Chapter 5
Five
Cadden
The Past
I do and I don’ts. What will it be?
A rebellious daughter and an uncrowned king.
Love’s a weakness. Power’s a game.
She and I are both the same.
—Cadden James Connelly
“This is not happening!” I glare at my father across the dining table, where he’s sitting next to Oliver Devereux with a shit-eating grin stretched across his smug face. “No fuckin’ way!”
“I’m sorry, son. But while you were out looking for Miss Beibhinn, we discussed your pending marriage at great length, and we’ve decided that you are a perfect pairing.”
“Your father told me a lot about the kind of man you are,” Oliver adds, making me wonder what exactly my father said. Did he paint me in the light he shines above me, or did he expose the shadows he keeps me under?
“My daughter needs someone who can keep up with her… unique personality.” His gaze flicks towards Beibhinn, who is glaring daggers across the table.
“With all due respect, Mr Devereux, your daughter is a fuckin’ nutcase.”
Ignoring my statement, Beibhinn cuts across me, directing her rage at her father. “And what?” She punctuates her question by waving her hand through the air. “No, let me guess… You believe this”—she hitches her thumb in my direction—“uptight wannabe gangster is up for the challenge.”
“Beibhinn Annabel Devereux,” he scolds her with a firm tone. “We spoke about this on the drive down. You know your place. Liam belongs in Killybegs, and you need to find a man of equal value. Cadden’s set to be a king, and he needs a strong woman next to him. You have the makings of a great queen, and by marrying Cadden, it will guarantee you become one.”
I try to ignore the fact that her initials literally spell BAD, but the words of the poem she set fire to come rushing to the forefront of my mind and knock the wind from my lungs.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love?—
I and my Annabel Lee?—
Fortunately, while I am busy swallowing my tongue, Beibhinn is quick to retaliate, forcing me to leave my thoughts behind. “This is bullshit! I don’t want to leave Killybegs, and I don’t want to be some pompous prick’s rent-a-vagina. Liam doesn’t even want this life, but I do . Yet here you are, shipping me off instead of allowing me to carry on the Devereux name in our own fucking sector.”
Oliver’s jaw tightens, and then through gritted teeth, he sends his daughter a warning that silences the room. “Watch your mouth, Beibhinn. The time for childish tantrums is gone. You will marry this boy when you turn eighteen. Like it or not, you don’t have a choice in the matter.”
Her next words are low, muttered under her breath for my ears only. “Fuck the patriarchy.” If I wasn’t so pissed at her little firebug antics earlier, I would have laughed at her assessment of the syndicate traditions. Beibhinn doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d deign to play a part in a man’s world. I don’t know her well enough to pinpoint her personality, but from what little I do know, she seems like she marches to her own beat, regardless of whether or not she’s in time to the music.
“So, it’s settled then. Beibhinn will become a Connelly.”
My hand whips towards the seat next to me, pointer finger locked and loaded, aimed at the psychopath to my left. “But, Dad!” I protest. “She’s fucking unhinged.”
“Speak for yourself,” Beibhinn grunts while murdering the carrot on her plate by jabbing it with her fork over and over, as if she’s envisioning my face. I don’t know what the hell this girl has against me, but her disdain is embedded in her every movement. It’s clear she doesn’t want any part of this facade, but there is nothing either of us can do to stop this. Arranged marriages are what the syndicate thrives on. By combining powerful families, even more powerful alliances are born. As the only heir, it is my duty. My job is to take over when I come of age and to do that, I need a wife. This is not a new revelation. I’ve known about the marriage trial for years. I was very young when I found out my father didn’t love my mother, that they were married only because of what she brought to the table—producing a son worthy of a throne. Theirs was a marriage arranged by their fathers, and over time, I’ve come to terms with knowing whoever would stand next to me would be chosen for me, too. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Contrary to the path my father is paving for me, I believe the next generation can make a difference, one worthy of the motto we abide by. When I take my place, I want to cut toxicity from the veins of our leaders and reclaim the pride we once had, one nation, one whole. The Irish flag bleeds green, white, and gold; colours intended to symbolise the inclusion and the aspiration for unity between people of different traditions on one island. I strive to cull the hate, the corruption, and the fear by replacing the old ways with leaders who speak for the people. The syndicate has the money to do good. Unfortunately, money breeds power, and power in the wrong hands creates violence among the men hoping to claim it.
I do not agree with a lot of what my father forces upon me, and our visions for the Munster sector couldn’t be further apart. At the end of the day, Dingle will become my kingdom, along with the rest of Munster. One day I will reign. So, for now, I must do what is asked of me, including marrying someone I could never love.
Knowing my father and how he works, I assume he has vetted every girl on this island within my age bracket, searching for a bride worthy of his son. How he landed on this heathen is beyond me. She’s a nutcase, not a queen.
I’ve accepted my fate, truly I have. In saying that, I can’t—and won’t—allow myself to be tied to Gothic Barbie. Hoping to plead my case, I proceed with my refusal before any contracts are signed that’ll tie me to a fucking lunatic. “She held a gun against my temple.”
Beibhinn shakes her head, then, after dropping her fork onto her plate with a clink, she folds her arms across her chest, mocking me with her accompanying eye roll. “There’s no need for all the theatrics, Cadden. It was a pellet gun, not a Glock.”
“Excuse me! I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the make and model, I was too busy worrying about the barrel pressed to my skull.”
With scrunched facial features, Beibhinn fires back, “If anyone is to blame here, it’s you. Weren’t you ever taught to keep your hands to yourself?”
I don’t mention my books, or how she set them alight, because knowing my father, he’d applaud her for destroying the one thing I find any comfort in. He’s never supported my hobby, insisting real men don’t busy themselves with such nonsense. Finn Connelly would be thrilled to know my future bride agrees, which would only serve to tip the scale further in her favour.
Craning my neck, I direct my attention to my left. “Are you saying you agree with this farce? Because I’d bet you don’t have any interest in this marriage either.”
“Well done, Captain Obvious.”
“Children,” My father announces, bringing our bickering to a halt. “I suggest you learn to put your differences behind you. After all, you two will be spending a lot of time together.”
Before I can place any meaning behind my father’s words, Oliver draws my gaze towards him when he lifts his napkin from his lap and drops it onto his empty plate. “Beibhinn, darling, while you were off… exploring, Finn and I decided it would be best for you to get to know Cadden better by spending your summer break with the Connellys.”
In sync, both Beibhinn and I push from the table, palms braced on the top as our protests fly past our lips. Something pulls me towards her, forcing my head to crane until my eyes latch onto hers, both of us staring at one another. Time freezes as we hold each other with nothing but a look. The air in my lungs stills, trapped in place by the icy blue irises that stare straight into my soul.
I’ve no idea how long we stay like that, looking at each other and seeing a reflection of ourselves.
My father’s voice cuts through our stare-down, but we hold our gaze, neither of us ready to cut the connection. “Spend the summer together. Get to know one another. Then in seven weeks, we will sign the contracts for your intent to marry.”
Beibhinn breaks away first, but she doesn’t wait around for the judgement coming from the opposite side of the table, nor does she comment on the demand. Instead, she stomps towards the exit, her black biker boots clunking with every step. The door slams behind her, punctuating her swift departure.
I swallow the lump in my throat as my father clears the tension in the room with a cough.
“Looks as though you two are more alike than you believe.”
Needing to erase whatever the fuck that was from my mind, I mutter, “Doubtful.”