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

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXSelene

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Selene

I STAND AT the window, alone, watching the world outside transform under the pale glow of the waxing moon. The night is quiet, except for the occasional creak of the house settling in the sudden cold. Winter arrived swiftly, unannounced, covering the landscape in a thin sheet of ice that now makes everything shimmer—frozen blades of grass, skeletal trees, rooftops. The world feels fragile as ifit might shatter if I touch it. But inside, something stirs that I haven’t felt before.

I trace a finger along the frosted glass. I’ve been so reckless, so careless with my own life, and now I’m left wondering why. All this time, I thought it didn’t matter; I didn’t matter. But that was before. Before I thought I might lose Diarmuid. Before I thought Niamh would die alongside him. The memory of those moments still clings to me like the cold in the air, and I feel it deep in my chest—a fear, a need I didn’t recognize until it was too late.

I breathe in slowly, watching the rise and fall of my breath fog the glass. I never valued my life. Never understood its worth. Until now.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with the Hands of Kings. The uncertainty used to drive me to act without thinking, to throw myself into danger without caring about the outcome. But now, I want to live. Not just for myself—but for Diarmuid. For Niamh. For what we could be together, whatever that even is. I want to be more than a burden they have to save again and again. I want to be… someone better.

There’s a warmth at my back, the kind of presence that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end before I even need to turn. Diarmuid . He moves quietly, always just beyond the edge of my awareness, but this time I know it’s him. His steps are soft but deliberate, and the room feels smaller with each second that passes. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of his nearness settle over me like a blanket. He’s always there when I need him, even when I think I don’t.

I don’t turn around, not yet. I can feel the tension in the air, a tension that’s been building for so long I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be without it. We’ve danced around this moment for what feels like a lifetime—so many words left unsaid, so many things left undone.

“Selene,” he says, his voice low, rough with something I can’t quite place.

I swallow, my throat tight. The moonlight casts my reflection in the glass—fragile, uncertain, a ghost of the woman I used to be. But I’m not that woman anymore. Not after everything. I glance down at my hand, fingers curling into a fist. I’m different now.

“What happens now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Since he shot Victor, everything has gone quiet, and I fear what will come next. What all this means for us.

He steps closer, and I feel the heat of him against my back. “Now I must pick my consort.”

There’s a weight to his words, a promise that lingers between us, filling the space with something heavier than the cold outside. I turn slowly, finally facing him, and the sight of him takes my breath away in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to. His eyes, dark and piercing, lock onto mine, and I see everything there—his anger, his frustration, but also something softer, something I hadn’t allowed myself to believe could be real.

Diarmuid reaches for me, his hand resting on my arm, firm but careful, as if he’s holding something fragile. “You’ve been reckless,” he says, and there’s no judgment in his voice, only a truth we both know too well. “But you’re still here.”

I nod, unable to find the right words. I’ve spent so much time running, so much time believing I had nothing to lose. Now, I know better. “I didn’t think… I didn’t realize what I had,” I admit, my voice trembling. “Not until I almost lost it.”

His grip tightens just a fraction, pulling me closer until there’s barely an inch of space between us. “You didn’t lose me,” he says quietly. “You never will.”

I blink up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. There’s a finality to his words, a decision that’s been made long before this moment, and for the first time, I realize… this is what I’ve been waiting for. What we’ve both been waiting for.

I lift my chin, searching his face for something I’m not even sure I deserve. “What now?” My voice is softer than I expected, a mix of fear and hope tangled together.

Diarmuid’s hand moves from my arm to my face, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek, his touch gentle but possessive. “Now,” he says, “you’re mine.”

The air leaves my lungs, and I can only stare up at him as the weight of his words settle over me. There’s no going back from this. Whatever we were before, whatever hesitation or doubt we carried, it’s gone now.

“I choose you, Selene,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve always chosen you.”

I close my eyes for a moment, letting those words sink in, letting them wash away the fear and uncertainty that’s plagued me for so long. When I open them again, I feel steady. Sure.

“I’m not perfect,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to be… what you need.”

Diarmuid’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but there’s something more behind it—something deeper. “You are exactly what I need.”

The room feels warmer, the cold of winter forgotten as he pulls me closer, his forehead resting against mine. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe. I feel… wanted.

Maybe I can be more than I thought. More than just a survivor. Maybe I can be what Diarmuid needs. What Niamh needs. A partner. A consort. Something more than I’ve ever allowed myself to be.

Diarmuid’s breath is warm against my skin as he places a kiss on my breastbone.

I inhale at the contact, my hand sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers.

His hands slide over my shoulders, gentle but possessive. Every time he touches me, it feels like I’m being claimed all over again. His breath is warm against my neck, sending a shiver racing down my spine. I tilt my head slightly, giving him more access, and that’s when he moves in. His lips press against my skin, trailing upward until he captures my mouth in a kiss that’s deep, consuming.

I melt into him, every bit of tension I’ve held onto for so long slipping away as his mouth works against mine with an intensity that steals my breath. My hands tremble with anticipation, as this feels different tonight. Because it is different, I’m no longer competing, he’s picked me.I'm feeling the solid strength of him beneath my fingers. But as much as I want to take control, I can’t—not when he’s like this. Not when he’s so masterfully making me lose myself.

I work to match him, to serve him, my hands gliding down his body as if worshiping every part of him. But it’s futile. Diarmuid knows me too well, knows exactly how to take what he wants while giving me everything I need. His hands are everywhere—claiming, teasing, guiding—and my body responds without question, surrendering to the fire building between us.

One minute we are standing at the window pleasuring each other, and the next I find myself on my back, the soft mattress cushioning me as Diarmuid slowly closes the space between us. He has freed his cock and when he pushes my night dress above my thighs he slips inside me.

We move together, breathless and unrelenting, the space between us growing impossibly small until there’s nothing left but the feel of him, the sound of my name on his lips, and the heat that spirals from deep within me.

Time blurs. The moments stretch into something endless, something consuming, until I can’t remember where I end, and he begins, each time he enters me, a storm rages that makes my knees weak, but my heart strong. It beats to his rhythm, and I know I am truly his, even as I come apart while he releases inside me.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, his body warm and solid next to mine. I can still feel the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin, but there’s a new heaviness in my chest. It presses down, a reminder that we aren’t alone in this.

“Niamh,” I say softly, my voice cutting through the quiet. Diarmuid doesn’t respond at first, but I know he’s listening. “We can’t abandon her. She’s a part of this, too.” I know he picked me, but she can’t be forgotten, we went through so much together.

His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer, but I don’t let the warmth of him distract me. This is too important. Niamh is too important.

“I know,” he finally says, his voice rough, like he’s been thinking the same thing all along. “We won’t.”