Chapter 23
Nia
“IT’S A FULL MOON - WHAT IT SAYS FOR YOUR SIGN.” —A PAGANS BLOG
Nia stepped into the ballroom of the Videt and immediately regretted it.
The space was breathtaking—a towering monument to magic, history, and power.
Ornate marble floors gleamed beneath enchanted chandeliers, their flickering light stretching up to vaulted ceilings so high they disappeared into shadow.
Stained glass windows depicting legendary supernaturals lined the walls, the moonlight spilling through them in fractured rainbows.
She hated it here.
The Videt had started as a sanctuary for non-humans, created generations after the founder of Stella Rune passed.
And for a long time, it stayed that way—safe, hidden, sacred.
But peace makes some people restless. Over time, the ambitious crept in, and there were always those who believed magic shouldn’t stay hidden, who wanted more.
The Anti-Glamour Coalition rose from that unrest, and at the head of it were Nia’s ancestors, the Cabots.
Eventually, they had gained control of the Videt.
The history books called it a shift in leadership, a political realignment.
The Cabot family had ruled for generations, wielding their mind-walking magic to “commune” with the goddess—also known as the Mother.
Supposedly, she whispered through them, guiding their every decision.
Then her father had taken over.
Now the Videt was part museum, part sacred site, part supernatural capital, where laws were upheld, magic was studied, and her father played at being the goddess’s chosen voice.
Nia wanted nothing to do with any of it.
She had cut the Cabot name from her identity the way her ancestors once cut down anyone who challenged the goddess’s will.
So, yeah. No, thank you.
She never attended the Videt’s celebrations. The ones held in parks, or by the water, or tucked in the warmth of someone’s home were far better. But tonight, she had no choice.
Nia scanned the room. Witches she recognized by the subtle hum of their magic, fae were easy to spot, with their gorgeous ears and dazzling clothes, and several wolven who’d ditched glamour for full fur and fangs wove through the crowd.
A few other supernaturals mingled at the edges: glowing, floating, or otherwise defying physics, all of them buzzing beneath the soft strain of music.
Three guards stood along the perimeter, watching.
She knew why they were here. They weren’t protecting the guests.
They were here for The Sword.
As a child, she’d seen guards stationed outside the manor, their presence a silent warning. She saw them again, later, as an adult, when she’d spied on her father out of morbid curiosity. The guards had never made sense to her.
They hadn’t saved her mother.
And her father didn’t need saving.
A warm brush against her fingers broke through her rogue thoughts. Lochlan. The touch was fleeting—just a whisper of contact before he turned and walked away toward the bar. She watched him go, her fingers twitching with the urge to reach for him.
But that wasn’t part of the plan.
There were only four weeks until Samhain.
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. Their plan was simple: one drink, one lap around the room, be seen, and leave.
Then they’d go home to Jade, where Nia could finally breathe—and maybe let her guard down enough to face whatever this thing with Lochlan was, without the weight of expectations pressing in from all sides.
And, if anything went wrong, they could always get naked.
A ripple of gasps and whispers tore through the crowd, pulling her attention to the stage at the far end of the ballroom.
Her father entered, arms spread wide, commanding the room with ease.
A bitter pang shot through her—resentment, frustration, and, if she was honest, a flicker of fear. Nia had never seen the monster her mother described in her journal, but she knew it was there, lurking beneath the polished facade of The Sword of the Goddess.
Lochlan returned, handing her a drink, his careful distance a silent reminder.
“Your father is here,” he murmured.
She tightened her grip around the glass. “Get ready to strip.”
Lochlan huffed a quiet laugh, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.
Nia thought Wulfric would only give her a passing glance, confirming she was here before moving on to his adoring fans.
For eighteen years, she hadn’t existed to anyone but him.
A secret. A ghost. Now the wider world knew her as someone else, someone he’d have no reason to give any particular attention to.
But as Wulfric’s gaze found and held hers, Nia tensed.
The room seemed to freeze.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
“You said he wouldn’t out you as his daughter,” Lochlan murmured.
“He wouldn’t.” But as Wulfric’s sharp eyes remained locked on hers, amusement glinting in their depths, a sick realization settled in. He’s going to do it.
The energy in the room shifted—eyes bouncing between Wulfric and Nia, speculation blooming like wildfire.
Lochlan stepped closer. “Now doesn’t seem like the right time for the whole supernatural community to find out.”
Nia shot him a look. “You think?”
Before Lochlan could respond, Wulfric’s voice boomed through the room, magically amplified. “My beloved supernaturals!”
A dramatic pause.
Nia’s stomach dropped.
“Tonight, we celebrate our Mother moon in her full glory! And, in honor of this blessed night, I am delighted to introduce you to my daughter.”
The lights dimmed. Nia’s fingers tightened around her glass, knuckles turning white as a hazy blue glow bloomed around her, casting her in a spotlight. She blinked rapidly, trying to process the absurdity of the moment. The glow expanded—widening to include Lochlan.
He gave her a sidelong glance. “What the fuck,” he cursed under his breath.
“And her charming husband,” Wulfric continued, his smile almost audible. He waved his hands as if summoning applause.
Two guards in sleek suits materialized, gesturing for them to step forward.
Lochlan sighed, bumping into Nia as they were ushered forward. “Do I start taking my clothes off now?”
“I don’t know if it’ll help,” she muttered as they were ushered onto the stage.
A few people whispered her name. Others openly stared. Nia’s pulse pounded in her ears as she struggled to process the moment—what to do, where to look. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she forced herself to keep her chin high, a tight smile on her lips.
She knew these people. She’d worked beside them, helped them; now they were looking at her like she was something new, someone they didn’t know.
Her focus narrowed to Wulfric.
“You all know the Duchess of Charity,” he proclaimed, standing before the crowd, soaking up the attention like some photosynthesizing plant. “But now, I would like you to also know her as my daughter.”
The murmur of the crowd swelled, rippling outward in waves of shock and curiosity. Wulfric let it build, basking in the reaction before continuing, his voice smooth, practiced. “For years, I kept her hidden, fearing I would lose her as I lost her mother. But tonight, we no longer hide.”
Nia’s stomach twisted. No longer hide? She didn’t like the sound of that.
“She has grown into someone extraordinary, without my name, my aid, or my influence.” He turned to her. “Yet here she stands, a force in her own right. And beside her—” His eyes flicked to Lochlan. “—her husband, with deep roots in the regulars’ world.”
Lochlan cursed under his breath as understanding sank like a stone in Nia’s gut. She saw it now: the threads of his plan weaving together. This wasn’t about claiming her. It was about Wulfric using her and Lochlan for some political purpose.
The fucker.
Wulfric’s voice rang through the ballroom, his smile practically glowing with satisfaction.
“The union of Pyronia Cabot and Prince Lochlan of Dover is just the beginning—a happy omen of what’s to come.
But enough from me,” Wulfric declared. “Tonight is a celebration! Let us dance, let us revel, and when the Mother’s light reaches her peak, my daughter will honor her fullness by awakening the Lunaflor. ”
The room murmured in approval as the lights dimmed and the music swelled.
Nia barely had time to process what the hell had just happened before an elder appeared at her side.
She took several steps away, eyes locked onto her father.
Her blood boiled. This whole moment was orchestrated.
Just like her marriage. Just like so many other aspects of her life.
“How dare you,” she hissed under her breath.
Wulfric’s expression didn’t falter. “I dare to do whatever I please, so long as it ensures a bright and prosperous future for us all, Pyronia Cabot.”
Her jaw clenched at the name given to her at birth, which she’d cut away like a rotting limb. She shoved the anger down, focusing on what mattered. “What are you after?”
Wulfric ignored the question entirely. “Elder Patrick will prepare you for the blessing of the flower.” Then, with a saccharine smile, “Would you like your doting husband by your side as you prepare?”
Internally, yes. Goddess, yes. Her mind was buzzing, her skin felt too tight, and her heart was hammering out of rhythm.
He had just outed her to the entire supernatural world.
Everyone would have questions—about her, about her work, about whether she’d built it all herself, or if her success had been his all along.
She’d hated being a secret. But she’d realized and accepted that severing ties from Wulfric meant cutting herself free from more than him—it meant cutting herself free from a lineage of monsters, a heritage of corruption.
Before she could form these words, Lochlan stepped in. “Nia may not want me by her side,” he said, voice steady, “though I would prefer to be with her.”
Goddess, she needed him right now. But she couldn’t let it show. “Fine.”