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The table is still silent, and I can hear the faint regret in Graham’s voice when he calls it. “Not enough votes for death,” he says clearly. “Now–for the removal of the Irish King, Liam McGregor, to be replaced with a chosen son of one of the men seated here, the seat sealed with marriage to my daughter.”
Once again, there’s not so much as a flicker of emotion on Saiorse’s face, though she’s being sold like a trophy or a broodmare by her own father.Duty, her father had said, and that’s all I see on her lovely face. A commitment to stand by her duty, whatever it costs her.
When the vote is cast again for my removal, it is nearly unanimous–with the exception of Luca and Viktor.
“Are ya fuckin’ kidding me?” Colin O’Flaherty stands up, his fist coming down on the table. “The Kings have voted as one, and this Italian bastard and Russian shite will be the difference?”
“These men are in an alliance with us,” Graham says coldly, speaking before I can as if I’ve already been removed. “Luca Romano, say your piece.”
Luca looks at me regretfully, he and Viktor both standing in unison. “Our alliance was made with a McGregor at the head of the table,” Luca says. For a moment, I feel a pulse of hope that he’s going to stand at my side, have my back, as I’d once believed he would. But the expression on his face tells a different story.
“We are not in favor of another family taking the seat,” Viktor says firmly. “But it has come to our attention that there may be another option.”
I stare at him, the blood beginning to rush in my ears. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap angrily, but Luca is already speaking, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Graham O’Sullivan, I believe the floor is yours,” Luca says, and he and Viktor both sink back down into their seats as Graham stands.
Slowly, Graham looks around the table, meeting each man’s eyes except for mine. Next to him, Saoirse looks calm and composed, and I know in that instant whatever he’s about to say, she’s aware of already.
“Connor McGregor is alive,” Graham says, his voice clear and loud in the small room. Every face turns towards him, a low hum passing through the room as he commands the complete attention of the Kings. “I know where he is,” he continues. “And if I can bring him home, the rightful McGregor can take his place–here, at this table.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
LIAM
There’s a brief moment of stunned silence, and then the table erupts. I feel the room tilt as I stand there, shocked, gripping the edge of the table just to keep myself upright as I stare at Luca, who is still refusing to meet my eyes. Viktor does, though, his glare cool as he watches me.
“You said he was dead,” I hiss at Niall as the table argues, and when I look at him, his face is as pale and shocked as I imagine mine is at this moment.
“I had heard good evidence that he was,” Niall says quietly. “But if this is true–”
“If this is true–then I can’t hold it.” I grit my teeth as the table settles down, the men voting once again.
When it comes back, this time, it’s unanimous. There’s a moment’s discussion with Graham, who then stands up. As the one holding the right-hand seat, it’s his right to pass judgment, no matter how much it rankles with me that he does.
“Liam McGregor will be punished today, in sight of all gathered here for his broken vow,” Graham intones. “There will be no changes in leadership here today, but it is determined that all efforts will be made to find Connor McGregor and bring him home. If he returns, the table will take another vote.” He smiles grimly. “I don’t think you have to think hard, lad, to guess what that edict will be.”
Luca still won’t meet my eyes. The sharp, piercing sense of betrayal runs deep–I might have expected it of Viktor, but I would never have thought that Luca wouldn’t have my back in the end when it truly mattered.
“You promised to bow to our judgment, lad,” Graham reminds me, and I slowly straighten, feeling every muscle in my body tense at what’s to come.
But I refuse to flinch. I wouldn’t have allowed them to kill me without a fight, but I’d known there would be a punishment. I’d told Ana I was willing to accept it for her sake, and I’d meant it.
Whatever I have to do to show the table that I am capable of leading them, that the seat should remain mine, I will do.
Slowly, I unbutton my shirt, stripping it off and handing it to Niall. He takes it, his expression grim, staying nearby in case I need him to defend me. But I’m not worried about them killing me–not today.
“Saoirse.” Graham turns to look at his daughter. “Liam McGregor broke a solemn vow made to you. The first part of his punishment is yours to administer.”
She stands gracefully, taking the thin iron rod he holds out to her, the length of a hand and the width of one of her fingers. Graham lights a candlestick, holding it to the end of the rod until the first inch or so of it glows brightly. Then Saoirse meets my eyes, coolly walking to my end of the table and holding the rod outstretched.
“For the hand that proved false when it signed the contract that bound you to me,” she recites, her voice smooth and flat, emotionless–as if she weren’t holding out an instrument to burn me. “For five seconds, Liam.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Niall swears behind me. “Liam, for fuck’s sake, man–”
It’s one thing to have something done to you. It’s another to be forced to do it to yourself. But there’s no choice here. If I have any hope of holding this seat, I have to face my punishment fearlessly, to accept the will of the Kings up to a point, to show them that I can be the leader my father wasn’t.
Saoirse holds my gaze, and I see something in them, daring me not to do it. To humiliate myself and her further, in front of this table, and see what happens.
