"Everything's already in motion," he says.
"The council knows you're a liability. They've seen the surveillance. They know about the pregnancy. They know Ruairí is unpredictable, and they're banking on your breaking before he does. But if you come to Brussels with me—just for a few weeks, just until the city stabilizes—I can protect the legacy. The money. The title, if you still want it. I have access to the accounts. I know how to shield the paper trail. You wouldn't have to play queen in a castle full of traitors anymore."
He lets the pitch settle before adding the part I knew was coming.
"There would be expectations, of course."
I don't move.
"Say it."
He lifts a shoulder, not quite a shrug.
"You wouldn't be under house arrest. But you'd be with me. There's a difference between safety and independence. And I'm not offering both."
For a moment, the room goes completely still.
Even the radiator quiets.
His gaze stays on mine.
He doesn't touch me, doesn't make a crude joke, doesn't cheapen it.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
"You're offering to take me in," I say slowly, "if I sleep with you and give up the fight."
He says nothing.
I let the silence grow until it's too heavy to ignore.
"Tell me something, Liam. How many women have you offered a safe bed while the fire spreads outside the door?"
Liam's face blotches and becomes an ugly shade of red.
"You think they'll protect you?" he counters, his voice dropping.
"You think that bodyguard of yours is going to come running? Or that Ruairí will appear like some fabled avenger when your world starts to crack?"
I hold my ground.
"You made your pitch, Liam. You should have left it there."
He steps closer, slow and measured.
"You said no once before. I can live with that. But this time, you're being a fool. You need to understand what it costs to say no to men like Padraig and me. There are rules, Keira. This city has always run on rules. You break one, and the consequence comes with it. And right now, the rule you're breaking is the one that kept you alive this long."
There's no weapon in his hands, but I can see it in thetightness of his shoulders, in the line of his jaw.
He isn't here to reason with me anymore.
He's here to take whatever scraps of power he thinks he can still wring out of this house, and if that means hurting me, he's already made peace with it.
I shift my weight slightly, enough to prepare if he lunges.
I have a pistol upstairs.
One in the sideboard in the dining room.
