When Kings Fall (The O’Sullivan’s Brides #3)

CHAPTER SEVENNiamh

CHAPTER SEVEN

Niamh

I HOP ON one foot, cursing under my breath as I struggle to pull on my stubborn shoe. My fingers fumble with the strap, and a spike of frustration shoots through me. Come on, Niamh, get it together. Diarmuid will be here any minute, and we’re running out of time. My heart pounds not just from the rush but from the stakes of tonight.

“Selene, come on. We need to go over it one more time,” I call out, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice but failing.

Selene steps out of the master bedroom, her hands busy with her earrings. I glance up, and for a moment, I lose my breath—not because I’m still hopping around on one foot, but because of her. Selene doesn’t have the same willowy form that I do, the kind that years of ballet and competition have sculpted me into. But there’s something about her, a quiet elegance that she wears so effortlessly. I feel a familiar, uncomfortable pang deep in my chest, right in the spot where insecurity lies dormant, waiting for moments like this to spring to life. How does she make it look so easy?

It’s not fair. I’ve been taught my entire life to see other women as competition. It’s been drilled into me— they are never anything more, never anything less . And yet, here I am, jealous of Selene's natural beauty while feeling something different, something more complicated. It’s confusing, this mix of emotions. But at the end of the day, I know what she is to me: competition.

Still, I can’t deny the truth. I’ve never cared for another woman like this, never trusted another woman like this. There’s a bond between us, one that feels like friendship, though I’m not sure I really know what that is. It’s fragile like a delicate glass ornament that I’m terrified might shatter if I press too hard. But it’s there, and it’s real.

Selene moves with purpose, heading into the spare bedroom we’ve turned into our research room. Normally, when we’re in here, we’re a mess—hair up in ponytails, pajamas on, and probably a tub of ice cream melting somewhere nearby. But tonight is different. We’re dressed to the nines, the room’s chaos of photo printouts and hand-drawn notes in stark contrast to our polished appearances. The door, secured with a digital key lock, hides what we’ve been working on.

I grab my phone, using the camera to apply a final touch of lipstick. I catch a glimpse of Selene as she stands before our wall of suspects, and I wonder, not for the first time, how this will all end.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Okay, this is one of the biggest dinners of the year for upper politics. It’s the dinner before they all take their Christmas break,” I say, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Selene nods, her voice calm but with an edge of determination. “It’s meant to show camaraderie at the upper levels of the national government, to honor the holiday, and to give hope for the new year.”

“That’s what they advertise,” I reply.

Selene's voice cuts through the silence, sharp and cynical. "They don’t report the murders, though."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken anger. I can feel the tension rolling off her, the frustration that has been building ever since Sofia Hughes vanished from our radar. Sofia’s disappearance is a dark cloud that’s been looming over us since we first got involved in this mess. It’s hard not to think about Sofia and what might have happened to her. For me, it’s impossible not to imagine my own sister, Ella, in her place. If anything ever happened to me, I’d want Ella to know. I’d want her to have the truth, no matter how terrible it might be.

But with Selene, it’s different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I suspect her reasons for being so invested in this are even sadder than mine. Aside from her grandparents, who check in just enough to feel like they’re doing their duty, Selene has no one. No one who truly knows or cares about what she’s going through. Her parents... well, they didn’t raise her; they bred her for this. And once they could hand her off, they washed their hands of her, leaving her to fend for herself.

It’s a lonely way to live, and I see it in her eyes every time we talk about Sofia. Sofia had family who loved her, people who are out there right now, worried sick about what’s become of her. They deserve to know the truth. Even if the truth is the one thing that could destroy us both.

I clear my throat, trying to shift the conversation back to the task at hand. “So, who are our targets tonight?”

Selene’s eyes flick to the wall of suspects, scanning the faces we’ve been studying for weeks. “Well, Victor probably won’t be there.”

That catches me off guard. “Why not?”

Selene turns to face me, her expression unreadable. “Victor has hand-chosen Diarmuid to be the new head of the O’Sullivan family. Diarmuid was not made for the political world. This will probably be a test for him.”

“Who would be conducting this test for Victor?” I ask, my mind racing through the possibilities.

Selene doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she steps closer to the wall of suspects, her finger hovering over the photos we’ve meticulously gathered. She stops at one, and I follow her gaze. The man in the photo is around Diarmuid’s age, his face composed, his eyes deceivingly warm. Eyes much like his sister’s.

It hits me. Amira’s oldest and only living brother.

“Michael?” I murmur, more to myself than to Selene.

“Look at the photos of Sofia,” Selene says, her voice steady but laced with something darker—something like dread. “Look at how often he appears in the background. He’s always there, just out of focus, just out of reach. He is Victor’s eyes and ears.”

I step closer, scrutinizing the photos as if I’m seeing them for the first time. Michael’s presence is subtle, almost ghostly, but now that Selene has pointed it out, I can’t unsee it. He’s always there, lingering in the shadows, watching. How did we miss this before?

“Do you think we can get any information out of him?” I ask, though I already have a sinking feeling about the answer.

Selene’s eyes flicker with doubt. “We don’t know if he’s sympathetic to our cause. He could be, but he could just as easily report everything back to Victor. And then we’d be done.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit I’ve never quite kicked. My eyes drift back to the wall of photos, searching for another angle, another way in. They settle on a man with bright blue eyes, his face sharp and unforgiving.

“Tyrone Lynch,” I say, the name falling from my lips like a bitter pill. “Of course.”

Selene nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Of course.”

Tyrone Lynch. His name feels heavier every time I think about it. Not just because he’s the current Prime Minister of Ireland but because of the swirling rumors that tie him to Sofia Hughes. The thought of it—Tyrone, a newly married man, and Sofia, tangled in something that would be a scandal of epic proportions—sends a shiver down my spine. If the public ever got wind of this, it would be a political bloodbath .

But that’s just the surface. The real danger lies in what we suspect, what we can’t quite prove but feel deep in our bones. Sofia wasn’t just a woman caught in an affair—she might have been a Bride. And if that’s true, then Tyrone Lynch isn’t just a politician with a wandering eye; he could be part of the Hands of Kings, a group steeped in power and secrets. Or, God forbid, Sofia could have been a promised Bride who fell for someone else, and that kind of betrayal rarely ends well.

I stare at the photos plastered on our wall, my eyes darting from one image to another, hoping something—anything—will jump out at me. There has to be a clue we’ve missed, some thread we can pull that will unravel the whole ugly truth. Finding out what happened to Sofia is crucial, not just for justice but for my own peace of mind. But as I take in the candid shots of her, a woman who now lies cold and silent in a grave somewhere, a pit of fear opens up in my stomach.

I can’t shake the memory of Ella’s voice, more mature than I’ve ever heard it when she saw me the other day. The way she looked at me, with that fierce determination in her eyes, and said, “We’ll figure this out.” She’s growing up too fast, and it’s because of all this—because of me . I want to help Sofia, to bring her family some semblance of closure, but a darker fear is creeping into my thoughts. ”What if solving this mystery makes it impossible for Ella and me to escape later? What if this path we’re on leads us somewhere we can’t come back from?”

A sharp beep interrupts my spiraling thoughts, pulling me back to the present. The door’s been activated. I spin around to see Diarmuid step into the room; his usual confident demeanor is overshadowed by exhaustion. He looks like he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“This couldn’t wait?” he asks, his voice tinged with weariness.

“You’re not the only one with business to finish,” Selene says, her voice low and edged with something unspoken. She crosses the room, closing the distance between her and Diarmuid in a few swift steps. Before I can fully process what’s happening, she pulls him into a deep kiss. I can’t help but watch as his fingers spread over her back, flexing against her skin like he’s trying to ground himself in the moment. For a brief second, he lets himself get lost in her, but then he pulls away, regaining control.

“Let’s get this over with so I can get you out of that dress,” Diarmuid says, his voice rough with desire, though his eyes are still sharp, focused.

The tension between them lingers in the air as we make our way to the car. The ride into the main city feels longer than usual, the weight of what’s about to happen pressing down on me. I can’t shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong. ”No, Niamh, don’t think like that. You need to stay focused.” But even as I tell myself this, my mind keeps drifting to what Selene said earlier, the way she kissed Diarmuid like she was sealing a promise—or a goodbye.

We arrive at the manor house, an imposing structure that looms over the city with its old-world grandeur. The Orb Room, the event center where tonight’s gathering is taking place, glows with the warm light of chandeliers visible through its tall windows. Our car pulls up to the curb just as another sleek vehicle drops off Lorcan.

Lorcan strides over to Diarmuid with a confident air, his eyes flicking briefly to Selene and me before settling back on Diarmuid. “You brought both of them. Excellent. Now, if you don’t mind—” He barely finishes his sentence before weaving his arm through Selene’s, trying to lead her away.

My heart skips a beat, panic flaring up as I see Diarmuid’s hand shoot out to grab Lorcan, his grip hard and unyielding. The two men freeze, locked in a silent battle of wills. I can feel the eyes of the crowd around us, the curiosity, the tension as they sense something brewing. ”This is not the place for a confrontation.” I lean in close to Diarmuid, whispering urgently, “Diarmuid, just let her go. It’s just for a few hours.”

Lorcan’s smile is slick, but there’s an edge to it. “Yes, Diarmuid. You are causing a scene.”

Selene, calm as ever, tilts her head slightly, her voice a soft, dangerous whisper. “I would be quiet if I were you, Lorcan. We are the only reason why he hasn’t shot you.”

Diarmuid doesn’t relax his grip, his voice low and menacing. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”

For a moment, the air between them crackles with tension, and I’m terrified that one wrong move will send everything spiraling out of control. But then, almost imperceptibly, Diarmuid loosens his grip. He doesn’t look at Selene as he lets Lorcan lead her away, his jaw clenched tight, frustration radiating off him.

It’s decided—Selene will be Lorcan’s guest tonight while I’m to stay with Diarmuid. This should be what I want. A chance to be alone with Diarmuid, to secure a future, to find a way out for Ella and me. But all I can think about is the way Selene looked as she walked away, her back straight, her steps steady.

I watch Selene disappear into the crowd, her hand resting lightly on Lorcan’s arm, and a cold dread settles in my stomach. If this night ends in failure, what will happen to all of us?