Chapter 33 Lochlan
Lochlan
“PRINCE LOCHLAN RETURNS HOME—BUT WHERE IS HIS WIFE?” —THE DOVER CENTENNIAL
The corridor was as still as a crypt. Even Lochlan’s own footsteps felt intrusive, their echoes ricocheting down the yawning halls lit by high, arched windows. His shadow stretched long and distorted across the stone floors, as if reaching futilely for something it could never quite grasp.
This wing of the palace had once felt alive—a hive of constant movement and peaceful purpose. He could almost hear the distant chatter of staff, the soft swish of skirts, the hurried click of heels, and the subtle hum of hidden magic woven through the mundane tasks of running a royal household.
Now, it was all silence and shadows.
Only certain staff had the privilege of wielding magic openly—those like his father, whose gifts healed or created things too beautiful to be denied.
Others worked in silence, their talents whispered about but never acknowledged.
In the kingdom’s earlier years, magic had been celebrated and, later, weaponized as witches forged tools of war and walked beside kings.
But with the rise of technology, magic had been set aside. Not banned, but quietly pushed out. The royal bloodline held no magic, and what they couldn’t control, they feared. Across the kingdom, supernaturals had been taught to suppress or hide their gifts, and to pass as regulars.
Stella Rune was a rare sanctuary, where the Videt protected what others had chosen to forget. Magic was freedom—wild, boundless, infinite. Lochlan had learned that in Stella Rune, and Nia reminded him of it every day.
He didn’t know what he was searching for in the abandoned wing, only that he’d followed the pull of old memories and found desolation instead of consolation. This place had once been his sanctuary, the home he’d shared with his father and others like them.
Now, it felt empty.
Just like the greenhouse.
But it wasn’t just here, Lochlan realized, that hardly anyone roamed the halls—it was the entire palace. He’d noticed but hadn’t thought about it earlier: fewer staff, fewer guards. Evidence of the slow erosion of funds, presence and function, as though slow rot spread throughout the palace itself.
Lochlan’s stomach twisted. This place hadn’t evolved; it had been left behind.
And he wasn’t sure what he hoped to find—or what Thane hoped bringing him back would change.
He began to think there was nothing left for him to discover, or revive, nothing to rebuild.
Like a tree rotted from the inside out, the palace wasn’t just lifeless; it was hollow.
But for Thane, he would stay, at least for a little while. He’d seen the crack in his brother’s resolve, that fleeting moment of vulnerability, and it lingered in his mind.
On his way back to his room, Lochlan caught the faint murmur of voices carrying down the corridor. Light spilled from the narrow crack of a door left ajar, flickering across the otherwise dim hall. Against his better judgment, he stepped closer, keeping to the shadows.
“Now that Prince Lochlan is home, we should arrange a public outing,” a clipped, officious voice said. Lochlan recognized it immediately even after all this time—the palace advisor, Malrik. “Something philanthropic to get him out in the open. The people will eat it up.”
“I have asked him to attend the Silver Guard Ceremony,” Thane said.
A derisive scoff followed. Lochlan tensed. It had been years since he’d heard her voice, but even by this small sound he recognized his mother.
“I don’t see how he could change anything,” Queen Lavinia said, her voice cool and cutting.
Malrik went on, undeterred. “Things are different now. The public loves a prince. And I think they will love him.”
“Why should they? And why should we want him here?” Lavinia snapped. “He left us. I don’t see what good it would do to parade him around. It solves none of your problems.”
Thane didn’t raise his voice, but still commanded the room.
“The Dover Coalition needs to see we’re a strong family.
Lochlan being here shows them they’re wrong about us.
The people—” He paused, just for a moment.
“—I know how much they love a prince. Two will only help. And the fact that he’s a witch? That certainly won’t hurt.”
“We can’t say that publicly,” Lavinia hissed. “You know that.”
“No,” Thane agreed. “But his community already knows. They’re watching, and some may even come out in support. The supernaturals still wield power and influence, in more ways than even we are aware. That influence and support could help us.”
Drusilla’s voice sharpened. “I won’t stand and smile next to that vile piece of—”
Lochlan had heard enough.
His pulse hammered in his ears as he threw the door open and stepped into the chamber.
The room was bathed in golden candlelight, soft and flickering against the high stone walls.
A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the space with a quiet warmth at odds with the tenor of the conversation.
Malrik—a thin, sharp-looking man—stiffened at the intrusion.
Thane, standing near the queen’s chair, looked wary.
But it was his mother who caught Lochlan’s attention.
Queen Lavinia sat poised, dressed in rich midnight silks, her crown resting lightly against her dark hair. She looked at him with cool, assessing eyes, as if truly seeing him for the first time.
Lochlan met her gaze. “I’m not here to solve your problems.”
“Lochlan—” Thane began.
But Lochlan cut him off. “If my presence helps, fine. But that’s not why I came.”
Lavinia stared at him, her expression unreadable, though her posture shifted almost imperceptibly. She waved a hand. “Leave us.”
Drusilla left quickly, glaring at Lochlan as she did. The advisor hesitated, but at a pointed look from the queen, he bowed and slipped out. Thane followed, but not before squeezing Lochlan’s shoulder in silent reassurance.
Then it was just the two of them.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Lavinia sighed, the sound thoughtful. “You remind me of Galan.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. Galan—his father. A name he hadn’t heard spoken in years.
“But I look like you,” Lochlan said cautiously.
“Yes.” A pause. “But you are like your father. Kind. Calm.”
An incredulous laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “What the fuck is this?” His voice was harsh and edged with disbelief. “You’ve never said anything like this before.”
Lavinia’s lips thinned. She tilted her head slightly. “You came here for closure.”
Lochlan hesitated. “I came to see if there was anything here for me.”
“There isn’t,” she said simply. “Not within these walls, at least.”
He clenched his jaw.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Tell me what you want, Lochlan.”
He studied her, searching for—he didn’t know what. Maybe he never had. But he did want to know—
“Did you ever care about my father?” He hesitated. “About me?”
Something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could name it. When she spoke, her voice was measured, quiet.
“I have always been bound by duty,” she said. “It was in my blood. In everything around me. But I rebelled in the only ways I knew how. I sought distraction—wherever I could find it. In the city, hidden behind a disguise. In the unseen corners of this castle. With Galan.”
Lochlan swallowed, his throat tight. “And me?”
She let out a slow breath. “You were proof I couldn’t run free.”
His stomach twisted, but he said nothing.
“I could be queen and still have my freedom—until you became real. Until you were undeniably your father’s son.
And so I hid you.” Her tone was even, but there was something beneath it, raw and worn thin with time.
“I tried. I tried to act as if it never happened, tried to be a good queen, a good wife, a good mother to the children my husband gave me.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things.
Then, finally: “I grieved when your father died. And you… were a reminder of what I had lost. Of what I couldn’t have.
” She lifted her chin slightly, her voice unwavering.
“I cannot change how I feel or undo what I’ve done.
But you can learn from my mistakes. Live the life you want, Lochlan.
Not the one others have told you to live. ”
Lochlan exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders in a rush.
This was the most she had ever said to him, the most honesty she had ever given. And while it wasn’t enough—it would never be enough—at least it was real.
“I don’t care for you as I should,” she finally admitted. “That is a reflection of my choices and the way I have chosen to fulfill my duty, but it is not a reflection on you.”
Lochlan didn’t reply right away. He should be furious. But, once again, all he felt was empty. Maybe that was his answer: there really was nothing left for him here.
But Thane had seemed so desperate, so sure Lochlan could help.
“And what about Thane?” He ran a hand through his hair. “What about the kingdom?”
His mother studied him for a long moment before answering.
“Thane is bound by duty and always has been. He will never stop trying to do what he believes is right.” A faint pause.
“And he is right that the people will love you. But I do not believe anything you or he does now will be enough to turn the tide. Too many mistakes were made over the centuries. The monarchy neglected our outer provinces. Ignored calls for reform. Hoarded resources while others went without. We ruled as if loyalty was owed, not earned. The doubt and distrust my infidelity brought forth? That was merely the nail in the coffin.”
Lochlan frowned. “And if the kingdom falls?”
“It won’t fall—not truly,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We may lose much of our remaining power, but we will still be royalty by blood.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Then why not step down graciously, on your own terms?”
Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Speak with your brother about that.”
Lavinia rose, the candlelight casting long shadows over her sharp features. Lochlan wasn’t sure what he saw in her expression—regret, finality, or something else entirely.
“You’ve changed since you left here. You’re stronger, now. I was concerned about your hasty marriage, but…”
“Because I married a witch?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t believe I have anything to worry about. Good luck with the ceremony tomorrow,” she said, smoothing the folds of her gown. “And good luck with your life, Lochlan.”
She hesitated, just for a breath. Then, softer, almost too quiet to catch— “Your father would be proud.”
Lochlan didn’t know what to say to that.
So he said nothing at all.
And as she walked away, he realized this was all the closure he would get. Not the kind that made amends or paved the way to the relationships and love he’d hoped for and craved.
But the kind that would finally allow him to leave Dover behind for good.