Chapter 31
Lochlan
“A PRINCE FOR THE MASSES—HERE IS WHAT WE KNOW.” —A PAGANS BLOG
A knock jolted Lochlan awake. Groggy, he blinked as Thane moved to the cabin door, sliding it open just enough to let the person on the other side speak.
“Fifteen minutes, Your Highness,” a crisp voice announced.
Lochlan sat up, rolling the stiffness from his neck as his gaze drifted to the small window.
The lush, magical scenery of Stella Rune was gone, replaced by gray lines of stone and steel.
The city outside rose like a fortress, cold and imposing, its silhouette broken only by the gleam of a distant palace.
Even the forest beyond the city seemed hostile, its trees clustered darkly, barring entry.
He turned his attention to his brother, who had shut the door with a quiet click and was now adjusting the stiff collar of a meticulously pressed uniform.
It was a jarring contrast to the sweater and jeans Thane had worn earlier, his casual clothing replaced by polished boots and regalia that radiated authority.
“Who was at the door?” Lochlan asked, stifling a yawn.
“Royal guard,” Thane replied, checking the watch on his wrist. “We’ve got fourteen minutes before they escort us to the palace.”
Lochlan nodded absently, pushing himself up and stepping into the cramped bathroom. The dim light reflected a worn and wary version of himself. He splashed cold water on his face, hoping to wash away some of the fatigue and anxiety that clung to him.
As he wiped his face dry, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A news notification flashed across the screen. Lochlan swiped it away before he could process the words. The recent headlines were irritating, and he wasn’t ready to face whatever was being said.
His chest tightened when he noticed two missed texts from Nia in the hours since he’d left. The first was a photo of Jade sprawled across his pillow, one paw flung dramatically over her face, the second a single sentence:
Nia
I think she misses you.
Lochlan stared at the screen longer than he meant to, his throat constricting. Did Nia miss him too? He smiled faintly, his thumb brushing over the screen as he typed.
Me
Good morning, love. Almost there. I’ll text you when I’m settled.
A second knock at the door forced him to pocket the phone. He steeled himself, bracing for the next chapter of this journey. As the train came to a halt, Lochlan moved to leave, but Thane stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“We have to wait for the guards.”
A moment later, the door slid open, and a pair of royal guards stepped inside. Their polished uniforms and rigid movements made the cramped cabin feel even smaller. Lochlan followed Thane as they were escorted out in a formal procession.
A cold wind greeted them on the platform, a startling contrast to the warmth of the train.
Beyond the train, a crowd of people were held back by barriers, their voices rising in a chaotic mix of cheers and shouts.
Lochlan caught a glimpse of signs waving in the air, some too blurry to read, others loud and clear:
“Marry me, Prince Thane!”
“Put a baby in me Prince Daddy!”
Lochlan shook his head, suppressing a startled laugh as his brother smiled wide and waved to the crowd, his composure unshaken as the screams grew louder.
The guards ushered them quickly into a waiting SUV.
Lochlan settled into the seat, grateful the blacked-out windows muffled the chaos outside as the door shut behind him.
Thane pulled out a sleek black tablet and began reading.
The drive to the palace was brief and uneventful, the SUV closely following the speeding escort cars.
The scenery outside blurred past as they approached the imposing gates, where another crowd had gathered, their cheers barely audible from inside the vehicle.
Instead of entering through the main gates, they were directed to a side entrance, shielded from prying eyes.
The SUV rolled to a stop in front of a red-carpeted entryway.
As Lochlan stepped out, a man in a sleek suit—a palace attendant—approached briskly, clearly intent on taking charge. Before he could say a word, Thane stepped forward, his tone clipped and firm. “I’ll handle it. Bring the bags to his room.”
The attendant hesitated, flustered, but quickly obeyed, bowing slightly before signaling to other staff.
Lochlan adjusted his coat, his gaze drifting to the palace staff around them.
Their stares were impossible to ignore, each one assessing, bowing slightly as he passed.
It made his skin crawl. He couldn’t help but wonder how Nia would react to all this pomp and formality.
She’d probably roll her eyes and mutter a biting observation about ridiculous traditions. The thought brought on a small smile.
He missed her already.
Instead of leading him inside, Thane veered away from the castle entrance and staff and toward the palace wall, gesturing for Lochlan to follow as Echo trailed close behind.
The hidden path at the back of the sprawling estate was unfamiliar, its narrow trail opening into a secluded garden Lochlan didn’t recognize. Beyond it rose the massive greenhouse.
Flashes of memory surged, unbidden and raw: glass cracking in the sudden heat; the all-consuming desperation to save whatever he could; the blinding pain of burns and loss as Thane dragged him out.
Thane narrated details of the restoration process, gesturing to this part or that, but the words barely registered for Lochlan.
He stepped through the doors, his gaze drawn to the large sequoia tree anchoring the space.
At its base, faint vines of orchids clung stubbornly, their blooms vibrant against the rough bark.
Thane had told him the truth—it had grown back.
Herbalists wove among the plants, their movements purposeful and graceful, each step like part of a sacred dance.
Their hands glowed faintly with magic, trailing soft golden light as they tended to leaves and stems with reverent care.
The air was thick with the scent of earth and life—rich, loamy soil mingling with the crisp tang of herbs and the sweetness of blooming flowers.
Around them, the greenery pulsed faintly, the plants responding to the touch of their caretakers.
Colors bloomed in vivid, almost dreamlike intensity: emerald leaves glittered with morning dew, and blossoms in shades of sapphire, ruby, and amber seemed to hum with their own quiet energy. It was a world alive and vibrant—a striking contrast to the cold stone of Dover.
Thane’s voice cut through the haze. “Your father’s work and greenhouse were too important to abandon. They just needed… protecting.”
Lochlan moved deeper into the space, taking it all in.
He should have felt something—pride, perhaps, or connection—but all he felt was an unexpected emptiness.
The greenhouse was enchanting, but it felt foreign, now.
Whatever spirit his father had imbued into this place, it was gone, and however lovely and magical a place it was, it felt like someone else’s project now.
Thane, who had been subtly watching him, leaned in. “It’s yours, if you want it.”
The words should have stirred something in Lochlan, but he felt no desire, no draw to the place he’d once treasured above all others—instead he felt hollowed.
His father’s garden was gone. Though Thane had done the right thing in restoring the plants other witches would help thrive, none of it replaced or made right what Lochlan himself had lost.
Without a word, he turned and strode back the way they’d come, his pace brisk as he cut through the meticulously kept royal gardens. The pristine hedges and vibrant flower beds were beautiful, but they felt lifeless, devoid of the warmth he craved.
“Lochlan?” Thane rushed after him, his steps quick, his concern palpable. “What is it?”
He shook his head. Grief moved through him like a wave, harsh and flattening. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to feel empty.
Then he saw her.
He hadn’t anticipated running into Drusilla so soon after arriving. She stood to one side of the path, eyes glued to her phone, oblivious. He could slip away before she noticed. But courage—or maybe just stupidity—stirred inside him. He had come back for a reason, and he would see it through.
“Drusilla.”
Her head snapped up, her gaze locking onto him like she was seeing a ghost.
Lochlan’s magic stirred—not the herbalist magic that sought life, growth, and care, but the shadows. They crawled toward her, clawed at her. Not physically, not in a way anyone could see, but he felt the shadows coiling inside him, reaching and searching for something within his sister.
He shut them off, jolted by the power.
It wasn’t just reflexive—it was aware. He hadn’t fully understood the depth of what he shared with Nia until now.
The shadows weren’t just a tool to wield; they felt.
They sought out pain, fed off it, connected him to it.
And if he pushed harder, if he let himself sink into it, he suspected he could feel anyone’s darkness.
Drusilla approached slowly, her lips curling into a predatory smirk.
That look—it was nothing like their mother’s cold indifference.
If he really considered her, she looked much more like her father.
Lochlan and Thane could have passed for full brothers—they had their mother’s deep skin tone, hair, and eyes, while Drusilla favored the late king with his fair skin and dark hair.
Drusilla reached Lochlan just as Thane caught up, breathless.
“Well, look who found the balls to show his face,” she said, sharp as a blade. “The bastard whose very existence is causing the monarchy to crumble.”
Thane scowled. “Drusilla, don’t be so crass.”
“No,” Lochlan said evenly. “She isn’t wrong. But she missed the part where it’s our mother’s fault. I’m just the evidence of her failures.”
Drusilla’s eyes darkened. “How dare you talk about the queen like that.”