Chapter 86 — The Storm Within

Chapter 86 — The Storm Within
The storm had begun before Lachlan even reached the castle gates.

It wasn’t like the others — this one felt alive. Angry.
The rain fell in sheets, hammering against stone and roof, turning the courtyard into rivers of mud. Thunder cracked across the valley, rolling like a beast’s roar. Lightning split the sky again and again, bright enough to make night look like day.

Villagers had boarded their windows. Even the guards at the gate looked uneasy, their torches hissing in the downpour.

Lachlan’s cloak was drenched by the time he stepped into the keep. His boots left trails of water on the marble floors. He said nothing to the servants who bowed and quickly vanished into side halls — the look on his face was enough to make them scatter.

He went straight to his chambers.
And stopped dead.

Mairi was there.

Naked, sprawled across his bed like some vision of temptation long past its prime. Her hair lay loose across her shoulders, her lips curved in what she must have thought was a smile.

His entire body recoiled.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low, dangerous.

She arched a brow. “Waiting for you.”

He turned away immediately, fury rising like bile. He went to the wardrobe and pulled out clean clothes, dripping water across the rug as he moved.

“Get out.”

The words were flat. Cold.

Mairi laughed softly, sitting up and pulling the sheet to her chest. “I’ve heard she’s gone. Shouldn’t you be happy? You’re finally rid of her. It’s not like she meant anything to you. You treated her as something to discard.”

The words sliced deep — deeper than she could have known.

He turned, eyes blazing, rain still dripping from his hair. “How dare you speak to me that way?”

“Lachlan—”

“Get. Out.” His voice thundered louder than the storm outside. “And I suggest you start looking for keep elsewhere. You are no longer welcome here.”

Mairi’s face twisted, disbelief warring with rage. She wrapped the sheet tighter around herself, stepping closer. “What are you talking about? Isla is gone! That witch left you. You never wanted her, you fought the marriage from the beginning!”

She reached out to touch him — the same hands that once enticed him now felt foreign, wrong.

“You are mine, Lachlan,” she hissed. “No one can please you the way I do.”

He caught her wrist midair. The grip was iron. “You please nothing but your own vanity.” He shoved her hand away, pulled open the door, and forced her out into the corridor. The sheet slipped slightly, her pride as naked as her skin. He slammed the door behind her.

Her shriek was lost in the crash of thunder.
For a long moment, Lachlan stood there, breathing hard. His pulse was a storm of its own. He stared at his reflection in the mirror — at the wild hair, the hollow eyes, the shadow of a man who’d once been sure of everything.

Why?
Why had he broken the bond?

The question burned through him like poison.
He pressed his palms against the table until his knuckles went white. “Because I was a fool,” he muttered under his breath. “Because I listened to ghosts and fear instead of her.”

The thunder rolled again. It felt like the heavens themselves were mocking him.

He didn’t have time for regret — not now. Isla’s last words still echoed in his mind. Find me, Lachlan.
He had to find Vaelen. And Fenella. They knew more than they’d ever said.

He threw on a dry tunic, belted his sword, and stormed into the hall.

Halfway down the corridor, his father intercepted him — flanked by two councilmen.

“The council waits,” his father barked. “The witch must stand trial. Where is she?”

Lachlan didn’t slow.

His father’s voice rose. “Lachlan! Where is she? That woman needs to pay for her crimes!”

Lachlan stopped. Slowly, he turned.

He had never defied his father before — not truly.
But something inside him broke cleanly in that moment.

“That woman,” he said quietly, his voice low and cutting, “was my wife. And she is gone.”

His father’s mouth opened, but no words came.
“I will find her,” Lachlan continued. “But not for your justice. For mine.”

He turned and strode off, his boots striking the stone like war drums.

The door to Vaelen’s laboratory was half-open, green light flickering beneath it. He heard voices — tense, hushed. One of them was Alistair’s.

Lachlan pushed the door open.

A cloud of emerald smoke hung in the air, curling toward the ceiling before vanishing. Fenella stood near the wall, eyes rimmed red, hands clutched together. Vaelen was pale, nervous, his sleeves rolled up, glass beakers scattered around him. Alistair stood between them, his jaw tight, his fists clenched.
Lachlan’s entrance hit like a thunderclap. The door slammed shut behind him.

“What,” he said slowly, dangerously, “is going on here?”

No one answered. They all spoke at once instead — stammering fragments, excuses, words tripping over each other in panic.

“Enough!”

The single word silenced them.

He looked from one face to the next — his brother, his alchemist, the maid who’d always been loyal to Isla. They looked terrified. Good.

“Explain,” he demanded. “Now. All of it. What magic you’ve conjured, what lies you’ve told — and what you’ve done with my wife.”

The room crackled with tension. Outside, lightning flashed again, throwing the walls into sharp relief.
Alistair’s hand went to his pocket, where Isla’s ring burned like a hidden truth.

Vaelen’s eyes darted to Fenella’s tear-streaked face, to the notes scattered across the table.

And somewhere far beyond the castle walls, thunder split the sky — as though the gods themselves waited for the answer.