Chapter 42
Nia
“NOT ALL IS WHAT IT SEEMS IN STELLA RUNE?” —THE STELLA RUNE GAZETTE
Nia walked briskly through the streets of Stella Rune, the cool morning air brushing her cheeks as the town slowly came to life. Early commuters filled the roads, their footsteps steady and purposeful, echoing her own.
She told herself she felt better after last night. Not because everything was fixed, but because for a moment they had simply been themselves. Awkward. Sweet. Honest. And it had felt perfect.
Lochlan wasn’t hiding anything. Maybe she was just looking for reasons to doubt the match her father had forced on them both.
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the figure in front of her until it was too late—they collided, the impact jolting her out of her reverie.
“Oh!” Nia stumbled, steadying herself as she looked down. Recognition flickered almost instantly. “Naked Nancy?”
The woman blinked, startled, then let out a light laugh. “Oh, my apologies, dearest…” Her voice trailed off and her brow furrowed as she hesitated. “What did you just call me?”
Nia shook her head. “Nothing. You’re Nancy, right? I met you the other day.”
Nancy’s face lit up as she clasped her hands together. “Yes! Wow, yes.” She paused, her eyes softening with fondness. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your afternoon with Lochlan. My, I just love that boy.”
Nia forced a polite smile. “How do you know him?”
Nancy tilted her head, looking momentarily baffled. “We’ve been working at the Videt together for years. He’s so quiet and reserved, but always patient and kind. Just a lovely young man.”
Nia’s ears began ringing. The bustling noise of the street faded into the background as her thoughts, questions, and doubts all coalesced around a single possibility.
“Wait. At the Videt... in what department?” she managed to ask, suspicion building.
“In the archives. Oh, everyone else was so surprised when you two ended up together, but I wasn’t.” Nancy smiled and patted Nia on the arm. “I mean, I know how close he is to your father. I just think it was serendipitous.”
“Close to…” Nia’s stomach dropped, her throat tightening further. “My father?”
“Of course!” Nancy said, as if this were common knowledge. “It’s only natural, after your father got him that scholarship. Then an internship. Goodness, but you should know all this already!”
Nia forced out a stiff nod, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I should,” she said quickly, the words clipped. “I do.” Clearing her throat, she straightened. “Will you excuse me?”
Nancy’s smile faltered, but she nodded, stepping aside to let Nia pass.
Nia turned on her heel, heading back the way she’d come as her thoughts spiraled. Wulfric had orchestrated this marriage—had manipulated events, pulled strings, forced them both into the marriage they never agreed to.
Or at least, a marriage she had never agreed to.
Lochlan had said he hadn’t wanted this. He’d acted like he was just as much a pawn as she was. But what if that wasn’t true? What if he’d known all along? What if, from the very beginning, he had been working toward this—toward her?
She thought about dinner the night before, the tension in Lochlan’s voice, the way her father had glanced at him. She thought about the argument she’d overheard, the cryptic remarks.
And, then, she thought about everything she’d chosen not to see, not to look for.
When she reached the house, the sight of Lochlan’s green truck parked outside sent a fresh wave of unease through her. Inside, she called his name.
No answer.
Her pulse pounded as she strode straight for the locked office door. Her hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment, her pulse quickening. What was she expecting? Proof that she wasn’t crazy? Reassurance that it was all nothing, that she was overthinking?
She turned the knob.
It was unlocked. For a fleeting second, she wondered if maybe she was wrong. Maybe it really was nothing.
Then she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The familiar smell of damp soil and greenery hit her first, the space filled with Lochlan’s plants and tools. Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the small, personal touches that reminded her of him.
And then she saw them.
Journals.
They were laid out in a careful row across his desk, pristine and arranged with precision. Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped closer. She recognized the leather bindings, the delicate engravings. They looked identical to the one she carried with her, the one she had protected for years.
Her mother’s journal.
Nia’s breath grew shallow, her chest tight as she reached for the first one. Her hands trembled, her fingertips reverently grazing the leather cover before she finally flipped it open.
She expected to find earlier passages that built on the pieces of a story she already knew. Instead, her mother’s familiar handwriting greeted her, its curves and flourishes unmistakable, but the time marking at the top of the page was later than the entries in the journal she carried with her.
Her eyes skimmed the opening lines, her pulse pounding in her ears.
I don’t know where this path will lead us, but for the first time in forever, I feel a spark of hope. The beast has set me free, and though the future is uncertain, I am not alone. I can even feel him now, watching over me. He will keep me safe. It’s a promise I cling to, a beacon in the dark.
Nia’s fingers tightened on the page.
The words didn’t make sense. This entry picked up just after where her diary had left off, yet it told a story she hadn’t imagined.
Nia turned the pages, devouring the words, unable to stop.
Passage after passage unraveled everything she thought she knew.
Her father, Wulfric, hadn’t been the villain she’d believed him to be.
He’d dismantled the dark legacy of his family brick by brick, building something extraordinary in its place.
Her mother’s words were no longer filled with anguish and dread, but love and hope as she recounted how Wulfric had saved her, how she’d fallen for him, how they had conceived Nia.
Her mother wasn’t scared, she’d written. Not with Wulfric by her side.
The story of Nia’s name was there, too, written in her mother’s delicate script. Every word painted a picture of a life filled with love and purpose.
Nia’s vision blurred as she read, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Everything she’d believed—about her father, her family, her mother’s life—it was all wrong.
Her father had told her only part of what happened when she was younger.
He’d blamed himself, told her how it was his fault, that he hadn’t been able to protect her mother.
That it was why Nia had been kept hidden.
She hadn’t understood then why he blamed himself so deeply for her mother’s death.
His words had seemed hollow, tainted by grief she couldn’t begin to comprehend.
But when she had found that first diary at seventeen—when she’d read those passages painting a picture of a monster coming for her mother—it had all made sense.
The journal in which her mother had spoken of her fear, of the horrible man she was fated to and would be forced to marry, had been Nia’s answer, her vindication for turning her back on the lonely isolation of her father’s stifling protection.
It was what had empowered her to run, why she chose to forge a path on her own; she couldn’t bear to stay, not with what she’d believed she knew about him, what she believed he had done to her mother.
But now, surrounded by the journals, these undeniable pieces of Luna’s life, Nia realized just how wrong she had been. The truth radiated from each carefully written line, shattering the image Nia had clung to for so long.
Wulfric hadn’t just loved her mother. He had been her partner in something bigger.
Luna had believed in a future where humans and supernaturals didn’t just exist side by side—but lived together, thrived together.
And her father had believed in it, too, fought for it, standing at her mother’s side, working toward a world where their daughter could grow up without fear, where she and all witches like her would be free from the need to hide who and what they were.
And Wulfric had adored Nia, too. Loved her enough to shield her from truths he thought too heavy for a child to bear.
To protect her from the threats that had already stolen her mother from them both.
Luna had known the dangers of the Anti-Glamour Coalition and embraced a new path that defied them anyway; she’d understood the risks, but believed change was worth it.
Nia’s fingers trembled as she reached for the last diary and found a folded letter tucked between its pages. Her name was written across the front in looping script.
Nia unfolded it, her hands shaking.
My dearest daughter,
I hope you aren’t reading this. If you are, then I have passed, and that thought alone makes my heart ache. It feels strange to write this, when I have spent so long feeling safe—when I have spent so long believing I would see you grow, hold you, tell you all of this myself.
But the tides have turned again.
There are some who do not wish to see our vision come to light.
They fight against it, clawing to keep the world as it is, separate and broken.
But your father and I believe in something better.
We dream of a future where humans and supernaturals are not at odds but woven together, building a stronger world than either could alone.
A place where the next generation—your generation—can thrive in harmony, not fear.
And so we fight on.
I do not know what the world looks like as you read this.
I do not know what your father has told you, or if he’s alive.
I hope he is. I hope we will both survive this.
I don’t know what you have been made to believe.
But please, my love, trust in this—I love you.
He loves you. You have been cherished since the moment we knew you existed.
I wish I could tell you how much of me already belongs to you. How I wonder what your laugh sounds like, if you have my nose, if your magic will bloom bright and wild, like fire in the dark.
Don’t fear it, my love.
If you ever find yourself lost, if you ever stand in the shadows and wonder if you are meant to be there—know this: your magic is not cruel. It is beautiful. It is endless. It is yours to shape.
And so are you.
With all my love, Mom
Tears splashed onto the page, smudging the ink. Nia blinked rapidly, pulling her sleeve down to blot them away before they could do more damage. Her chest burned with frustration, a storm of emotions swirling inside her.
She was angry—so angry—with herself, with her father, with Lochlan.
Why hadn’t they told her? Why had they just let her continue on, clinging to half-truths and assumptions? They hadn’t fought her. They hadn’t pushed her. They had just… let her.
“Nia?”
She whipped her head around so fast, pain twinged down her neck.
Lochlan stood in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and dread, like a man walking into his own execution.