Page 7 of When Kings Fall

The cold bites at my skin, the only thing keeping me from drifting off. I’m still exhausted from falling into the river yesterday; the memory of icy water dragging me under flashes in my mind, making me shiver again. I should be home resting, curled up in the warmth of a bed. But I needed to be here. There was no other choice. No time to waste.

Diarmuid was furious when I told him this morning. He wanted me to wait, to give him time to rearrange his schedule so he could take me himself. But I couldn’t. Not this time. The urgency burned too hot, too real, and I had to move now. Of course, he didn’t just let me go without protection—his men are here, hidden in the crowd. I can feel their presence more than see them. Even when Diarmuid isn’t physically with me, he’s watching over me, keeping me safe.

The doors to the building swing open, and people begin to spill out. They’re all impossibly fit, moving with a grace that seems almost unnatural, like they’re gliding above the pavement. Men and women alike, all with bodies sculpted intoV-shaped frames, their every step exuding confidence. A few stop to chat with one another, their laughter bright and carefree. But I’m not here for them.

My eyes scan the crowd, searching, until they land on her—a lithe woman, slightly apart from the others. She walks alone, her steps unhurried, almost as if she’s in no rush to get anywhere.

I stand up, raising my arms, trying to get her attention. My heart races as I watch her, willing her to see me. At first, Ella doesn’t recognize me, her eyes skimming over me like I’m just another face in the crowd. But then, something clicks, and recognition dawns on her face. The smile that follows is like the sun breaking through clouds—bright, warm, and so achingly beautiful that it nearly brings me to tears.

She adjusts the strap of her duffle bag and sprints toward me, her feet barely touching the ground. I brace myself, but when she leaps into my arms, the impact almost knocks me over. My knees buckle under her weight, and I nearly collapse.

"Niamh! I’m sorry! Are you alright?" she exclaims, her voice full of concern as she pulls back to look at me.

"Fine," I manage to say, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

Ella’s brow furrows as she studies me, her eyes scanning my face. "You look sick. What happened to you?"

I shake my head, dismissing her concern with a wave of my hand. "None of that matters right now. It’s so good to see you."

Ella doesn’t push further, but I can see the worry still etched on her face. She guides me over to a nearby bench, her hand firm on my arm as if she’s afraid I might fall over if she lets go. We sit down, the cold metal of the bench seeping through my clothes, but I don’t care. I’m here with Ella, and that’s all that matters.

Around us, the other dancers are getting into their cars, some with their parents, others on their own. I know our time is limited; our mother could show up any moment, and I don’t have long to say what I need to say.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself before I ask, "How are things at home?"

Ella hesitates, her eyes flickering with something I can’t quite read. "Well, you’re a taboo subject now."

"Really?" I ask, though I’m not entirely surprised.

"Yeah," she sighs. "No one’s allowed to bring you up, say your name, anything. Mom put a padlock on your bedroom door."

I let out a low whistle, shaking my head. "That’s a big deal if she messed up the paint on the door frame for that."

Ella nods, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, it’s serious."

I try to laugh, but it comes out hollow. The idea of my room locked away like some forbidden relic stings more than I want to admit. But I push the feeling aside—there’s no time for that now. I need to focus on Ella, on why I’m here.

Ella laughs, a light, carefree sound that feels like a balm to my weary soul. The corners of her eyes crinkle with genuine joy, and for a fleeting moment, it's as if the weight of our realities melts away. Her laughter fills the space; I cling to this moment, to the brightness in her eyes, knowing how rare it has become. It’s so good to see her like this, even if it’s just for a moment.

Everything I’ve been through—every hardship, every sacrifice—has been for the person standing in front of me. I look at her, really look at her.Our mother wants Ella to be the perfect prima donna ballerina, the one who fulfills her dreams of fame and grace, the puppet master pulling strings with fingers made of ambition and steel. She pushes Ella, sometimes to the brink, sculpting her into an image of perfection that could shatter with a single misstep.

But our father... he needed a Bride to secure the Hands of Kings, a fate I was chosen for. A pawn in a game I never wantedto play, yet here I am, having been moved across the board by forces beyond my control.

And that’s what haunts me. Because if I fail... if I don’t play my cards right, this same cruel fate could fall onto Ella. The thought claws at my insides, a gnawing fear that I can’t shake. I imagine her in my place, her laughter replaced by tears, her grace turned into a weapon against her own spirit. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the wave of emotions that threatens to overwhelm me. The air between us seems to thicken, charged with the unspoken words hanging in the balance. "Ella, I actually wanted to talk to you about something important."

Her smile fades slightly, replaced by concern as she leans in, her eyes searching mine for clues. There’s a slight furrow in her brow, a sign that she senses something is wrong. "Anything."

I hesitate for a moment, but there’s no easy way to say this. The truth is a heavy burden, one that I’ve carried alone for too long. But now, it’s time to share it with her, even if it means shattering the fragile peace she’s found in this moment. "Well, you know how I went away to date that man?"

"The businessman. Yes," she nods, her brow furrowing further as she tries to piece together the puzzle I’m laying out for her.

Right, the businessman. That’s the lie they fed her to explain my sudden disappearance. A simple story to mask the dark undercurrents of our reality. She has no idea that the "business" Diarmuid runs is anything but legitimate. I can see the trust in her eyes, the belief that I’ve been out living a life she can only imagine from the confines of her dance studio. My stomach churns with guilt, a sickening twist that almost makes me want to keep up the charade, to protect her from the ugly truth. ButI push forward, knowing that I can’t keep this from her any longer.

"Look, Elle, Da made an arrangement where I had to go with this man."

Ella’s eyes widen in shock. The color drains from her face, leaving her pale and almost ghostly. "What? How? How is that a thing in this day and age?"

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