Page 12 of When Kings Fall

Lorcan leans forward, his expression serious. “You need to. Ronan’s businesses and, frankly, your position as the head of the family depend on the connections we make in that world. The only reason why Interpol isn’t constantly on our asses is because of the friends I’ve made there.”

I raise an eyebrow, my skepticism plain. “So, what do you want me to do? Send a gift basket?”

Lorcan chuckles softly. “That actually isn’t a terrible idea, but no. I need you to attend this benefit dinner happening next week.”

I have to stop myself from groaning out loud. The thought of sitting through a stuffy benefit dinner, filled with insincere small talk and false smiles, sounds agonizing.

“We can’t have a private dinner?” I ask, a note of desperation creeping into my voice.

Lorcan shakes his head firmly. “No, you must never do that with any of those people. There are rumors about our family, and we’d only confirm them if you were meeting in secret with some of these big dogs.”

“So, your solution is for me to parade myself like a pampered pony?” I retort, the disdain in my voice clear.

Lorcan’s eyes gleam with a mixture of amusement and seriousness. “A powerful and rich pony that needs this connection just as much as they do. And bring your Brides.”

My lips press into a thin line. The thought of parading my Brides in front of those political vultures doesn’t sit well with me either. But I know Lorcan is right. The connections we need can’t be forged in secret; they have to be public, undeniable, and strategic. This is just another part of the role I’ve taken on—a part I hadn’t fully anticipated but one I can’t ignore.

“Fine,” I mutter, my reluctance clear. “I’ll go to the damn dinner. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

Lorcan smiles, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied nod. “That’s all I ask, brother. Just make sure they remember who you are. In our world, appearances can be just as deadly as actions.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Niamh

I HOP ON one foot, cursing under my breath as I struggle to pull on my stubborn shoe. My fingers fumble with the strap, and a spike of frustration shoots through me.Come on, Niamh, get it together.Diarmuid will be here any minute, and we’re running out of time. My heart pounds not just from the rush but from the stakes of tonight.

“Selene, come on. We need to go over it one more time,” I call out, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice but failing.

Selene steps out of the master bedroom, her hands busy with her earrings. I glance up, and for a moment, I lose my breath—not because I’m still hopping around on one foot, but because of her. Selene doesn’t have the same willowy form that I do, the kind that years of ballet and competition have sculpted me into. But there’s something about her, a quiet elegance that she wears so effortlessly. I feel a familiar, uncomfortable pang deep in my chest, right in the spot where insecurity lies dormant, waiting for moments like this to spring to life.How does she make it look so easy?

It’s not fair. I’ve been taught my entire life to see other women as competition. It’s been drilled into me—they are never anything more, never anything less. And yet, here I am, jealous of Selene's natural beauty while feeling something different, something more complicated. It’s confusing, this mix of emotions. But at the end of the day, I know what she is to me: competition.

Still, I can’t deny the truth. I’ve never cared for another woman like this, never trusted another woman like this. There’sa bond between us, one that feels like friendship, though I’m not sure I really know what that is. It’s fragile like a delicate glass ornament that I’m terrified might shatter if I press too hard. But it’s there, and it’s real.

Selene moves with purpose, heading into the spare bedroom we’ve turned into our research room. Normally, when we’re in here, we’re a mess—hair up in ponytails, pajamas on, and probably a tub of ice cream melting somewhere nearby. But tonight is different. We’re dressed to the nines, the room’s chaos of photo printouts and hand-drawn notes in stark contrast to our polished appearances. The door, secured with a digital key lock, hides what we’ve been working on.

I grab my phone, using the camera to apply a final touch of lipstick. I catch a glimpse of Selene as she stands before our wall of suspects, and I wonder, not for the first time, how this will all end.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Okay, this is one of the biggest dinners of the year for upper politics. It’s the dinner before they all take their Christmas break,” I say, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Selene nods, her voice calm but with an edge of determination. “It’s meant to show camaraderie at the upper levels of the national government, to honor the holiday, and to give hope for the new year.”

“That’s what they advertise,” I reply.

Selene's voice cuts through the silence, sharp and cynical. "They don’t report the murders, though."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken anger. I can feel the tension rolling off her, the frustration that has been building ever since Sofia Hughes vanished from our radar. Sofia’s disappearance is a dark cloud that’s been looming over us since we first got involved in this mess.It’s hard not to thinkabout Sofia and what might have happened to her.For me, it’s impossible not to imagine my own sister, Ella, in her place. If anything ever happened to me, I’d want Ella to know. I’d want her to have the truth, no matter how terrible it might be.

But with Selene, it’s different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I suspect her reasons for being so invested in this are even sadder than mine. Aside from her grandparents, who check in just enough to feel like they’re doing their duty, Selene has no one. No one who truly knows or cares about what she’s going through. Her parents... well, they didn’t raise her; they bred her for this. And once they could hand her off, they washed their hands of her, leaving her to fend for herself.

It’s a lonely way to live, and I see it in her eyes every time we talk about Sofia. Sofia had family who loved her, people who are out there right now, worried sick about what’s become of her. They deserve to know the truth.Even if the truth is the one thing that could destroy us both.

I clear my throat, trying to shift the conversation back to the task at hand. “So, who are our targets tonight?”

Selene’s eyes flick to the wall of suspects, scanning the faces we’ve been studying for weeks. “Well, Victor probably won’t be there.”

That catches me off guard. “Why not?”

---