Page 8 of When Kings Fall

"It isn’t supposed to be," I admit, my voice tight with the weight of everything I’ve kept hidden. The words taste bitter on my tongue, but they need to be said. "But it happened."

Her face twists in confusion and disbelief. I watch as her mind races to comprehend what I’m telling her, to reconcile the father she knows with the one who would make such an unthinkable deal. "That doesn’t make sense. How could he do that? There is no way it’s legal."

I try to keep the sadness from showing, but Ella knows me too well. She’s always been able to read me like an open book, seeing through the facades I’ve tried to build. The horror that spreads across her face makes my heart ache, a sharp pain that lances through me as I see the realization dawn in her eyes. This is the moment I’ve dreaded, the one where the truth finally sinks in, and she understands just how precarious our lives have become. The innocence in her gaze shatters, replaced by a growing fear that mirrors my own.

"Niamh, what’s going on? Are you in trouble?"

I look away, swallowing the lump in my throat. "No. Well, yes, but not exactly. I got really lucky, Ella. I’m with a man who takes care of me. I’m very safe as long as I’m with him."

Ella’s expression hardens, her worry turning into something more intense. "And if you’re not with him?"

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “We don’t have much time, so I can’t explain everything, but Ineed to be chosen by this man. And... I don’t think he’s going to choose me.”

Ella’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Choose you? You mean there are other women?”

“It’s complicated,” I admit, struggling to find the right words. “But if he doesn’t choose me, Da will try to arrange something like this for you next. We can’t let that happen.”

Before I can say more, Ella shushes me. The sound is so unexpected, so out of character for her, that I stop mid-sentence, staring at her in surprise. She’s never done anything like this before. My little sister, who’s always been the obedient one, suddenly raises her chin, and something new blooms in her expression. It’s a determination I’ve seen many times when she’s dancing, but this is different—something fierier, more intense. It’s something I realize I don’t possess myself.

“Well, that is not going to happen, and it doesn’t matter if you get chosen,” she declares, her voice firm and unyielding.

“Ella, you don’t understand,” I begin, trying to make her see the gravity of the situation.

“I don’t need to,” she cuts me off, her tone fierce. “Pardon my language, but fuck Da if he thinks he can make these kinds of decisions for us.”

“Ella, he can,” I say, my frustration growing. “That’s what I’m trying to—”

“No,” she interrupts again, her voice rising with conviction. “This isn’t happening. This is not the 1800s. We are modern women, and these things don’t happen in the modern world. And if they do, we’ll figure something out.”

I shake my head, the weight of reality pressing down on me. “I don’t see how we can do anything.”

"Me either," Ella says, her voice softer now, but still resolute. "But something will come to us."

She glances over her shoulder, checking the time on her phone. The moment is slipping away, and I can see the shift in her as she stands up, adjusting the strap of her bag. She leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, a tender gesture that makes my chest tighten.

"Thank you for telling me about this," she says, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of gratitude and determination. "Even if it gets bad, we’re going to get through this. I promise."

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, as I watch her jog across the street. She moves with the grace of a dancer, even when she’s just rushing to meet our mother. And then, almost on cue, I see the familiar white Lexus pull up to the curb. Zara Connolly doesn’t even glance in my direction; her entire focus is on Ella, her prized daughter. I sit there, just a few hundred yards away, invisible to her as always.

Ella gets into the car, and I watch as they drive off, the distance between us growing with every second. Once they’re gone, I tuck my hair behind my ear—a silent signal to the men in the crowd. They’ll know it means I’m ready to leave. After seeing the danger that Selene had, the lengths Diarmuid went to get her back, I knew my chances of being selected continued to dwindle. The way he held her when they returned home, I was a ghost to them, fading by the second, and as I faded from her radar, I feared Ella would be seen but by the wrong man. Not someone kind like Diarmuid.

As the car takes me back, I stare out the window, the city blurring past. Ella’s words echo in my mind, but I know she doesn’t fully grasp the reality of the situation. There’s nothing a teenage girl can do to fix this. Not in the world we’ve been thrust into.

The weight of it presses down on me, heavier with each passing moment. As much as it terrifies me, I realize I’m the onewho has to find a way out of this nightmare. It’s on me to protect Ella, to ensure she doesn’t suffer the same fate.

Because if I fail... Ella is doomed.

CHAPTER FIVE

Selene

I SIT AT the kitchen table, staring down at the word puzzle in front of me. Diarmuid had gone overboard, ordering stacks of them as if I’d burn through each one in a day. It’s silly really, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. He knows I like them, knows how they keep my mind from spiraling. My wrists still ache, a dull throb that pulses up my arms, but I ignore it, focusing instead on the warmth of the kitchen around me. The scent of freshly baked buns fills the air, mingling with the richness of melted chocolate.

Across the room, Niamh moves quietly, methodically, not saying a word since she got home. She’s always like this when she’s stressed—either baking or swimming. It’s her way of coping, of shutting everything else out. I glance over just as she dips the spoon into the melted chocolate and licks it clean, her face expressionless, her movements almost mechanical.

The door swings open, and I feel the familiar energy before I even look up. Diarmuid. His presence fills the room in that effortless way of his, commanding attention without trying. Niamh doesn’t react, still too absorbed in whatever storm is swirling inside her.

Diarmuid’s eyes land on her, and I see it—the shift in his gaze. It’s subtle, the way his focus sharpens, like a predator locking onto its prey. He moves toward her with a slow, deliberate grace, the kind that makes my heart race even though I’m not the one in his sights.

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