Page 47 of When Kings Rise

Selene rolls her eyes, but there's a glimmer of understanding there. “Because clothes make everything better,” she says, sarcasm lacing her tone, yet she moves to do as I suggest.

I kneel beside Niamh, offering a smile that I hope conveys sincerity. “You're safe here,” I tell her, my voice soft but firm. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” It's a promise, an oath I intend to keep.

Selene, pulling on her dressing gown, snorts. “Well, at least until Diarmuid picks his Consort. Then all bets are off.”

I shake my head, meeting Niamh's gaze. “That's not true. My priority is to keep you all safe, always.” It's a declaration made not just to Niamh, but to Selene as well, a vow against the fears that haunt their thoughts.

Amira enters the line of my sight. Her expression has hardened. “Safe? How can anyone be safe here?” Her voice is laced with skepticism, her eyes scanning the room and landing on Niamh with a disquieting intensity.

“Amira,” I warn, not wanting to see Niamh worked up again.

My tone is sharp, sharp enough to cut through Amira’s pouting.

A smile grows on her face. “Maybe Niamh can go home so Selene and I can pleasure you.”

I stand, my decision clear. “Amira, you need to leave,” I command.

She laughs, a sound devoid of any humor. “Make me.”

She pushes too hard. Selene has returned to Niamh and helps her cover herself with her dressing gown. I reach across and grip Amira’s arm, removing her from the room.

Once in the corridor, her actions caught me off guard. Her lips are on mine, her tears mingling with a kiss that's more desperation than desire. “I'm not afraid,” she whispers between sobs, her words punctuated by the press of her body against mine. “Do whatever you want to me. Nothing can make me afraid.”

“Amira,” I start, my voice barely a whisper. “It's not about fear. It's about respect, about choices. I want you to feel safe, not because you think there's nothing left to lose, but because you truly are safe.”

The air between us crackles with an intensity that's hard to breathe around. Amira's eyes are wild, her emotions refusing to be calmed. “I am not doing anything until Niamh is okay,” I state firmly, my decision unyielding. It's a line drawn in the sand, a declaration of where my priorities lie.

Amira's reaction is instantaneous, a fury unleashed. She screams, a sound that echoes off the walls, filled with pain and anger and something else—desperation. Her nails find my cheek, a sharp, stinging sensation that's quickly followed by the warm trickle of blood.

The commotion draws the manse's workers, curious and concerned, to our floor. Their presence only adds to the chaos, their eyes wide with shock and confusion. “Disappear!” I bellow, a command laced with a threat that I hate to make. “Or else.” I don’t finish my threat.

Amira continues to fight against me. “I'm the best choice!” she insists, her voice cracking under the weight of her conviction. “You're wasting time, our time!” Her declaration is a plea, a demand, a vision of the future she's convinced herself of—one where competition and choice don't exist.

She lashes out again, catching me off guard for a second time. Her nails slice my skin once again, and I grip her arms, stopping her madness. Picking her up, I march down the stairs barefoot. She’s still shouting.

“It should be just us.” She’s lost her fucking mind.

I don’t stop until I reach the front door. I use one hand and open it, clearing the last steps until I deposit her onto the driveway.

“What are you doing?” She shouts as I turn and jog up the steps. I give her a stern look before I lock the door behind me. My face burns, and I touch my cheek. Fresh blood is sprinkled along my fingers.

I march up the stairs with a determination to find out what the fuck caused Niamh to freak out so badly.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Amira

RUINED... I’VE RUINED everything. The realization hits me as I pick myself up from the concrete driveway, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of my dressing gown. I can’t go home, yet the thought of fleeing to somewhere—anywhere—makes me realize I’ve nowhere else to go.

What have I done? Why did I lose my mind like that? Questions whirl in my head as the coldness of the driveway presses against my skin. My brain registers the chill, yet I can’t bring myself to move, to react. I’m paralyzed, not just by the cold, but by the flood of memories and emotions that choose this moment to overwhelm me as I stare up at the mansion.

Dominic died this week, six years ago. I was just thirteen, barely stepping into my teenage years, when I lost my brother. My mother couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear most things, leaving me to grieve alone. Oh, God. How is she going to react to this news? The thought of facing her, of adding this failure to the mountain of disappointments that already defines our relationship, is unbearable.

I search the windows of all the rooms, trying to remember which one on the third floor we were in. Is Diarmuid up there with Selene and Niamh laughing at me? Did Niamh act like that for attention? Of course, she did; she was such a bitch to force my hand. Angry tears pour down my cheeks.

“Now, this is a view I rather enjoy.” The words drip with unwelcome amusement and insinuation.

Wolf stands there in the driveway, his gaze not meeting my eyes but wandering in a manner that makes my skin crawl, focusing on parts of me as if I'm nothing more than an object for his viewing pleasure.

---