Page 45 of When Kings Fall

But then, Niamh’s foot comes down on the gun, stopping its wild ride across the floor. No one notices, but Diarmuid does. His head is still bowed, but he has slightly moved as if he’s looking at Niamh’s foot. She’s aware, too, as she kicks it to him.

He’s fast—faster than I’ve ever seen him. His hand snatches the gun just as it bumps against his leg. For a split second, the world seems to freeze. No one else has noticed. No one else has seen what just happened. Diarmuid’s head remains bowed, his posture unchanged, and yet… the gun is now in his grip, hidden just beneath his hand.

Victor steps closer to Diarmuid, his words laced with menace, with cruelty; he doesn’t look down at Diarmuid but speaks to all the other men in the room. “You were always ungrateful, Diarmuid. Always thinking you could escape the inevitable. Thinking you were more than just another pawn in my game.”

I grit my teeth, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He doesn’t understand.He doesn’t understand that Diarmuid is not a pawn. He’s not some helpless victim waiting to be crushed.

He’s a predator.

And predators only kneel when they’re ready to strike.

The moment stretches, each second dragging out impossibly long. The men around us are still, waiting for Victor’s command. Waiting for the execution.

I shift slightly under the pew, ready to leap if it all goes wrong. My hand clenches around the cold stone beneath me, and I force myself to breathe, to stay calm.We have one shot at this.

Diarmuid’s fingers tighten around the gun.

Victor leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper, just loud enough for Diarmuid—and for me—to hear. “You were never going to survive this. You should’ve accepted your place. Now, you die like a dog.”

And then,Diarmuid moves.

It’s fast—so fast that I barely register it. One moment, he’s kneeling, head bowed, and the next, he’s on his feet, the gun raised, pointed directly at Victor’s head.

CHAPTER TWENTY- FIVE

Diarmuid

THE RAIN IS relentless, each drop like a needle against my skin. The cold gnaws at me, soaking through to my bones, but I keep running. I have to. I’m nine years old, and failure isn’t an option. The darkness presses in around me, thick and suffocating, the trees looming like ancient, indifferent giants. Their branches reach out, clawing at my face and arms as I push through the undergrowth. My shoes slip on the wet grass, and I stumble, barely catching myself before I hit the ground.Keep going.

There’s no time to think. Only the raw, animal instinct to move. My heart is pounding in my chest, each beat heavy and sharp, like a drum echoing in the hollow of my ribs. Was that lightning? I squint through the rain, eyes straining to see. The flash was brief, illuminating the world for just a heartbeat before plunging everything back into darkness. I can’t remember the rule about lightning and trees, but it’s not part of the test.Focus. You need to focus.

The rain pours down harder, turning the ground to mud. My legs feel like they’re moving through quicksand. Every step takes more effort than the last. My clothes, soaked through, cling to my body, adding weight to every movement. The cold seeps into my skin, making my muscles stiff, making my fingers numb. I can barely feel my hands as they brush against the branches, the cuts on my arms burning, but the pain is distant. The only thing that matters is the wall up ahead, somewhere beyond these trees.

The branches catch at my sleeves, snagging on my clothes, ripping at the fabric. Thin, jagged twigs scrape across my skin,leaving shallow cuts that bleed in the rain. I can’t stop. I can’t even slow down.What if I’m already too late? What if I fail?The thought twists in my gut like a knife, driving me forward even as my legs scream for rest.

A flash of lightning illuminates the forest again, just for an instant, but it’s enough to show me the edge of the trees. I push harder, breaking free from the suffocating grip of the branches. The forest falls away behind me, and I find myself in an open pasture, the rain pouring down in torrents. The wind howls across the field, whipping the rain sideways, stinging my face. My shoes slip on the wet grass again, but I don’t fall. I can’t fall now. Not with the wall in sight.

There it is—tall, imposing, slick with rain, the final obstacle.

The sight of it hits me like a punch to the gut. It’s taller than I remember. Much taller.How am I supposed to—? No. There’s no time for doubt. No time for fear. I have to climb it. I have to get over it.Failure is not an option.

My legs are shaking as I approach the wall, the muscles trembling from exhaustion. My arms burn with every movement, the cuts from the branches stinging, but I barely feel it now. Everything in me is focused on one thing: the wall. My hands slap against the wet stone, and I scramble for a hold, my fingers slipping, sliding, finding nothing. I grit my teeth, biting back the frustration that rises in my throat.I can’t fail. I can’t.

The stone is cold and rough beneath my fingers, but the rain makes it nearly impossible to grip. My fingers dig into the cracks, nails scraping against the jagged surface. I can feel the edge of one nail catch on something, and before I can react, it rips clean off. Pain explodes in my hand, white-hot and sharp, but I don’t scream. I don’t even whimper.Don’t make a sound. Don’t show weakness.

The blood runs down my hand, warm in contrast to the cold rain, but it’s quickly washed away. My vision blurs with theeffort, but I force myself to keep going. The pain pulses through my hand, but I ignore it. There’s no room for pain, no room for anything except the wall. My fingers dig into the cracks again, nails bending and scraping, but I find a hold.I just need to make it to the top. Just a little further.

I haul myself up, inch by agonizing inch, my muscles trembling, my breath coming in harsh, shallow gasps. The rain pours down harder, making everything slicker, more dangerous, but I don’t stop. I don’t let myself stop.I’m almost there.

With a final, desperate lunge, I reach for the top of the wall, my fingers outstretched, clawing for the edge. I’m so close I can almost feel the rough stone beneath my fingertips. But then— I slip.

My hand misses. I feel the weight of my body dragging me down, and in that split second, I know what’s coming. The fall is brutal. The air rushes past me, cold and unforgiving, and then—impact. The ground slams into my back, knocking the breath from my lungs. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. The pain radiates through my body, sharp and overwhelming. My vision swims, and the rain pounds against my face, blurring everything.

I’m gasping, my chest tight, but the air won’t come. My limbs feel heavy, useless, like they don’t belong to me. All I can do is lie there, the rain beating down on me, washing away the blood, the mud, everything.

And then I see him.

My uncle stands over me, his face obscured by the rain, his eyes cold, dispassionate. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The disappointment is clear in the way he looks down at me. I’ve failed.I’ve failed.The thought crushes me, heavier than the weight of the rain, heavier than the pain in my body. I choke on a sob, but I push myself up. My hand is a ruined mess of bloodand torn flesh, my clothes soaked through, sticking to me like a second skin. But I stand. Because there’s no other option.

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