Page 33 of When Kings Fall

In the distance, I see the faint glow of utility lights, casting eerie shadows that flicker, then fade. The tunnel stretches ahead, long and narrow. A confined space. The kind of place where you can feel the walls closing in, where the air seems thinner, where the darkness feels alive.

Ben’s down here. Waiting. Waiting for me to make a move, waiting for me to stumble into his trap.

But I’m not stumbling. I’m walking straight into it, eyes wide open.

This is what he wanted. A confrontation. A reckoning.

A place where not even the stars can witness what happens next.

And I’ll give him exactly what he wants.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Niamh

I SEE IT, clear as day—the flash of an image on Diarmuid’s phone. It’s gone in an instant, but the imprint it leaves in my mind is vivid. The Asiatic lion enclosure. The same rocks, the golden backdrop, the one place I’ve always felt safe. I don’t need to study it. I’ve memorized it over the years. The shape of the boulders, the way the light hits the lion’s mane just before sunset. That spot is etched into me like a scar.

It’s where Ella and I could breathe, where the air felt lighter. We weren’t ballerinas there, bound by the rigid expectations of our parents. We were just two girls, laughing, free. I haven’t thought about it in years, but seeing it now brings it all back.

Selene is there.

The realization slams into me like a punch to the chest. My body tenses, my muscles coil, and for a moment, I’m frozen. But Diarmuid isn’t. He’s already moving, barking orders, his voice sharp and dangerous, cutting through the air like a blade. His entire posture has changed—he’s no longer the man I’ve known, the one who can smile, who can tease. Now he’s something else, something feral, driven. It’s as if she’s unlocked something in him, and I can’t decide whether to be terrified or envious.

I step back, out of his way, because I know. I’ve been here before. The moment he locks onto his target, the rest of the world ceases to exist for him. I’m just... nothing. A shadow at the edge of his vision. He’s forgotten me in an instant, left me behind without a second thought, just like everyone else has.

A familiar bitterness crawls up my throat, but I choke it down. This isn’t about that. It can’t be about me. Not now.

I watch as Diarmuid becomes something unrecognizable, like a hound catching the scent of blood. He’s going after her, and he’s not letting anything stand in his way. Not even me. Just like magic he’s gone and the room starts to empty out.

But I can’t—I won’t—stand here and watch him go. My feet itch to move, my body thrumming with the need todo something. Anything.

I’ve spent my whole life protecting Ella from this kind of darkness, from people like Diarmuid, from the sharp, cutting edges of a world she couldn’t handle. But this time, it’s not her I’m thinking about. It’s not her innocent smile or her laugh echoing in my ears.

It’s her.out there, alone, in danger—and me, stuck here, useless, doing nothing. I can’t—Iwon’t—let this happen.

Not this time.

Before I can stop myself, my body moves on instinct, driven by something I don’t fully understand. It feels like choreography, but this isn’t a dance. This is real. The floor is cold beneath my feet as I glide across it, my muscles moving in perfect sync, like I’ve rehearsed this a thousand times. My breath quickens, the air sharp in my lungs, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I make it halfway across the room before one of Diarmuid’s men steps into my path.

“Stop.”

The word hits me like a wall, but I don’t slow down. He thinks he can stop me? As if I’m some fragile, breakable thing, easily controlled? My lips curl into a smile—sharp, cold. I can feel something dark and hard rising inside me, something that makes me feel invincible.

“I said,move,”I snap, my voice a sharp whip crack in the air.

He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t.

I don’t stop to think. I run.

I dart through the hallways, faster than I ever have before, my body a blur as I twist and turn, slipping through doors, dodging their attempts to catch me. They think they know me—think I’m predictable, weak. But they don’t know this part of me. The part that’s spent years suppressing anger, fear, and desperation.

I’m almost at the front door when another guard blocks my exit. His face is impassive, eyes hard, like he’s already decided I’m not leaving. He’s wrong.

I pivot sharply, my bare feet skidding on the polished floor, and I veer off to the side, slipping through a narrow door I hadn’t even noticed before. It leads into a massive dining room, all heavy mahogany and gleaming silver, the kind of room that belongs in an old estate. The table is set for a meal that no one will ever eat. The whole place feels abandoned, frozen in time.

And now, I’m trapped.

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