Page 8 of When Kings Rise

“Sorry, sis. I have a visual memory, and that was quite a visual.”

I meet Ella’s gaze in the mirror. She's no longer smiling; she has picked up her phone but hasn’t turned it on. I spin, leaving my own worries to the side, and focus on Ella.

“How many hours today?”

Ella shrugs her shoulders before she speaks. “Four. I got lucky. My recital went well, and Mother is pleased. Sunday is supposed to be my one day off from ballet, but she still wants four hours in the basement.”

Guilt churns heavily in my stomach. It should be me, is all I can think. “That sounds rough.” I finally say. But I remind myself I can’t save her from everything. So, the tradeoff isn’t so bad. She must do dance instead of being handed over to the hands of the kings.

Ella sighs and looks at me sadly. “It could be worse.”

She’s sixteen; she should be having fun, playing on her phone, hanging out with friends like an ordinary teenager, but we aren’t ordinary. I don’t think we ever will be. Our mother demands perfection in the form of extracurricular activities that she craved during her youth. She lives her life through us. Ballet was her love, and I had to endure years of training, but now that I’m being married off, I was allowed to step away, but only at the expense of Ella picking up the exhausting training.

“When will he be here?” Ella changes the subject, reminding me how wise she is beyond her years.

I glance at the dainty gold watch that wraps my wrist, a gift from my father on my twenty-first birthday.

I exhale. “Soon. I need to get downstairs.” I pick up a pair of small black kitten heels and slip my feet into them.

“Niamh?”

Ella’s soft voice has me picking up my clutch and pausing before I leave the room. “Yeah?”

“I hope he is kind to you.”

My throat tightens at her words. “I hope so too, kid.”

I leave the room before I start to cry. I won’t break. I go down to the main floor and walk to the back of the house, where I can see through plate-glass windows. In the distance, the Irish Sea laps gently against the shores of Dublin. I close my eyes and think about the taste of the salt on my lips. The weight of the water against my body, the freedom the ocean offers me. Freedom that I can’t find in this world.

The doorbell rings, startling me out of my meditation. I leave my favorite room and make my way gracefully to the front door. Years of being a ballerina and advanced swimmer have given my footing grace and poise that makes me look sure and calm. I am neither on the inside.

I take one final glance at my reflection in the hall mirror as the doorbell rings again. I’m not one to wear makeup, so I’ve kept it light, with a single coat of gloss across my lips and a thin application of mascara. With my hair swept up in a knot at the nape of my neck, I look composed and respectful. I open the door, expecting to see Diarmuid O’Sullivan’s driver, but I’m taken aback to find the man himself on my doorstep. The night I met him, a driver had collected me from my home, so I expected the same today.

His gray eyes take me in from the tip of my toes all the way to the crown of my head. I hold still, remembering the level of respect we must show him. The obedience we must give. That part was drilled into my head by my parents. I hate it, but to keep Ella safe, I will do what is necessary. His Armani gray suit is almost the same color as his eyes. I don’t want this marriage, but that doesn’t stop me from admiring how handsome he is. I smile like I’m at the start of a show and compose all my nerves.

“Good evening, Mr. O’Sullivan.” I don’t stutter, and for that, I’m grateful.

“Miss Connelly.” His voice is deep and sends shivers across my flesh. I grip my clutch and step out onto the porch; he turns his back on me as I close the door.

Diarmuid walks to his car and opens the passenger door for me; he’s driving us himself. This will make us very close. I get into the passenger seat and thank him. His large frame walks around the front of the car, and when he gets in, his cologne sends butterflies erupting in my stomach. I wave away the unwanted attraction. I don’t want this. I don’t want to be going to church or anywhere with him.

I had hoped that I would not be picked as his bride, but that hope was squashed when I got the message that he would like me to attend Sunday church with him. I had been quiet when we first met; I even stuttered. I had thought that would make him not want me. It was small things that I hoped he didn’t pick me for, so when my parents found out, they would know I was obedient, but I just wasn’t his taste.

Amira was stunning, and when he hadn’t gotten her involved in our first meeting, I had thought maybe he favored her more than myself and Selene, like boys are always mean to girls they fancy. I glance at Diarmuid. He is a far cry from a boy. He’s a man and one who clearly knows his power.

I’m wondering if he thought I was easy prey. That maybe, I would be so alone with him. My stomach churns again at the thought.

“How has your week been?” Diarmuid’s voice pulls me out of my musing.

“Very well, thank you, and yours?” I ask.

“Interesting,” he states as we leave my family estate. His voice holds disinterest. I’m not one for making small talk, but I know for my parents’ sake, I need to make some kind of an effort. Everything will be reported back to them.

“It was very kind of you to pick me up,” I say politely.

He takes a quick look at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. A smile plays on his lips but doesn’t form.

“My pleasure.”

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