Page 5 of When Kings Fall

I nod, not trusting myself to speak just yet. The reality of it all is still settling in.

Selene’s concern is evident as she looks at me, her voice soft but probing. “How are you feeling?”

A sharp edge creeps into my tone before I can stop it. “Don’t get touchy-feely with me now, Selene. I did what I should have done a long time ago.” The bitterness is like a reflex, a shield I’ve built up over years of disappointments and betrayals. But I catch myself, realizing how harsh I sound.

I sigh, forcing the tension out of my shoulders. “Thank you,” I add, softer this time, trying to convey some semblance of gratitude. It’s hard, though, to let that guard down, even for a moment.

Diarmuid remains silent, his usual way of communicating. I’ve grown used to it, but sometimes I wish he would saysomething, anything, to bridge the silence between us. I glance up at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. The flickering glow emphasizes the sharp angles of his cheekbones, giving him a fierceness that makes my heart beat just a little faster. I notice the way his muscles tense beneath his clothing, the way his presence fills the space around him.

A pang of regret twists in my chest. I shouldn’t have ruined my chances with him. The thought lingers, unwelcome and stubborn, as I force myself to look away. But the ache remains, a reminder of the things I’ve lost in pursuit of my vengeance.

Another disappointment. Another thing to make my own. It’s how I’ve survived, how I’ve turned every setback into something I could use. But that doesn’t make the sting any less sharp.

I turn to Diarmuid, my voice edged with defiance. “What now? Are you going to drag me back to your house, make me fulfill my role?”

He meets my gaze, calm and unyielding. “No.”

“Good,” I reply, but the fight in me isn’t ready to settle. “I still have some fight left in me, and I wouldn’t stop myself from fighting against you.”

His expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in his eyes, something I can’t quite read. “You’re going to need that fight. How many from the brothel are still here?”

I pause, thinking of the others, the ones who were too young to remember anything before the brothel, who don’t know any other life. “Most of them,” I say, my voice softening. “Many were taken so young that they don’t remember their homes or their families. They don’t know any other way of life.”

“And you plan to stay here,” Diarmuid says, more of a statement than a question.

“It’s not like my father is going to help me,” I respond, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “He can barely help himself. All of us are outcasts now. I’ll figure it out.”

Diarmuid’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re not a Bride anymore, but I do feel a responsibility for you.”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound harsh and incredulous. “You feel responsible for me?”

“I do,” he says simply, with a sincerity that catches me off guard. “If you’re willing to accept a little help, I’m offering it.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to gauge his intentions. “How can you help me?”

The words hang in the air between us, and I realize, that for once, I’m not sure what answer I want to hear.

Diarmuid’s voice is steady as he speaks, offering something I never expected. “I own property in the south of France. The weather is mild. There’s a lot of tourist activity. I can arrange for all of you to go there.”

I blink, trying to process the enormity of what he’s suggesting. “And do what?”

“Whatever you want,” he replies, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Live there and get local jobs.”

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up. “These women don’t know how to live like that.”

“Then open a brothel,” he says without missing a beat. “I’ll help you in any way I can to keep it away from law enforcement. Take care of them. Take care of yourself.”

I stare at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. It all seems too good to be true. I’ve never left Ireland, never had a chance to start over. My family was destroyed when I was just a child, and ever since then, it’s been in survival mode, nothing more. Now, here’s this opportunity, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s getting out of it.

My voice hardens as I lay down my terms. “I won’t share the profits with you.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Diarmuid responds, his tone matter-of-fact.

“And you and your brothers—you’d still have to pay.”

“Naturally.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to read the shadows on his face, the way the firelight plays tricks with his expressions. “Why are you doing this?”

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