Page 35 of When Kings Fall

“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice low and dark, that smile never leaving his lips. “You don’t have a choice.”

The guard lets out a pained moan, and I flinch. His eyes meet mine, pleading, desperate. He’s begging me for mercy. I can see it. I can feel it. My heart pounds so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear anything else. I want to look away, but I can’t. Ben’s hand is still on mine, guiding me forward, pressing the blade into the guard’s side.

“Do it, Selene,” Ben whispers, his breath hot against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “End his suffering.”

The world narrows to this moment. My hand moves on its own, guided by Ben’s, the knife sinking into the guard’s chest. The blade slides in too easily, too smoothly, and then I feel it—the warmth of his blood, thick and hot, seeping over my hand. I want to scream, to pull back, but Ben keeps me there, forcing me to hold the knife, to feel the life drain from the man in front of me.

When it’s over, I can’t let go of the knife fast enough. It clatters to the ground, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness of the tunnel. My hands are trembling uncontrollably, blood smeared across my fingers. I back away, stumbling, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Good job,” Ben says softly, and there’s something in his voice—pride, amusement—that makes my stomach turn. I look up at him, and for a split second, I see something flash in his eyes. A dare. A challenge. He’s testing me, pushing me to my breaking point.

And I break.

With a snarl, I lunge at him, my hand grabbing for the knife on the ground, but Ben is faster. He catches my wrist mid-strike and twists it hard, forcing the blade from my grasp. Pain shoots up my arm as I gasp, but before I can react, Ben slams me back against the tunnel wall. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, and I see stars. His body presses against mine, trapping me, holding me in place.

His face is inches from mine, his breath hot and ragged. There’s a wildness in his eyes now, something primal and dangerous, and I can feel the raw power radiating off him. He’s toying with me, enjoying this sick game of control.

“You really thought you could hurt me?” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. His fingers tighten around my wrist, bruising, and I wince, trying to pull away, but he’s too strong. “You’re not ready for that.”

For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me—something dark and possessive in the way he looks at me, his body pressing me harder into the stone. But then, just as suddenly as he pinned me, he releases me.

I stumble forward, gasping for breath, my heart hammering in my chest. Ben steps back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He doesn’t need to say anything. He’s made his point.

Without another word, he turns and walks toward the tunnel ahead. And, like a puppet on strings, I follow.

When we reach the rounded room, the air feels different—wider, though no less suffocating. Tunnels branch off in every direction, a labyrinth designed to disorient and trap. But Ben knows exactly where to go. Without a moment’s hesitation, he heads toward the upper right-hand tunnel.

And I stop.

Something inside me snaps again, but this time, it’s not fear. It’s anger. Fury. I can’t do this anymore.

“You’re not working for Diarmuid.” My voice echoes through the chamber, louder than I expect, and Ben freezes mid-step. He doesn’t turn around, but I see the tension in his shoulders. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and thick.

“You’re not just some rival,” I continue, my voice growing stronger. “You know these tunnels. You know how to get into the president’s mansion. You’re more than you’ve let on. Who are you?”

Ben turns slowly, his smirk widening, but before he can speak, another voice cuts through the room, colder than the stone walls.

“He’s like me.”

Diarmuid’s voice sends a shock through my body. I whirl around, my heart racing. Diarmuid steps out of the shadows, his presence filling the space with an intensity that makes the airheavier, harder to breathe. His eyes are locked onto Ben, cold and unblinking, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Ben’s a product of Victor,” Diarmuid says quietly, the words laced with venom. He doesn’t take his eyes off Ben. “Just like me.”

The tension in the room is palpable now, thick enough to cut with a knife. Ben’s smirk falters for a split second before it returns, colder this time, more calculated.

“It’s true,” Ben says, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to it. “Just like you, Diarmuid. We’re family, in a way.”

My breath catches. Family? My mind reels with the implications. I look between them, trying to piece it together. Diarmuid doesn’t move, but there’s something dangerous in the way he holds himself, like a storm ready to unleash hell on the world.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Diarmuid

THE COLD, YELLOW light flickers overhead, casting distorted shadows over the room. It's just the three of us down here—me, Ben, and Selene. But it feels like there are ghosts, too. The weight of Victor’s legacy, his training, everything I thought I understood about loyalty and power, presses down on my chest like a curse. The truth is clearer now than it’s ever been, and it cuts deeper than any blade.

Ben stands too close to her—too close to Selene—and every instinct I have is telling me to tear him apart. My fingers twitch at my side, inching toward the gun tucked in my jacket, but Ben’s watching me with that smug, knowing grin. I can’t stop glancing at the blood that coats Selene slim fingers, fingers that had given my body so much pleasure, her gentle caress and now they are coated in blood. I assume from the guards I had found a few meters back.

---