Page 49 of When Kings Fall

The truth is, it’s not the challenge that motivates me. It’s the trip Diarmuid has planned for us— trekking across Europe. No swimming. No ballet. Just us. Free to be who we are, without the pressure of performing or achieving anything. I’m also free from the competition against Selene. It never really was a contest, I think she won from the first second he set eyes on her. But when he chose Selene as his consort, I had a sense of relief. Glad that the burden didn’t fall on my shoulders. I honestly thought that would be it, I’d be released from my duties and returned home. Diarmuid had other ideas, making sure I gotta do what I’ve always dreamed of,it pulls at me, a longing for something I haven’t felt in years. Freedom. Peace.

I glance out at the horizon, the vast expanse of the sea stretching endlessly in front of me. The waves are choppy, restless, but beyond them, the sky is softening, the clouds starting to break apart. There’s a calmness out there, something I’ve never been able to find anywhere else.

“I can’t believe how far you’ve come,” Ella says quietly, her voice softer now. “I know you’ve been dreaming about this for so long. It’s finally happening.”

I smile at her, feeling a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with the towel she’s wrapped around me. “It is,” I say. “But you know what? I think what I’m looking forward to most is that break away with you.”

Ella raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Really? But you’ve wanted to do the Oceans Seven for years.”

“I know,” I reply, letting out a breath. “But this… the training, the swims… it’s just part of the journey. It’s not everything. I think I forgot that for a while.”

Ella is quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she smiles, a small, knowing smile. “I get it. Sometimes, it’s not about the goal. It’s about what you discover along the way.”

Her words sink in, and I realize she’s right. This whole journey—the swims, the hours of training, the pain, and the triumph—it’s changed me. But the part I’m most grateful for isn’t the physical strength I’ve gained. It’s the connection I’ve found again with Ella.

I turn back to the sea, the wind biting at my damp skin, and for the first time in my life, I feel a strange sense of calm. Peace, even.

I’ve spent so much time chasing goals, running from one achievement to the next, always pushing for more. But right now, standing on this boat with Ella beside me, the horizon stretching out in front of us, I realize I don’t need to chase anything. Not right now.

Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Diarmuid

THE AIR INSIDE St. Gertrude’s smells new like the carpets have just been replaced. Of course, they had to be. The blood soaked deep into the fibers when Victor was killed, spilling across the sanctuary like a curse. I can still remember the sound—the wet thud of his body hitting the ground, the way his blood soaked into the old carpet, and the silence that followed. That silence was louder than any gunshot or scream. Now, as I stand here, in this sanctuary that feels too clean, too fresh, I can’t shake the memory away. I glance over my shoulder as if I can see my brothers again, with guns in their hands, ready to die with me if necessary. Only we all had walked away. With Victor dying on the floor in front of us, no one seemed to know what to do, and having one of my brother’s running for president held more power than I had known at the time.

Everything looks the same, yet it doesn’t. The faces are different, unfamiliar. Even the walls seem sterile like they’ve scrubbed away more than just blood—they’ve scrubbed away the history, the sins. The sins of men like me.

I glance around at the people milling about, and the murmurs of conversation fill the space, but it feels distant. All of it feels distant. This place, with its freshly cleaned surfaces and the hollow warmth of its new fixtures, isn’t where I thought I’d be. And yet, here I am. Back at St. Gertrude’s. A King among many.

I move toward one of the pews, and for a moment, I hesitate. Selene is sitting there, her back straight, her head tilted slightly as she watches the people around her. Her hand is resting on herstomach, the gentle curve of her belly just beginning to show. The sight makes something inside me twist. She’s planning a wedding—our wedding. She’s racing against the clock, trying to beat the inevitable swell of her pregnancy before the big day arrives. Every day, her belly grows a little more, and every day, the weight of it presses down on me.

She’s glowing, more radiant than I’ve ever seen her, and yet... yet I know she feels it too. The tension in the air. The unspoken fear that lurks just beneath the surface. I’ve told her everything is fine—that we’re safe. But until I know who the next leader is, I can’t guarantee that.

The Hands of Kings should’ve retaliated by now. There should have been blood. I expected blood. Instead, there’s been nothing but quiet. Too quiet. It’s as if we’re all standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to give way beneath us.

My eyes flick back to Selene, her fingers absently tracing circles on her stomach. I can’t let her see the unease that gnaws at me. Not here. Not now.

I’ll return to her soon. Once I’ve satisfied this gnawing curiosity.

I turn away, moving down the hallway toward Victor’s old office. I don’t know why I’m here. St. Gertrude’s hasn’t felt like mine since Victor died. I’ve done everything I can to distance myself from this place, from the weight of the past. But when I heard that Victor’s replacement had finally been chosen, something pulled me back. It’s not my concern—not anymore. But I had to know. I had to see for myself who had taken his place.

It’s strange, coming back here. The church was a cog in Victor’s machine, one of many. He ran his empire like a clock, with every cog, every gear moving in precise harmony. I was one of those cogs. A piece of his grand design. Now, without him, it feels like the machine is falling apart. But I know better. I knowthat someone is behind the scenes, keeping it running, making sure everything stays in place. That’s what worries me.

Victor wouldn’t have left the church vulnerable. Whoever filled his shoes would have to be powerful, ruthless. I’m not involved enough in the inner workings of the Hands to know how this person was chosen, or who chose him, but I need to know who’s pulling the strings now.

I push open the door to Victor’s old office, expecting to see some faceless lackey, another pawn in the game. But the sight that greets me stops me cold.

Isaac.

He’s sitting behind the desk, his hands folded neatly in front of him, a faint smile playing on his lips. For a moment, I just stand there, blinking, as if I’ve walked into a dream. Seeing Issac here may seem like a blessing since he most likely will be the one to punish me for killing Victor.

"Diarmuid," he says, his voice smooth, familiar. "I was wondering when you’d find your way back here."

I take a step inside, closing the door behind me. My mind races to catch up.Isaac?Isaac is the new priest?

"You’re the one who took Victor’s place?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. I feel the memories pulling me under, forcing me back to those days when Victor and Andrew had been my judges, my tormentors, now Issac would take their place.

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