Page 103 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“Ooh. Family drama?”
“So much family drama.” He sounded genuinely aggrieved.
Nia looked back at her phone one more time. She hoped Lochlan was okay. And if he wasn’t—well, she might just head to Dover and kick someone’s ass.
CHAPTER 33
Lochlan
“PRINCE LOCHLAN RETURNS HOME—BUT WHERE IS HIS WIFE?” —THE DOVER CENTENNIAL
The corridor was as still as a crypt. Even Lochlan’s own footsteps felt intrusive, their echoes ricocheting down the yawning halls lit by high, arched windows. His shadow stretched long and distorted across the stone floors, as if reaching futilely for something it could never quite grasp.
This wing of the palace had once felt alive—a hive of constant movement and peaceful purpose. He could almost hear the distant chatter of staff, the soft swish of skirts, the hurried click of heels, and the subtle hum of hidden magic woven through the mundane tasks of running a royal household.
Now, it was all silence and shadows.
Only certain staff had the privilege of wielding magic openly—those like his father, whose gifts healed or created things too beautiful to be denied. Others worked in silence, their talents whispered about but never acknowledged. In the kingdom’s earlier years, magic had been celebrated and, later, weaponized as witches forged tools of war and walked beside kings.
But with the rise of technology, magic had been set aside. Not banned, but quietly pushed out. The royal bloodline held no magic, and what they couldn’t control, they feared. Across the kingdom, supernaturals had been taught to suppress or hide their gifts, and to pass as regulars.
Stella Rune was a rare sanctuary, where the Videt protected what others had chosen to forget. Magic was freedom—wild, boundless, infinite. Lochlan had learned that in Stella Rune, and Nia reminded him of it every day.
He didn’t know what he was searching for in the abandoned wing, only that he’d followed the pull of old memories and found desolation instead of consolation. This place had once been his sanctuary, the home he’d shared with his father and others like them.
Now, it felt empty.
Just like the greenhouse.
But it wasn’t just here, Lochlan realized, that hardly anyone roamed the halls—it was the entire palace. He’d noticed but hadn’t thought about it earlier: fewer staff, fewer guards. Evidence of the slow erosion of funds, presence and function, as though slow rot spread throughout the palace itself.
Lochlan’s stomach twisted. This place hadn’t evolved; it had been left behind. And he wasn’t sure what he hoped to find—or what Thane hoped bringing him back would change. He began to think there was nothing left for him to discover, or revive, nothing to rebuild. Like a tree rotted from the inside out, the palace wasn’t just lifeless; it was hollow.
But for Thane, he would stay, at least for a little while. He’d seen the crack in his brother’s resolve, that fleeting moment of vulnerability, and it lingered in his mind.
On his way back to his room, Lochlan caught the faint murmur of voices carrying down the corridor. Light spilled from the narrow crack of a door left ajar, flickering across the otherwise dim hall. Against his better judgment, he stepped closer, keeping to the shadows.
“Now that Prince Lochlan is home, we should arrange a public outing,” a clipped, officious voice said. Lochlan recognized it immediately even after all this time—the palace advisor, Malrik. “Something philanthropic to get him out in the open. The people will eat it up.”
“I have asked him to attend the Silver Guard Ceremony,” Thane said.
A derisive scoff followed. Lochlan tensed. It had been years since he’d heard her voice, but even by this small sound he recognized his mother.
“I don’t see how he could change anything,” Queen Lavinia said, her voice cool and cutting.
Malrik went on, undeterred. “Things are different now. The public loves a prince. And I think they will love him.”
“Why should they? And why should we want him here?” Lavinia snapped. “He left us. I don’t see what good it would do to parade him around. It solves none of your problems.”
Thane didn’t raise his voice, but still commanded the room. “The Dover Coalition needs to see we’re a strong family. Lochlan being here shows them they’re wrong about us. The people—” He paused, just for a moment. “—I know how much they love a prince. Two will only help. And the fact that he’s a witch? That certainly won’t hurt.”
“We can’t say that publicly,” Lavinia hissed. “You know that.”
“No,” Thane agreed. “But his community already knows. They’re watching, and some may even come out in support. The supernaturals still wield power and influence, in more ways than even we are aware. That influence and support could help us.”
Drusilla’s voice sharpened. “I won’t stand and smile next to that vile piece of?—”
Lochlan had heard enough.
