Page 15 of When Kings Fall

I roll my eyes, trying to mask the way his words unsettle me. “So dramatic.”

But there’s a part of me that wonders—just how much does Lorcan really know? And how far is he willing to go to use that knowledge?

Lorcan’s eyes narrow slightly, and he leans in closer, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something darker, morecalculating. “And true,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “You ask me why I cannot walk up to Tyrone Lynch. Kitten, I’m my party’s next pick for Minister of Justice. It’s not official, but tonight, everyone will be watching me. Passing judgment on me. If I were to waltz up to the Prime Minister, it would make me appear egotistical, overconfident. I must wait for Tyrone to approach me.”

I frown, frustrated by the politics of it all. “How do we speed that along?”

Lorcan tilts his head, studying me with a curiosity that feels almost predatory. “Oh my, kitten. Should I ask why you are so desperate to be close to Tyrone Lynch? Does my brother know?”

Before I can think, before I can even process what I’m doing, my hands are on him, grabbing his shirt in a sudden, impulsive move. It’s a stupid move, I realize almost immediately. He’s built like Diarmuid—solid, unyielding, far bigger than me. I’m not going to intimidate him; if anything, he seems amused, the dangerous glint in his eyes growing sharper, more focused.

But I try to ignore it, keeping my voice steady. “Don’t question my loyalty to Diarmuid.”

“Careful, kitten,” Lorcan murmurs, his voice a quiet warning that lingers in the air between us. He steps away from me, moving out from the cover of the plant and back into the open. I take a moment to collect myself, my heart still racing from our exchange, then follow him, smoothing my dress and slipping back to his side as if nothing has happened.

As I link my arm through his, I catch sight of Niamh not far from us. Keeping my expression neutral, I subtly motion toward Tyrone Lynch, hoping Niamh will understand what I’m trying to signal. She looks confused at first, her brow furrowing slightly, but then her eyes widen in realization. Good. She gets it.

To my surprise, Lorcan’s movements seem to be bringing us closer to the prime minister. I can’t quite pinpoint what I said ordid to make him decide to help me, but I’m not about to question it. Instead, I let him guide me through the room, making polite conversation with various officials and dignitaries. We meet the head of some department or maybe an ambassador—I can’t even remember the names. They don’t register in my mind. I’m on autopilot, nodding and smiling when necessary, but my attention is elsewhere, constantly checking to see where Tyrone is.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually, we get close enough that I notice Tyrone’s head lift, his gaze settling on Lorcan. There’s a moment of recognition, and I can see that he’s about to approach us. My heart skips a beat in anticipation, but before the two men can speak, someone cuts in.

“Father Isaac,” I say, startled as I recognize the man stepping between us. It’s Isaac Waryn, the priest who has a habit of appearing in the most unexpected places. He’s an enigma, someone who always seems to be in the middle of things, though I can never quite figure out why.

Lorcan, clearly unfamiliar with him, introduces himself with his usual charm. “Lorcan O’Connor. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

Isaac smiles, a serene, knowing smile that always makes me feel like he’s privy to some secret I don’t know. “I’m afraid I am no stranger to your companion tonight,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. He turns his attention to me. “How are you faring, dear Selene?”

The question is simple, but there’s an underlying weight to it, as if he’s asking more than just about my well-being. I manage a polite smile, even as I feel Lorcan stiffen beside me.

“How do you know Father Isaac?” Lorcan asks, his tone casual, but I can sense the curiosity—and perhaps a hint of suspicion—beneath it.

“We have attended events together in the community,” I say, my voice steady, though the words feel heavy on my tongue. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. Isaac Waryn has shown up at events that are open to more than just the Hands of Kings members, events where his presence wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. But I know that’s not the real reason he’s here, not entirely. Thanks to that twisted assignment Diarmuid received—the one that involved making a hit on a child—Father Isaac was introduced to our world. Since then, it seems like he’s been taking every opportunity to insert himself into events that are more public, more accessible. He’s sniffing around, poking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

Does he even know how dangerous that is?

Isaac’s calm voice cuts through my thoughts. “I hope that the situation we discussed sorted itself out.”

I suppress a shiver at the memory. He had warned me about Diarmuid’s extracurricular activities, the ones he thought I should be wary of. A part of me had appreciated the warning, but another part felt the cold stab of betrayal, as if he were suggesting I couldn’t trust Diarmuid at all.

“It ended up being alright,” I reply, keeping my tone light and dismissive. But this conversation is useless to me, a distraction I can’t afford right now. And to make matters worse, I’ve lost sight of the Prime Minister. As much as Isaac has been kind to me since I was thrust into this dangerous world, right now, I feel an almost overwhelming urge to kick him for wasting my time.

Lorcan, sensing my growing impatience, smoothly takes over the conversation. His voice is a low hum in the background as my eyes continue to scan the crowd, desperate to find Tyrone. He’s the only lead we have on Sofia Hughes, the one thread that could unravel the whole mystery. I need to find him, to fish for any information I can.

There’s a sudden commotion that snaps me out of my frantic search. The sound of something crashing to the ground echoes through the room, silencing all conversations. My eyes dart to the source, and I see him—Tyrone Lynch—standing in the middle of the mess he’s just created. One of the tall plants has been knocked over, its vase shattered on the tiled floor, soil and plant matter scattered everywhere.

Tyrone is panting, his eyes wide with panic as he looks around, clearly disoriented. His reaction is so intense, so out of place, that it sends a ripple of unease through the crowd. He mutters an apology, his voice shaky, before quickly leaving the room. Several people follow him, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion.

I don’t waste a second. “Goodbye, Father,” I say quickly to Isaac, barely waiting for his response before I break away from him. I don’t even look back to see if Lorcan is following. I shuffle as fast as my heels will allow, weaving through the crowd until I find Niamh.

“Niamh, did you see what happened?” I ask, breathless.

Her face is pale, her eyes wide with guilt. “I messed up. I’m so sorry.”

A pit forms in my stomach. “What do you mean, you messed up?”

“I… I didn’t know how to ask the right questions, and he was getting bored,” Niamh stammers, her voice shaky. “I was worried about him walking away, so I just came out with it.”

“Niamh!” I exclaim, trying to keep my voice steady, but the frustration seeps through.

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