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I rise. I don't know how, but I try to pull the shreds of my dress together, but not before I notice blood staining the inside of my thighs. A sob fills the hall, and I find myself on my knees.
“You are mine,” he says. His voice is calm.
“You …” I swallow the sob. He turns away and buttons up his pants. He raped me.
Salty tears fill my mouth, and I try to stand again. My hands wrap around my abdomen like they can stop the pain. The humiliation.
Suddenly, the jewelry box is pushed into my face.
“Put it on,” Wolf commands.
He keeps the box outstretched. I reach out and take the necklace. Bile rises in my throat. Wolf walks behind me and takes the necklace from my hand. My tears stop falling as he places the necklace around my neck. When he steps back into view, he gives me one of his charming smiles.
“Beautiful.” He touches the necklace before touching my cheek. “We need to prepare for the event tonight at the Hands of Kings.”
I nod, and he presses a kiss to my cheek before he walks away. I stand and watch him go. I’m pathetic, but I don’t want him to leave me. I have no one else.
“What are you crying for?” My mother’s words follow me down the hall. “More crocodile tears; you are disgusting.”
I swallow the pain and bury it with the rest of the hurt. I need to be strong.
A maid who’s walking past stops. “Would you like a new shirt?”
It’s one of the maids who ran away while Wolf raped me.
My hand connects with her face, the slap loud in the empty corridor. She stumbles and falls to the floor.
I stand over her. “I will dress however I damn well please.”
CHAPTER NINE
Niamh
I STAND IN the foyer, hands gliding over the tight, soft fabric of my sweeping ballgown. The texture under my fingers is luxurious, a testament to the skill of the seamstress Selene and I entrusted with our attire for tonight's moon-themed event. I can't help but grimace slightly; Diarmuid has always had a penchant for the dramatic, and this evening's dress code is no exception. I'm clad in a dress that combines a stark black base with shimmering silver accents—a celestial mimicry of the night sky. Selene has opted for dark blue adorned with gold, as if she's the dusk to my midnight.
The sound of footsteps draws my attention upward, and Diarmuid descends the stairs. His suit is as white as moonlight, tailored in a way that's slightly off from traditional stylings—a nod, perhaps, to whatever mysterious ceremony awaits us tonight. He looks every bit the part of an ethereal host, and my heart skips a beat despite my intentions.
As we step into the limousine ordered by Diarmuid to take us to the mansion, a familiar unease settles over me. Though I've visited the Hands of the King’s house before, something about tonight feels different, more ominous. My leg begins to bounce, an involuntary response to the growing anxiety. Selene places a gentle touch on my arm, a silent gesture of solidarity, and Diarmuid's hand comes to rest reassuringly on my knee. His touch is warm, grounding, and for a fleeting moment, I revel in the comfort it brings.
Yet, the irony of the situation isn't lost on me. Here I am, drawing solace from the very man I'm trying to charm, flanked by the woman I must outshine.
The entire situation is difficult for me to process. As the limo pulls up to the grand front door of the manse, I find myself clutching Diarmuid’s left arm for support, while Selene, with a grace that matches her carefully chosen attire, takes his right. Diarmuid leads us—a trio representing the dark skies above—toward the entrance.
This isn't the setting of a Regency romance with an orchestra serenading the arrival of the heroine and her love. Although there is indeed an orchestra, and a few heads turn our way as we enter, their gazes are not filled with kindness or admiration. Instead, they are sharp, assessing, filled with the unspoken tension of competition. These are not admirers but rivals, each calculating their own chances in whatever game we are about to play.
Diarmuid ushers us past the doorman and a cluster of gossiping attendees in the front corridor, taking us into the main gathering room. The ceiling here is adorned with tulle, draped so elegantly it almost resembles a soft, cloudy night sky. At some point, Diarmuid's arm leaves mine, but I barely register the loss. My attention is wholly captured by the transformation of the space around us.
The lights twinkle above like distant stars, the soft illumination making the room unrecognizable from the one we had been in during the Dinner of Influence a few weeks prior. The sheer difference is jarring—if I hadn't stood on this very floor before, I would never believe it was the same building. The beauty of it all momentarily distracts me from the uneasy alliances and veiled rivalries that brought us here tonight.
Before I fully grasp what's happening, Selene's hand grips mine, pulling me away with an urgency that nearly makes me stumble in my elaborate gown. Her whispered words are lost in the buzz of the gathering, a murmur of greetings and laughter that she navigates with an ease that leaves me trailing awkwardly behind. I manage only a series of strained smiles, hoping they're convincing enough not to make me stand out in a bad way.
At last, we stop at a seemingly random door along a secluded corridor. It's locked. Selene, with a flick of her wrist, begins to unpin her hair, withdrawing several hairpins before she starts picking the lock. I can't hide my shock.
"What are you doing?!" I hiss, glancing nervously down the corridor.
"Shhhh. People are still arriving. We don’t have much time," Selene murmurs, her focus unwavering.
"You are going to get us in trouble!" My voice is a blend of worry and disbelief.
