Chapter 12
Nia
Nia tapped her pen against the white tablecloth, the rhythmic sound at odds with the clatter of goblins cleaning up after the morning rush at Goblin Grind.
She sat at her usual table against the outer wall, overlooking the ocean. Heating spells kept the morning chill at bay, wrapping her in a comfortable warmth as waves rolled lazily in the distance. Normally, this spot brought her a sense of peace. Today, it didn’t.
Lately, she’d only stopped by the to-go window, grabbing her order before.
But she had hoped that sitting here, really being here, might settle her thoughts.
She’d first stumbled upon this place as a young teen, curiosity leading her through the tunnels beneath the town, drawn on by the warm, sweet scent of fresh baking and the darker, richer smell of coffee that permeated the place.
From that first moment, it had felt like hers: a quiet refuge, a place to breathe.
But even its familiar comfort wasn’t enough to quiet her mind.
She was supposed to be tallying RSVPs for the next fundraiser, but all she could think about was Lochlan—specifically, what he had walked in on last night and how quiet he’d been since.
He hadn’t said a word to her after they’d left her work.
Not one.
When they got home, he’d let Jade jump into his arms, giving her the kind of affection that made Nia’s chest ache.
Then, without so much as a glance in her direction, he’d disappeared into the backyard.
She had gone upstairs for a shower, hoping the scalding water might wash away the tension clinging to her like a second skin.
By the time she came back down, he was just coming inside, carrying two plates loaded with steak, asparagus, and potatoes, all of which smelled amazing. Not a single word was exchanged as he meticulously cut up her food, poured her a glass of water, and set the meal in front of her.
They ate in silence.
When she’d thanked him, his only response had been a nod before he’d left her to finish alone.
She had woken to an empty bed that morning, and an empty kitchen downstairs.
The only sign of Lochlan had been a cup of fresh coffee, a beautifully arranged breakfast of sweet potato hash and fluffy eggs, with a note placed beside it.
I have an early call.
—Lochlan
When Nia had left, stuffed and caffeinated, she noticed his truck parked in front of the house. She had assumed he was working from home, and had realized, abruptly, that she didn’t even know what he did for work. It made the food in her stomach twist uneasily.
Her pen still tapping relentlessly against the table, Nia’s Goblin Grind coffee sat untouched.
She was living with a complete stranger. Worse, she wasn’t even trying to change that. She hadn’t asked him questions, hadn’t tried to make dinner last night any less awkward. She told herself it didn’t matter. In six weeks, this would all be over.
That thought felt hollower now than it had just a day ago.
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up a little too quickly, warmth creeping up her neck. Not that she was hoping it was a certain quiet, brooding, plant witch. Definitely not.
Lochlan
Becket said he would like to talk to us about our situation, but we’d have to meet him at a work function. I can pick you up after work if you want?
Nia stared at the message, her grip tightening around her phone. Did Becket have a way to push the annulment through? Did that mean she had less than six weeks with Lochlan?
Me
Okay. Is there a dress code?
Lochlan
What you have on will be fine.
Me
How do you know what I’m wearing?
She stared at her phone, watching the dots appear, then vanish, then reappear.
Lochlan
What you usually wear is fine. I’ll pick you up at 6.
Me
Okay…
* * *
They arrived at a sprawling manor on the outskirts of Stella Rune.
Grand, imposing, and a little outdated—so much mahogany and dark wood it felt like stepping into a relic of the past. Nia wasn’t sure what she’d expected when Lochlan mentioned that Becket wanted them to meet him at a work event, but it wasn’t this.
There were too many suits. Too many fake smiles and polite, meaningless conversations.
She hated it.
All this space, all this potential, and it was being wasted on corporate events.
From the decor and the stale arrangements, it was obvious no one lived here anymore.
She was pretty sure it belonged to an old fae line that had been in Stella Rune since the beginning.
Nia let her gaze wander over the grand foyer, the little nooks tucked here and there, the halls off which countless rooms must hide, thinking how it could all be so much more.
Ivy had always dreamed of creating a space where witches who needed a home, or just a place to be themselves without constant scrutiny, could find safety and community.
But it was a huge project, and though they’d both been working on the idea for years, real progress still felt just out of reach.
Nia turned to Lochlan, about to ask him if he knew who owned the place, when she remembered, with an uncomfortable jolt, that they still weren’t really speaking.
Lochlan had seemed broody since he picked her up.
He took a sip of his first beer—non-alcoholic, she noted—as his eyes continued to avoid hers.
He wore black pleated slacks and a fitted knit polo, the soft texture and open collar doing ridiculous things for his already-unfair bone structure.
No jacket, no tie. Just him, all sharp edges and furrowed brow.
Did he know what he was doing, looking like that?
As they neared the bar, a cluster of well-dressed regs caught sight of them, their expressions brightening with interest; but there was no spark, no stir of recognition that came when magic encountered magic.
“Nia,” Lochlan paused and nodded, “these are some of Becket’s colleagues from his first firm.”
One of the men leaned back with a lazy smirk, but his words were edged. “Before he left us for bigger and better things.” His gaze drifted to Nia, giving her a slow, deliberate once-over.
Before she could say any of the deeply unpleasant—and doubtless accurate—things she was thinking about the man, Lochlan spoke.
“This,” he cut in smoothly, “is my wife, Nia.”
Someone in the group choked on their drink.
A momentary silence settled over the table.
Nia turned, arching a brow. Whispers of their marriage had been circling, but neither of them had publicly confirmed it. And her father? He hadn’t reached out yet about the promise spell. She had no idea when he would, which was irritating.
“The Duchess of Charity,” Lochlan added belatedly, “and a menace to society.”
His expression remained impassive as he glanced at her.
Nia slowly folded her arms. “Is that so?”
One of the men coughed. Another let out a nervous laugh.
“How absurd,” one of the women chimed in, playfully swatting his arm. “Stop teasing, Lochlan.”
Nia resisted the urge to swat the woman’s hand away as she turned toward Nia with an overly bright smile. “I read you’ve funded over two hundred charities and raised almost a hundred million dollars since you started. How do you do it?”
“Extortion,” Lochlan cut in. Nia’s stomach churned as he downed his drink in one smooth gulp, setting the empty glass down with a clink. “And I’m pretty sure she’s committed murder.”
Laughter erupted, light and carefree. They thought he was joking. Of course they did.
Nia felt the blood drain from her face.
She knew better.
Quiet Lochlan didn’t mean happy Lochlan. It meant he’d been silently freaking out about what she’d done.
“Will you excuse me and my husband?” Nia said through clenched teeth. She grabbed Lochlan by the arm, her grip firm as she steered him away. She didn’t miss the blush creeping up his cheeks.
As they walked toward an empty hallway Nia hoped would give them some privacy, she caught the first man’s whisper: “I can’t believe she married him. He’s always been so awkward.”
Nia flushed.
She sent a tendril of shadow slithering through the air, unseen, to coil around the man’s arm. His drink splashed over his suit as he jerked in surprise, sputtering while the others around him erupted into startled laughter.
Satisfied, she dragged Lochlan deeper into the abandoned hallway and spun to face him. Her finger jabbed into his chest. “What the fuck was that?”
“The truth.” His gaze flickered to her lips before darting away. “Wasn’t it?”
This conversation wasn’t going the way Nia had planned. “I thought—”
“That I wouldn’t care you were putting yourself in danger?” Lochlan kept his voice low, but each word was edged with anger, frustration. “Or that I wouldn’t care that you’re using blackmail or entrapment or who knows what else to fund your initiatives?”
“You didn’t say anything. I thought you didn’t have a problem with it,” Nia admitted. “Or, at least, that you accepted what you saw and that it wasn’t any of your business.”
His gaze locked with hers, his expression unreadable. His voice grew softer, lower as he stepped closer. “What did I see, Nia?”
She licked her lips. Nia hadn’t even told Ivy how she secured donations for their charities, let alone why she did it. Still, she leaned in, meeting his intensity head-on. “What do you think you saw?”
He ignored her question. “Have you killed anyone?”
“No.” The word came fast, defensive. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. His hands flexed at his sides, restless. “I was so worried when I first saw you, with him. Then… it seemed like you could’ve ended it so quickly if you’d wanted to.” His eyes searched her face, his expression intense. “Has anyone hurt you before?”
The question hit her like a punch to the chest.
She sucked in a breath and turned away, her gaze dropping to the floor as the tension built between them until it felt suffocating.
“Only once, when I was young,” she admitted softly, “and too quick to act. I’ve learned over the years how to be safer.”
Lochlan’s silence gnawed at her already frayed nerves, his eyes dark and guarded. “Nia…”
“What?” she snapped, irritated at herself for how vulnerable she felt, angry they were even having this conversation. “What do you want from me? What do you want me to—”
Then his arms were wrapping around her, pulling her gently but firmly against his chest. She froze for half a beat, her breath catching as his warmth enveloped her, his breath uneven against her neck.
Slowly, tentatively, she brought her arms around him, returning the embrace.
It felt extraordinary.
Their bodies fit together as if they’d been made for this moment, and she let herself melt into him.
His hands were steady and reassuring against her back, anchoring her in place.
As they each pulled back, their breaths mingled in the small space between them.
Lochlan didn’t let her go entirely; his hands still lingered lightly on her arms as he held her gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.
“Nothing matters more to me than your honesty. And your safety. I need you to trust me enough to tell me if you’re in trouble, or if there’s anything you need.”
His words struck something deep within her, loosening the tension in her chest.
Her gaze locked with his, the intensity in his light brown eyes and the determination in his expression made her heart thud harder, her breath catching in response.
“I want you to swear,” he whispered, gruffly, but before he’d even finished she heard herself blurting out—
“Yes. Yes, I’ll tell you.”
He bit his lip, like there was more he wanted to say, but was holding back.
Her gaze caught and lingered on his mouth, wondering if he looked at her lips with the same hunger she felt stirring, or if it was just her own desperation.
Warmth spread through her chest as they drew closer, curling low in her stomach as she realized she was about to find out what it was like to kiss—
“There you two are.”
Becket appeared in the hallway entrance, grinning mischievously.
Reluctantly, Nia stepped back and smoothed her clothes, trying to ground herself, while Lochlan rubbed the back of his neck.
“Becket, you said you had news?” Nia asked.
“Did I?” he replied, his gaze flicking between them like he was enjoying a private joke.
Nia glanced at Lochlan, who looked equally confused, his brow furrowed as he stared back at Becket.
“About the annulment,” she pressed, a knot of curiosity and apprehension in her chest.
“Oh, that,” Becket said casually, his smile widening just enough to make her eyes narrow. “I’ve checked with all the other lawyers who are also witches—there aren’t too many of us in Stella Rune—and asked their opinion on the situation. Anonymously, of course.”
“And?” Lochlan pressed.
“And, so far, they think more or less the same thing I do.”
“Which is?” Nia asked, exasperated.
“That there’s nothing we can do, and you’re going to have to get The Sword to grant the annulment.”
“Becket,” Lochlan pinched the bridge of his nose and said, with forced calm, “we needed to come here for you to tell us this?”
“Oh, no. I just wanted to see how you two were doing.”
Nia glanced at Lochlan, whose face mirrored her own annoyance.
“Great. Thanks.” Nia repressed the urge to kick something. Specifically, something tall and Becket-shaped. “We’d figured that much out ourselves.”
Taking a steadying breath, Nia walked away before she did something to Becket she—or, more likely, Lochlan—might regret. As she headed toward the bathroom, Nia caught Lochlan’s low curse followed by Becket’s soft chuckle. Her jaw tightened.
Becket had officially made it onto her shit list.