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

CHAPTER EIGHTSelene

CHAPTER EIGHT

Selene

I FEEL A knot tightening in my stomach, a sickening twist of guilt that I can’t ignore. Am I betraying Diarmuid? The thought keeps gnawing at me as Lorcan guides me away from Diarmuid and Niamh. I can feel the heat of Diarmuid’s gaze on my back, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see it—his eyes are burning with a murderous intensity. I freeze, shocked that he isn’t reacting more strongly, that he isn’t storming over here and pulling me back to his side. But he doesn’t.

Maybe he understands the importance of making an impression here. Or maybe he trusts me. The idea that he trusts me so completely twists the knife of guilt even deeper. But there’s another part of me, a part I’m not proud of, that feels a spark of excitement. Lorcan O’Connor, the rising star of Irish politics, has chosen me. I might meet people tonight who wouldn’t even give Diarmuid a second glance, people who could change everything.

The corridor we step into is stark and elegant, with black and white tiles that echo with each of our steps. The cool air contrasts with the warmth of the tension building between us. Suddenly, Lorcan pulls me against him, his body firm and solid. I catch my breath, the world narrowing down to just the two of us.

“Oh, I’m going to pay for this,” Lorcan murmurs, his voice low and rough with a hint of a smirk, “but it’s going to be worth it.”

I feel my pulse quicken, my heart hammering in my chest. I look up at him, searching his eyes. “If you know it would make him angry, why did you do it?”

He grins a dangerous, almost boyish grin that sends a shiver down my spine. “He’s my younger brother; I have to.”

His words hang in the air between us, loaded with a history I’m not fully privy to, but can sense is complicated and deep. Before I can respond, Lorcan leans in, his lips so close to my ear that I can feel his warm breath on my neck.

"And maybe I was getting a bit envious of what he had," Lorcan murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but there's an edge to it that sends a ripple of unease through me. He’s too close, pushing too far, and I know this could all too easily spiral out of control. I glance back at Diarmuid, still standing with Niamh, his posture tense but composed. I know him well enough to understand that he’s barely keeping himself in check. If Lorcan crosses the line, I doubt Diarmuid could restrain himself from tackling his older brother to the ground, right here in front of everyone.

I can’t let that happen—not for Lorcan’s sake, and not for Diarmuid’s. So, I force a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture that feels almost demure, and I turn the moment on its head. “You are too kind, Mr. O’Sullivan,” I say, my voice clear and loud enough for those around us to hear. I hope it sounds like I’m brushing off a harmless compliment, steering the situation back into safe, neutral territory.

Lorcan’s expression shifts, but not in the way I expect. He isn’t offended by my deflection. No, he looks amused, his eyes sparkling with that same dangerous mischief that drew me in earlier. He’s entertained by my attempt to save face, almost as if he’s enjoying the game we’re playing.

We move into the main room, the Orb Room, and the atmosphere shifts entirely. The space is round and grand, bathed in soft, professional lighting that casts everything in calm shades of blue and purple. The effect is almost otherworldly, serene, yet powerful. Round tables are elegantly arranged throughout the room, each one perfectly set for the “Greater Ireland Benefit Dinner,” as announced by the banners on the stage at the front. The stage itself is understated but commanding, clearly meant to draw the eye without overwhelming the senses.

The laughter filling the room has a certain richness to it, the kind that comes from people who never have to worry about keeping a roof over their heads. It’s a sound that both intrigues and unsettles me. I’m an outsider here, in a world where power and privilege are the currency, and I feel the weight of that realization pressing down on me.

As I take it all in, a man moving across the room catches my eye. Tyrone Lynch. Exactly the man I want to meet tonight. He’s a key player, someone who could open doors that have long been shut to me and Diarmuid. The excitement I felt earlier flares up again, pushing aside the lingering guilt.

I glance over my shoulder, searching for Diarmuid and Niamh. But they’re not here yet. I don’t see them anywhere in the crowd. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed. For now, it’s just me, Lorcan, and this room full of possibilities.

I glance back at Tyrone, my gaze steady and determined. He’s speaking with a small group, the kind of people who can make or break careers with a word. This is my chance, and I don’t want to let it slip through my fingers.

“I want to meet the Prime Minister,” I say, turning to Lorcan. My voice is firm, but inside, my heart is pounding. I know it’s a bold request, but I’ve learned that sometimes, you have to be bold to get what you want.

Lorcan chuckles softly, shaking his head. “One does not simply walk up to the Prime Minister of Ireland, sweets.”

I stiffen at the nickname, shooting him a sharp look. “Don’t call me that. You’re a member of his party. You can approach him.”

He sighs, giving me a look that’s almost pitying. “You don’t understand politics.”

I bristle at his condescension. “Oh? I think I’ve navigated your world quite successfully so far.”

Without a word, Lorcan takes my arm and guides me behind one of the large potted plants scattered around the room. It offers a bit of privacy, shielding us from prying eyes. I glance around, noting that there are several such plants strategically placed to give these powerful people opportunities to talk without being stared at.

When I look back at Lorcan, he’s smiling that same playful, wicked smile that both intrigues and infuriates me. “Oh, kitten, you have no idea.”

“Another nickname?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“More fitting for you,” he says with a smirk. “Kittens have claws.”

I narrow my eyes, leaning in just slightly. “Be careful; I’m the pet of a monster.”

His grin widens, clearly entertained by my response. “Clever, but you aren’t ready for this world.”

“I think you’re trying to make yourself sound more mysterious than you actually are,” I counter, refusing to back down.

Lorcan’s chuckle is low and dark, sending a shiver down my spine. “If I ever revealed to this country half of the things I knew about the people leading them, there would be a revolution.”

I roll my eyes, trying to mask the way his words unsettle me. “So dramatic.”

But there’s a part of me that wonders—just how much does Lorcan really know? And how far is he willing to go to use that knowledge?

Lorcan’s eyes narrow slightly, and he leans in closer, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something darker, more calculating. “And true,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “You ask me why I cannot walk up to Tyrone Lynch. Kitten, I’m my party’s next pick for Minister of Justice. It’s not official, but tonight, everyone will be watching me. Passing judgment on me. If I were to waltz up to the Prime Minister, it would make me appear egotistical, overconfident. I must wait for Tyrone to approach me.”

I frown, frustrated by the politics of it all. “How do we speed that along?”

Lorcan tilts his head, studying me with a curiosity that feels almost predatory. “Oh my, kitten. Should I ask why you are so desperate to be close to Tyrone Lynch? Does my brother know?”

Before I can think, before I can even process what I’m doing, my hands are on him, grabbing his shirt in a sudden, impulsive move. It’s a stupid move, I realize almost immediately. He’s built like Diarmuid—solid, unyielding, far bigger than me. I’m not going to intimidate him; if anything, he seems amused, the dangerous glint in his eyes growing sharper, more focused.

But I try to ignore it, keeping my voice steady. “Don’t question my loyalty to Diarmuid.”

“Careful, kitten,” Lorcan murmurs, his voice a quiet warning that lingers in the air between us. He steps away from me, moving out from the cover of the plant and back into the open. I take a moment to collect myself, my heart still racing from our exchange, then follow him, smoothing my dress and slipping back to his side as if nothing has happened.

As I link my arm through his, I catch sight of Niamh not far from us. Keeping my expression neutral, I subtly motion toward Tyrone Lynch, hoping Niamh will understand what I’m trying to signal. She looks confused at first, her brow furrowing slightly, but then her eyes widen in realization. Good. She gets it.

To my surprise, Lorcan’s movements seem to be bringing us closer to the prime minister. I can’t quite pinpoint what I said or did to make him decide to help me, but I’m not about to question it. Instead, I let him guide me through the room, making polite conversation with various officials and dignitaries. We meet the head of some department or maybe an ambassador—I can’t even remember the names. They don’t register in my mind. I’m on autopilot, nodding and smiling when necessary, but my attention is elsewhere, constantly checking to see where Tyrone is.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually, we get close enough that I notice Tyrone’s head lift, his gaze settling on Lorcan. There’s a moment of recognition, and I can see that he’s about to approach us. My heart skips a beat in anticipation, but before the two men can speak, someone cuts in.

“Father Isaac,” I say, startled as I recognize the man stepping between us. It’s Isaac Waryn, the priest who has a habit of appearing in the most unexpected places. He’s an enigma, someone who always seems to be in the middle of things, though I can never quite figure out why.

Lorcan, clearly unfamiliar with him, introduces himself with his usual charm. “Lorcan O’Connor. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

Isaac smiles, a serene, knowing smile that always makes me feel like he’s privy to some secret I don’t know. “I’m afraid I am no stranger to your companion tonight,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. He turns his attention to me. “How are you faring, dear Selene?”

The question is simple, but there’s an underlying weight to it, as if he’s asking more than just about my well-being. I manage a polite smile, even as I feel Lorcan stiffen beside me.

“How do you know Father Isaac?” Lorcan asks, his tone casual, but I can sense the curiosity—and perhaps a hint of suspicion—beneath it.

“We have attended events together in the community,” I say, my voice steady, though the words feel heavy on my tongue. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. Isaac Waryn has shown up at events that are open to more than just the Hands of Kings members, events where his presence wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. But I know that’s not the real reason he’s here, not entirely. Thanks to that twisted assignment Diarmuid received—the one that involved making a hit on a child—Father Isaac was introduced to our world. Since then, it seems like he’s been taking every opportunity to insert himself into events that are more public, more accessible. He’s sniffing around, poking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

Does he even know how dangerous that is?

Isaac’s calm voice cuts through my thoughts. “I hope that the situation we discussed sorted itself out.”

I suppress a shiver at the memory. He had warned me about Diarmuid’s extracurricular activities, the ones he thought I should be wary of. A part of me had appreciated the warning, but another part felt the cold stab of betrayal, as if he were suggesting I couldn’t trust Diarmuid at all.

“It ended up being alright,” I reply, keeping my tone light and dismissive. But this conversation is useless to me, a distraction I can’t afford right now. And to make matters worse, I’ve lost sight of the Prime Minister. As much as Isaac has been kind to me since I was thrust into this dangerous world, right now, I feel an almost overwhelming urge to kick him for wasting my time.

Lorcan, sensing my growing impatience, smoothly takes over the conversation. His voice is a low hum in the background as my eyes continue to scan the crowd, desperate to find Tyrone. He’s the only lead we have on Sofia Hughes, the one thread that could unravel the whole mystery. I need to find him, to fish for any information I can.

There’s a sudden commotion that snaps me out of my frantic search. The sound of something crashing to the ground echoes through the room, silencing all conversations. My eyes dart to the source, and I see him—Tyrone Lynch—standing in the middle of the mess he’s just created. One of the tall plants has been knocked over, its vase shattered on the tiled floor, soil and plant matter scattered everywhere.

Tyrone is panting, his eyes wide with panic as he looks around, clearly disoriented. His reaction is so intense, so out of place, that it sends a ripple of unease through the crowd. He mutters an apology, his voice shaky, before quickly leaving the room. Several people follow him, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion.

I don’t waste a second. “Goodbye, Father,” I say quickly to Isaac, barely waiting for his response before I break away from him. I don’t even look back to see if Lorcan is following. I shuffle as fast as my heels will allow, weaving through the crowd until I find Niamh.

“Niamh, did you see what happened?” I ask, breathless.

Her face is pale, her eyes wide with guilt. “I messed up. I’m so sorry.”

A pit forms in my stomach. “What do you mean, you messed up?”

“I… I didn’t know how to ask the right questions, and he was getting bored,” Niamh stammers, her voice shaky. “I was worried about him walking away, so I just came out with it.”

“Niamh!” I exclaim, trying to keep my voice steady, but the frustration seeps through.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice almost drowned out by the rising chaos around us. “I asked him if he’s had any recent contact with Sofia Hughes, and he just… he went nuts.”

Around us, the noise level rises as people talk animatedly about what just happened. Staff members rush to clean up the plant, their movements hurried and efficient. Somewhere in the background, I can hear Diarmuid’s stern voice countering Lorcan’s smooth one, their disagreement adding to the tension in the room.

Without thinking, I pull Niamh into a tight hug. “You did wonderfully!” I whisper fiercely in her ear. “Tyrone definitely knows something.”

She pulls back slightly, her expression still unsure. “What do we do now?”

I glance over her shoulder and see Diarmuid approaching us, his stride purposeful, his eyes dark with determination. Lorcan stands a little behind, his face mirroring the same kind of annoyance I feel coursing through me.

“Make use of the Kings given to us,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.