Chapter 5
Lochlan
“WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT THE UNWANTED HEIR.” —THE WEEKLY HEX
“You fucking shitbag!” Nia yelled, storming into the office of Wulfric ‘The Sword’ Cabot—the man who governed most of the magical community. The Blade of the Goddess. The most powerful supernatural, as far as Lochlan was concerned.
And Lochlan’s boss.
After Becket regained consciousness and insisted he was fine, Nia had bolted.
Lochlan had chased after her, following as she ran straight out of the office, through Stella Rune, up the steep hill, past concerned regulars and supernaturals alike.
Lochlan caught up just as she’d reached the Videt, the massive domed structure that sat atop a cliff overlooking the ocean.
He had trailed behind Nia as she blew past the very confused—and entirely useless—security guard, then up several floors, bypassing Wulfric’s elderly assistant, before barreling into the imposing office.
The room was all dark wood and towering shelves.
The windows were open, letting in a sea breeze and the sound of crashing waves.
Writhing shadows sent papers fluttering, a globe spinning, and a few picture frames tilting askew.
Lochlan barely had time to catch his breath before Nia was across the room.
Wulfric, unnervingly calm, watched her skid to a stop before his desk. A small, knowing smile played on his lips as he smoothed his mustache, then spread his arms wide in an almost theatrical welcome.
“My lovely daughter,” Wulfric declared, his tone rich with amusement. “What a joy it is to see you after all this time. Seven years, eleven months, and one day, to be exact.” His gaze slid to Lochlan with a conspiratorial wink. “And who is this strapping young man with you?”
Lochlan’s brows shot up as his brain scrambled to process what he’d just heard.
Daughter.
The word reverberated in his head like an echo in the tunnels beneath Stella Rune.
He had known Wulfric for years. The man had plucked him—a hurt, wide-eyed eighteen-year-old—from one path and set him on another.
He’d granted the scholarship that had shaped the course of Lochlan’s life; he’d been a mentor, a boss, a guiding presence Lochlan respected deeply, not just for the power he wielded, but the personal investment he’d made in Lochlan.
In all this time, Wulfric had never mentioned having any family—let alone a daughter.
Now that daughter was Lochlan’s accidental wife?
Well, soon-to-be ex-wife.
“I will murder you!” Nia’s spat, jolting Lochlan from his thoughts.
“Patricide?” Wulfric interjected smoothly, his amusement cutting through the tension. “I’m touched.”
“What did you do to those lawyers?” she growled. “Why are you interfering with the annulment?”
Wulfric ignored her and turned toward Lochlan. “I’m sorry, where are my manners. What was your name?”
Lochlan’s eyes narrowed. “Lochlan, sir.”
“Polite and handsome? How marvelous!” He stood and walked toward his bar cart, one he’d served Lochlan a drink from countless times. “Let us toast to your nuptials and the advantageous coupling you’ve found yourselves in.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know his name,” Nia spat. “You saw it when you were rooting around the minds of those lawyers.”
Wulfric was a mensiter, a dream walker, and could travel through people’s thoughts, regardless of how far away they were. Everyone in the magical community knew as much. What Lochlan wanted to know was why The Sword was keeping their familiarity from his daughter.
And why he’d kept the existence of his daughter a secret from Lochlan.
Wulfric cut him a look Lochlan interrupted as: I have my reasons.
“Wait. An advantageous marriage?” Nia looked between them. “Why would you think that?”
Wulfric leaned back, swirling the crystal decanter in his hand, silent but watchful.
Nia gasped sharply. “Oh no.”
She ran a hand across her face.
“What?” Lochlan asked, his heart quickening.
“He planned this whole thing.”
Lochlan’s gaze jumped from Nia to Wulfric, bewildered. Why would a powerful, calculating man like Wulfric want someone like him anywhere near his daughter?
“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.
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.