Page 43 of When Kings Fall

Dain’s expression doesn’t waver. “I couldn’t allow a rejected Bride to become involved with my former Minister of Justice. It was… unfortunate, but necessary.”

The way he says it, so calmly, like it’s just another part of his daily routine—it makes me sick. My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I want to scream, to lash out, but I can’t move. My feet feel glued to the ground, my mind reeling.

Diarmuid’s voice is a low, dangerous growl. “Why put her body on Andrew O’Sullivan’s grave?”

Dain shrugs as if the answer is beneath him. “That wasn’t my decision, Diarmuid.”

The air in the room shifts, thickening with something darker. There’s a noise behind us—footsteps, faint but unmistakable. I whip my head around just in time to see the door open, and theroom fills with men. Security. Guards. They swarm in like a tide, surrounding us.

Diarmuid reacts first, lunging at the nearest guard, his fist connecting with a sickening crack. The man crumples to the floor, but more rush in to take his place. Diarmuid fights like a man possessed, savage, and unstoppable, but there are too many. Selene’s scream pierces the air as a guard grabs her, twisting her arm behind her back. She goes limp in his grip, too hurt, too weak to fight back.

I want to help, but I’m frozen in place. Diarmuid throws another guard into the wall, but they keep coming. They pile on him, dragging him to the ground, pinning him down with sheer force of numbers. He’s strong, but even he can’t fight this many at once. My heart lurches in my chest as they force him to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

And then, in the thick of the chaos, the door opens again.

Victor steps into the room, and everything goes still.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Selene

MY EYES FLUTTER open, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, carved in squares of dark wood, each intersection marked with a delicate cross. It’s beautiful, detailed work—the kind you don’t forget.St. Gertrude’s.I remember now. The church. The place where everything is about to fall apart.

A sound in the room makes me freeze, my eyes snap shut again, heart pounding in my ears. I force my breathing to stay steady, slow, pretending to still be out cold. I can’t let them know I’m awake. Not yet. My head feels like it’s splitting apart, the ache deep and nauseating, but fainting? No. I didn’t faint when they took us. I went limp when the guards took me to the floor, played dead so they wouldn’t see me as a threat. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything, not even as I lay on the floor in the president’s room and could hear Diarmuid’s roars as he fought with everything in him to get free. But there was no freedom to be found in a room filled with guards.

The pain in my head is nothing compared to the fury building inside me. This ismy fault. I led us here. I was the one who thought I could manipulate Ben, the one who pushed us deeper and deeper into this mess. I thought I could control him, use him. And now, because of me, Victor knows everything.Everything.

They’re going to kill Diarmuid. I can’t shake the image from my mind. Diarmuid on his knees, the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his head. And it’s all because of me.

The thought rips through me like a blade, and I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the wave of helplessness. I can’t afford to break down. Not now. Not when there’s still time—still a chance to fix this. But God, the tears burn at the corners of my eyes.

The guard beside me shifts and my body goes still, every muscle tensed. He doesn’t react to the silent tears sliding down my face. Of course, he doesn’t. I’m nothing to these men. Nothing but a body, an object, something to use and throw away.To them, I don’t even exist.I’m no more than a weak female.

But Diarmuid sees me for who I am. My chest squeezes almost painfully. He’s the one they’re after, and they’re going to kill him. I walked him right into a trap. Even with Ben, I knew something wasn’t right when he allowed me to keep my phone. He was drawing Diarmuid out, using me as a fishing line, and I had so easily done exactly what they needed me to do.

Rage flares hot and fast, and suddenly, the tears stop. I can feel the anger tightening in my chest, cold and sharp, until it drowns out everything else. This is it. The moment they’ve been waiting for—the moment I’m supposed to break, to let them mold me into something I’m not.

But they’re wrong.I’m not theirs.

This is the moment when everything changes. If we’re going to die here, it won’t be on their terms.

The guard isn’t even paying attention to me anymore. He’s standing there, relaxed, like I’m no threat at all. His gun is still holstered, his eyes drifting lazily across the room.

Big mistake.

I lie still for a moment longer, letting the anger pool in my stomach, letting it turn into something cold and lethal. Every breath I take is slow, controlled. I gather my strength, focusing on the weight of my body, the tension in my muscles, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And then—I move.

I explode off the couch, my body moving faster than my mind, instincts taking over. The guard doesn’t even have time to blink before I’m on him. My fist connects with his throat, and he stumbles back, gasping, hands flying up in a weak attempt to block me. But I’m not stopping.

I’m not stopping until he’s down.

My knee slams into his groin, and I hear the air rush out of him in a choked groan. He doubles over, clutching himself, and I take my chance, driving my elbow into his face. I feel something crack under the force—his nose, maybe—and blood spurts, hot and sticky, onto my hand.

The sight of it sends a sick, thrilling jolt through me. I’m winning.

But the guard is bigger, stronger. He’s not going down without a fight. He tries to grab me, fingers clawing at my arm, but I twist, slamming my knee into his chest, forcing him back against the wall. He’s gasping for air, blood running down his face, but he’s still fighting, still trying to overpower me.

---