Page 22 of Reveal Me
Niamh
Everyone was looking at me as I stood at the entrance to the throne room. The nobles were draped in their silks and jewels. Debutantes and fancy ladies in their embroidered gowns, delicate curls falling from their tightly coiled hair, were whispering behind veils of perfume and makeup. There were a few men with the steely look of businessmen—sharp suits, their faces carrying that quiet, calculating intensity of those who traded in power. Behind them, in the shadows, were servants—quick-moving, quiet, almost invisible—but their watchful eyes didn’t miss a single thing.
The general onlookers, from those of high birth to the lower-ranked, lined the walls. They all waited for something—waiting for me to make a fool of myself, maybe. The funny thing was that no one dared to stop me from bursting into the throne room.
Maybe this was a typical scene for this particular king. Dion’s women—his distractions. Maybe they caused a scene on a regular.
Well, they were in for something different today. The scene wasn’t going to end with me being seduced into his bed. Been there, done that (really wanted to do it again). But no. I was on a different mission. One of self-respect… a few hours after my walk of shame.
My gaze locked on Dion, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world narrowed to just the two of us.
I felt the heat of his body even from a distance. The power that radiated off of him made my skin prickle. No matter how much my body wanted to close the distance between us, my heart wasn’t on the same page. It had already shattered.
He was standing tall, looking effortlessly regal in his dark attire, eyes gleaming with that knowing, confident glint that had probably always gotten him what and who he wanted.
That gaze was aimed at me. There was a flicker of emotion in his gaze. It wasn’t an apology. No regret.
I took a step forward, my legs feeling like they were made of stone. The words I’d been holding back came rushing to the surface, and before I could stop them, I was accusing him.
“It’s me. I’m Niamh. I’m your fated mate.”
“What did she say?” Came a loud whisper from the peanut gallery.
“She said she was King Dion’s fated mate.”
“What’s her name?”
“She didn’t say.”
“I know who you are, Niamh,” said Dion.
“Sure you do.” I sucked my teeth in disbelief. It was an unladylike sound, but I wasn’t here to impress anybody. “That’s why you slept with another woman.”
“No,” he said calmly. “I didn’t.”
There was such certainty in his voice that I almost believed him. What a fool that would make me. Believe his false words instead of my lying eyes.
“Yes, you did,” I hissed.
“No, I did not.”
“Yes, you did. I was there.”
“What are they saying?” came another call from the hall.
“It sounds like the king had a threesome, and one of the girls was his fated mate.”
“Wait, you can have threesomes after you’re mated?”
I chose to ignore the spectators. The courtiers, the servants, and the quiet whispers of onlookers who were not getting the story straight that was unfolding before their very eyes. But there was one person in the room whose reaction I couldn’t overlook.
Oz stood there, looking between the two of us like he was caught in a tug-of-war. His gaze flicked from Dion to me and back again, his body tense, indecisive. The silence between us stretched out, thick with anticipation, but Oz didn’t speak.
His loyalty was clear—he was Dion’s best friend first. Bros before hoes, right? Bro-code or not, Oz wasn’t going to lie to me. His silence was his answer.
“Can we talk about this in private?” Dion asked, lowering his voice as though he finally realized we had an audience.
“There’s no need to talk about anything. This weekend is not about us. It’s about Stella. Let’s just get through the wedding.”
