Page 12 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“Yes.” Wulfric tilted his head, with a subtle and infuriatingly satisfied smile. “Right down to the wine.”
“Fairy wine?” Nia let out an incredulous laugh, pacing the office like a furious, caged cat. “You manipulative shitbag.”
Dread pooled in Lochlan’s stomach. “You drugged us?”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Wulfric waved dismissively. “Fairy wine merely lowers inhibitions. You were fully yourselves, just more… impulsively honest.” His gaze moved smoothly between them. Nia glared. Lochlan stood, mouth slack in disbelief. “I saw you two had finally noticed each other, and took the opportunity to enact my plan.”
“Plan?” Nia demanded. “What do you want?”
Wulfric spread his hands in an easy, practiced gesture. “Simply for my lovely daughter to find love. To be happy.” His voice was calm and confident. “To be part of my life again.”
“Never,” Nia snapped.
“You’re here now, aren’t you?”
“Under force and coercion!”
Wulfric waved lazily toward Lochlan. “There is nothing about this union you did not both willingly enter into. Force? Coercion? Oh, I think not. Even if it is for the best.”
Nia scoffed. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me anymore.”
Her voice was ice-cold but Wulfric didn’t flinch. Instead, his knowing smile deepened.
“My dear, all I’ve ever wanted is your safety and happiness. A life filled with love.”
Nia’s laugh was bitter. “Like the life you forced on my mother?”
For the first time, Wulfric’s polished expression slipped.
“You may have stolen her choices from her.” Nia raised her chin defiantly. “But you will not take or dictate mine.”
Silence thickened between them, tense and stifling. Nia turned her glare on Lochlan, eyes narrowed as if preparing to curse him.
“Were you in on this?”
Lochlan lifted his hands, palms open in a desperate show of innocence. “Absolutely not.”
She looked furious, but Lochlan could see the pain beneath her anger, and he wanted to be the one to ease her hurt.
“He was not involved,” Wulfric interjected. “But don’t think I didn’t do my research.”
“What was there to research?” Nia’s gaze raked over Lochlan, as if he were an enigma she was trying to decipher. Her scrutiny triggered the part of himself that was always careful to stay unnoticed. He looked away.
“Lochlan is a son of Dover,” Wulfric said, almost gleeful, “and what is it now? Third in line to that throne the regulars sit on?”
“Third?” Lochlan exclaimed.
Last he’d checked, he was tenth. Not that it mattered; the title was just symbolic. Had something happened to his family? His hand instinctively went to his pocket, fumbling for his phone. He didn’t follow the royal news and made a point to stay out of it. No feeds, no updates, nothing that reminded him of a family that had never treated him like he belonged.
“There have been some… accidents,” Wulfric continued, his delivery as casual as if he were conveying the week’s weather forecast. “I’m sorry to say your aunts and uncles have passed.”
Lochlan scrolled through the list, his stomach sinking.
Train accident.
Riding accident.
Crushed by a cow.
