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

CHAPTER THIRTEENDiarmuid

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Diarmuid

I’M STANDING NAKED in the master bedroom, the cool air brushing against my damp skin. Droplets of water slide down my chest, remnants from the shower. Niamh and I... we didn’t waste any time after the swim. It was inevitable the moment we got back here. The heat between us didn’t stop at the pool’s edge; it followed us into the shower, too. But now, the haze of that moment is gone, replaced with a gnawing irritation that’s been eating at me since the second I noticed Selene’s absence.

It’s late. Too late. She should’ve come to bed by now.

I stride down the hall, not giving a damn if any of the men see me like this—bare and dripping, frustration rolling off me in waves. I push the door to the research room open. Nothing. No flicker of light, no sign she’s been here.

Selene is gone. Again.

How incompetent are my men? How the hell do you lose track of someone twice? My pulse quickens. I press the phone to my ear, pacing, waiting—no, willing her to pick up. Ring after ring. No answer.

Goddammit, Selene.

Before I can toss the phone across the room, I feel Niamh’s arms snake around my waist, her warm skin pressing against the scars that run down my back. Her cheek rests there, offering comfort, but it does little to calm the tight coil in my chest.

“We just got her back,” I say, my voice low but strained. “Why would she do this?”

“She’s restless,” Niamh murmurs, her breath hot against my skin.

Restless? I grit my teeth. My fists clench at my sides as a thousand thoughts race through my mind. “Then I can send her hiking in the Alps! I’ll buy her a jet ski or the fastest fucking horse in the world!” My voice rises as the frustration spills out. “She can’t disappear like this!”

Niamh’s grip tightens slightly, grounding me, but her words are steady, calm. “Wherever she went, I guarantee it has to do with Sophia Hughes,” she says. “She’s been a bit... obsessive.”

Niamh is right. I know she is, and it gnaws at me that I didn’t handle this sooner. Sophia Hughes has been a thorn in Selene’s side for weeks, and I let it fester. I can’t help but kick myself for being so focused on everything else that I let this slip through. Selene is always a challenge—sharp, defiant, always ready to push the boundaries, always testing how far she can go. That’s what draws me to her, but it’s also what makes her so damn unpredictable.

The truth is... sometimes, I wonder if she even ”wants” to be saved. It’s like she thrives on dancing on the edge, daring fate to do something about it. And here I am, cleaning up the mess, again.

I turn to Niamh, pulling her closer, wrapping my arms around her soft curves. She smells like salt and soap, fresh from our time in the shower. Her body molds perfectly into mine, and I kiss her, deep and slow, letting the heat between us linger for a moment longer. It’s a brief escape, a stolen breath before diving back into the chaos. I pull away and see the understanding in her eyes.

“Thank you,” I whisper, but we both know I’m already slipping back into the role of leader, protector.

I dress quickly, the familiar feel of my clothes pulling me back into focus. My phone’s already in hand as I shoot off a text to Alan. He’s a solid man, always has been. He runs the Silent Prince, but more importantly, he’s got connections. He knows how to rally the troops when I need them.

Assemble the men. Not at the house. O'Sullivan Castle. Be there soon.

I hit send, my mind is already working through the logistics. My house, the one I share with Niamh and Selene, is large enough to hold everyone. But I don’t want them there. That’s a place for us, for my Brides. It’s sacred in its own way. There are only a select few men who’ve ever crossed that threshold, and tonight, this meeting can’t happen there.

No, this needs to be handled somewhere else.

The O’Sullivan Castle.

The dirt road leading to the castle is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I can almost hear the crunch of gravel underfoot, see the empty fields stretching out on either side, enclosed by weathered wooden fences that have seen better days. There’s something haunting about the place, like it’s frozen in time. After Aine’s death... Andrew wanted to destroy everything here. He would have ripped the stables apart, burned them to the ground in his rage and grief. But he couldn’t.

There’s an unspoken rule about the castle, a burden of guardianship that comes with it. Whoever claims the O’Sullivan name, claims the Castle. It’s as much a part of us as we are of it, no matter how much blood has been spilled or how much we try to distance ourselves from it.

The horses weren’t so lucky. They suffered like the others. Victims of our endless cycle of violence and loss. I can still see the broken stables in my mind, the echoes of hoofbeats long gone. That place holds memories, and not all of them are kind.

The car rumbles down the dirt road, the headlights illuminating the tall, wooden fences and the empty fields stretching out endlessly on either side. Ahead, the gray stone of O’Sullivan Castle looms, its jagged silhouette cutting through the night. The place looks like a shadow of its former self—mostly dark, with only a few glowing windows where the servants scurry around, prepping for our arrival.

As we drive under the stone archway, my stomach tightens, just like it used to when I was a kid. It’s ridiculous, really. A grown man still haunted by the ghosts of his past. But there’s something about this place... I don’t have many good memories here. Hell, I don’t have ”any.”

I feel Niamh shift beside me, her breath catching the moment we pull into the courtyard. "Wow," she whispers, her voice filled with awe as her eyes sweep over the grand fa?ade.

I glance at the Castle, its tall, imposing walls stretching high above us, and I have to admit—it ”is” a striking building. But that’s not what’s on my mind. No, my focus is set. Selene. Sophia. I can’t afford to let myself get distracted by this place and all its memories. If I do, they’ll swallow me whole.

We step out of the car, and before I can even reach the towering doors, they swing open. The staff here is sharper than those back at my residence—trained to perfection under Andrew O’Sullivan. He liked to be treated like royalty, a King in his own little kingdom. I’ve never needed that level of reverence, but Andrew thrived on it.

I hesitate for a moment on the threshold, the weight of this place pressing in on me. Just as I’m about to walk through the door, the phone buzzes in my hand. My thumb hovers over the screen for a second before I swipe to answer.

"Selene." My voice is low, controlled, though my heart is pounding. I need answers. I need to know she’s safe.

"I’m fine," she says, her voice light, too light. "Don’t worry."

But something’s off. She’s not really answering my questions. She’s talking, sure, but it’s like she’s having a conversation that I’m not part of. Each word that slips out of her mouth makes the pit in my stomach grow deeper.

"I’m just visiting my brother," she adds casually, as though it explains everything. "I’ll call you later."

I freeze, the words settling like lead in my gut. Her brother?

Before I can push for more, the line goes dead. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment, trying to make sense of what I just heard.

"Her brother?" Niamh’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I turn to face her.

Her eyes are wide, filled with the same confusion—and dread—that’s creeping up my spine. Selene doesn’t have a brother.

I stand there, phone still in my hand, trying to make sense of Selene’s words. ”Her brother.” The lie feels like a scream in the silence. She doesn’t have a brother, but she ”wants” me to think she does. And that’s the key. She’s letting me know she’s not okay—she can’t speak freely. Whoever has her, they’re watching. Listening.

Rage bubbles up inside me, but I keep it contained, channeling it into action. Without another word to Niamh, I storm through the open doors and down the corridor. The grand sitting room is just ahead, where a few of my men have already gathered. I can hear them before I see them—low murmurs, the clink of glasses. As if this were any other night. As if nothing were wrong.

The moment I step into the room, everything stops. Conversations die in mid-sentence, and all eyes turn to me. The atmosphere shifts immediately. Some of the men are holding drinks, but their hands freeze halfway to their mouths, waiting.

I look around the room, locking eyes with each one of them. The weight of what’s happened settles over us, thick and heavy. These men know what I’m capable of when I’m pushed. They know what happens when I’m cornered.

I let the silence stretch just long enough for the tension to sink in. Then, I take a step forward, voice cold, deliberate. “You know what you need to do.”

No one moves.

“Now, do it.”

The command hangs in the air for a moment, and then, as if a spell has been broken, the room springs into action. Glasses are set down; chairs scrape against the stone floor as the men get to their feet, already moving, already making plans. No one dares to question me. Not tonight.

As they filter out, my mind sharpens, focusing only on one thing: getting Selene back. And whoever has her—they’re going to regret ever laying a hand on her.