Page 13 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
The explanations grew more outlandish and improbable, yet there they were, cataloged with eerie detachment. No foul play. No common thread. Just a string of bizarre incidents. Lochlan covered his mouth with one hand, trying to stifle the rising wave of panic as he paced the office.
What a fucking nightmare.
“Me being a princess wouldn’t change anything,” Nia said flatly. “It’s just a title.”
“A title is always advantageous,” Wulfric replied. “It opens doors. It makes people listen. Especially in the human world.”
Lochlan sank into one of the many chairs in the office, thoughts spinning wildly. A bastard. A witch. Now third in line to the throne?
His gaze flicked to Nia. She was watching him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, something passed between them—concern, or maybe just curiosity—but then it was gone. Her shoulders squared, jaw tightening as she turned on her father.
“I made a vow.” Her voice cracked like a whip.
“And you made one last night, too,” Wulfric replied, unshaken.
Nia’s shadows lashed through the air, slamming into the bar cart and sending it crashing across the room.
“I will make you pay for this.”
Wulfric shrugged. “How, dear daughter? My secrets hold no power over me. I have nothing to lose, no aspirations beyond your care and safety. Unlike you.”
“Why are you doing this?” Lochlan asked.
Even to himself, his voice sounded strangely dull and devoid of emotion. This was all just too much.
“Because I can,” Wulfric said to both of them. Then, to Nia, “Can you not believe I want what is best for you? Trust that I’ve ensured Lochlan is the best choice?”
“No!” she snapped. “There’s something you want. And this won’t work—it’s barbaric.”
“Were you not the result of a forced marriage?” Wulfric asked, maddeningly calm.
“And look how that turned out,” she spat, venom in every word. But Lochlan saw the way her eyes glistened before she looked away. “Name your price.”
Wulfric raised his chin, walking to his desk with deliberate ease. He sat down, leaning back and toying with his mustache while Nia fumed, hands clenched at her sides.
Tension crackled like static in the air. Whatever their history, it had left scars deep and jagged, and Lochlan was no closer to understanding these than he had been five minutes ago.
“Fine,” Wulfric said. Nia’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I am certain I made the right choice, but I will give you the opportunity to change my mind. I’m feeling generous and my mood has lifted after being able to see you again.”
“At what cost, Wulfric?” Lochlan knew The Sword well enough to know there would be terms.
“You must live together. You must attend five family dinners, five public events of your choosing, and five witch celebrations. If after that you can prove I made the wrong choice, I will grant you the annulment by Yule.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Nia bristled with anger. “One of each. You’ll grant the annulment by Samhain. And we won’t be living together,” she countered.
“You cannot prove you are incompatible if you do not give this relationship a chance. So you will live together. Three family dinners, two witch ceremonies, and a public event approved by me. And I will decide on Samhain.”
Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the soft crash of waves outside Wulfric’s window.
“Fine.” Nia sighed, clearly frustrated. “And how can we trust you to not simply decide in your own favor?”
“We can all do a promise spell at our first family dinner, which I’m so looking forward to, dear daughter.”
Nia looked to Lochlan. “What are your thoughts?”
“What choice do we have?” he answered.
“There should always be a choice.” She glared at her father while she said it. “Are we in agreement?”
