Page 76 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“What the fuck, man,” a gravelly voice came from behind him. “Are you going to make the damned sandwich or what?”
Lochlan turned, blinking as if he’d been yanked out of a dream. He hadn’t heard that voice in eight years.
“Don’t leave, I’m sorry. We can make it work. It will be better.”
His brother, Thane, stepped out from the shadows of the hall. Broad and built like a fortress, with neatly cut dark hair and amber eyes that usually scanned a room as if assessing it for threats. Now, though, his gaze was guarded—and fixed on Lochlan.
Lochlan stepped forward. Both men opened their arms, and he caught the flicker of warmth in Thane’s expression, the softening around his eyes as they crinkled at the edges. The embrace was all back slaps and awkward angles, but Lochlan still lingered, wondering how Thane had appeared.
“How did you?—?”
“The greenhouse.” Thane stepped back, brushing a bit of lint from his coat like he hadn’t just broken in.
“The greenhouse?” Lochlan repeated, frowning. “There’s no way you got past Jade—and the ducks.”
Thane’s lips twitched. “Don’t worry. She’s enjoying an expensive slab of steak, and your ducks are eating the finest strawberries I could find. Echo is with them.”
Lochlan blinked. “You still have him?”
Echo had been just a pup when Lochlan left. Thane always worked with dogs, treated them like extensions of himself: trusted, disciplined, efficient. Just like the tech he designed and built.
As for what those missions were, and why or how Thane deployed both his dogs and his tech? Lochlan had never gotten the full picture. He’d worked up the courage to ask, once, when he was younger. At the time, he’d thought his brother might be off thwarting terrorist plots, quelling rebellions, even dramatically rescuing a damsel or two. But Thane had never shared details.
He nodded now. “Echo’s getting old, but he’s still sharp. I didn’t see a reason to send him away.”
Lochlan raised an eyebrow. “From high-security missions for the crown to distracting dogs and ducks. Are you finally slowing down, Thane?”
A flicker of amusement crossed Thane’s features. “Since when are you so feisty?”
“Since you broke into my house,” Lochlan shot back, crossing his arms. “Why are you here?”
Thane tilted his head, studying Lochlan like he was trying to place a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. “I’ve been busy.”
“Right. Preparing to take the throne, cleaning up our family’s messes, fighting off the crown’s enemies—or whatever it is you do—must be exhausting.” Lochlan leaned against the counter. “Did you pencil me in between a coup and a crisis? Or am I the crisis?”
Thane gave the barest shrug. “The timing worked.”
“And this is the first time in eight years ‘the timing worked?’”
Eight years since he had left everything behind, since the fire that consumed his father’s legacy—and his own. Generations of carefully cultivated plants, the collection within the greenhouse as old as the castle itself, all gone in an instant when his sister, Drusilla, had burned it in a fit of rage.
The scars along his calves pulsed with phantom pain at the memory. The skin had long since healed, but the ache beneath it lingered—flaring up when the weather turned cold, when he pushed himself too hard, or when the past refused to stay buried. They were a permanent reminder of everything he’d lost.
“It’s time to come home,” Thane said quietly.
A humorless laugh escaped Lochlan. “Home?”
Thane’s expression didn’t change. “You’re third in line, Lochlan. We need to show… a strong family bond.”
“That will be a little hard when there is no family bond,” Lochlan said flatly. “Why now?”
Thane’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting away for the briefest second. Lochlan didn’t know what specific problem or threat had brought Thane, but he knew enough to guess. There was always someone trying to dismantle the last vestiges of power the monarchy still clung to—oversight of international military operations, approval for government spending, and so on—the people ever-more hungry for democracy and eager to take power.
Good. Let them. As far as Lochlan could see, the royal family was no more fit to wield that power than anyone else. Possibly less.
His existence had been a gift to the Dover Coalition—in an era rife with dissatisfaction about the way the country was being ruled, he was living proof that the queen herself wasn’t perfect, that her judgement could be compromised. Rumors of corruption and greed came on the heels of those related to her infidelity; perhaps she was no more faithful to her vow to protect her country than the one she took to her husband the king. The moment the world learned about Lochlan, cracks in public opinion had started to form—and as people dug deeper and learned more, they seemed less convinced the queen was a fit ruler, or that a royal family should be ruling at all.
But there was nothing Lochlan could do about that now, even if he’d wanted to.
