpet of fakeness. I glare at the valet, who waits for the keys to my car. I place the keys in his hand, and he folds his fingers around them. No fear shines in his gaze. It really shouldn’t. No person here is what they seem. I know the valets can kill with their bare hands. Just like the other servants, they’re trained killers. Everyone who works for the Kings is, but respect shines in his gaze. He knows who I am; he knows my capabilities. As the Hand of the King’s assassin, I outrank him.

The Tudor—style structure before me was built to display wealth, and it didn’t disappoint. I like luxury, but I don’t like being at the Hand of the Kings’ headquarters; this is my second time this week.

The purr of my engine has me looking back at my car as it disappears out of sight. The large driveaway has a wide arc that sweeps into the trees. This property is also designed to hide its guests from prying eyes, not that anyone would get onto this property without approval. It’s more protected than the Vatican.

I would imagine the pope has a say here, too. I know that Victor controls the Kings below him, but I don’t think he acts alone. That information was never given to any of the O’Sullivan’s, or Kings, for that matter. We are on a need-to-know basis as far as who the Hands of Kings really are and how far their reach truly goes. I don’t think it’s just Ireland that they control; I always get a sense that it’s a wider web that’s cast across the world.

Edward, the doorman, offers to take my coat, and I hand it over with a raised eyebrow. He grins and tilts his head. He’s a poison expert who has assassinated many important guests by hiding “treats” in their coats. Sometimes, the poison is on the coat and sinks into the skin; other times, it’s a surprise in their pockets. I know I haven’t anything to fear, so we jest.

I watch as the maid takes my coat from Edward and places it in a closet that’s large enough to be a dining hall, but is lined with mostly empty rods for guests’ coats, bags, and other belongings. The maid, who is also Edward’s apprentice, disappears from view. She is skilled at turning her wrist and allowing something deadly to fall from her sleeve into your drink. A handy trick.

I walk through the foyer of the house, knowing there are four sets of eyes watching me at all times from the watchtower where the cameras are located. I’d been there as a child and had to map out this entire property with its hidden hallways and secret tunnels. It’s how I get around easily if my skill is required, but mostly, I’m sent out into the world to take down anyone the House of the Kings deems an enemy. That’s how I know their hold on the world is wider than just the Irish landscape. I’ve been sent almost everywhere in the world to take down their enemies.

I pause and glance up at the winding staircase that leads to the room where I had my first glimpse of my brides. Excitement curls in my stomach. They were all delicious, and they did as commanded so well. They were well-picked and clearly informed that their obedience was expected, no matter what I asked. The first meeting was a test, and one they all passed.

Usually, meetings are held in the grand dining room, where drinks and a meal are served. But not today. We are being ushered to the private study. As I step across the threshold, I brace myself for what is to come from this meeting.

It is late September. If the old man had ordered a fire lit, it would be stifling here. If a disagreement were to take place, someone in that room could end up with his face smashed against the grate.

I glance at the fireplace and am relieved to see the fire is out. The study is large considering there are a few couches, but not enough for the people attending the meeting.

A chair is vacant, and Edward’s apprentice offers it to me in deference to my position. A part of me wants to sit to show my power, but I decline with a wave of my hand.

Standing is safer in a room filled with such deadly people. I won’t make myself vulnerable. It’s one of the lessons that is ingrained in me.

The crowd consists of the most powerful members of the Hands of Kings, excluding my brothers, who aren’t here. I do, however, see my cousin Wolf across the room. Wolf catches my eye and nods toward me. I nod back and take a drink offered by another maid. I raise the glass in a toast to my cousin and bring it to my lips, but I don’t drink from it. Wolf notices, as he has been watching me carefully, and gives me a wicked grin that I ignore.

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