Chapter 2
Sia
Sia’s return to Crystafalls was at the latest possible moment she could manage. The decision to return had not been an easy one, and she needed to get her duty done without shattering what little bit of sanity remained.
The gates loomed open as if the city itself welcomed her back. Marble towers gleamed in the afternoon light and crystal fountain waterfalls spilled endlessly over carved stone. Crystafalls looked exactly as it always had, both perfect and pristine, but entirely indifferent to grief.
Her carriage rolled across the bridge and the wheels echoed too loudly. Sia let out a short, humorless laugh.
“This is so absurd,” she said.
Her parents sat opposite her, stiff and solemn in ceremonial dress. Her mother flinched at the word and her father’s mouth tightened.
“Truly,” Sia continued with a voice sharp with a brittle sort of calm. “There are starving villages, unrest at the borders, an entire governing body supposedly brimming with wisdom, and their solution that they land on is this. Marry the spare sister. Problem solved.”
“Sia,” her mother warned softly.
“No,” Sia snapped, the word cutting loud and clear. “I will say it aloud, because everyone else seems determined not to. I am being asked to marry my dead sister’s husband.”
Silence swallowed the carriage.
She leaned forward with her lace-gloved hands braced against her knees and her eyes bright with something that looked perilously close to fury.
“Do you have any idea how mad that sounds? How absolutely ridiculous it looks? As if Dian were a gown that can simply be altered and worn again instead of someone’s wife, daughter, and sister? ”
Her father cleared his throat. “This is not about appearances. It is about stability.”
“Stability,” Sia echoed and laughed again but this time louder, harsher. “Of course. Forgive me for forgetting that love, grief, and decency tend to rank below succession.”
Her mother reached for her hand. Sia pulled away.
“She is barely gone,” Sia said, her voice dropping and turning dangerous. “Her children are still asking when she’s coming back. And I am expected to stand beside her widower, smile for the court, and pretend this is anything other than desperation dressed up as duty.”
“It’s been three years, Sia,” her father corrected. “More than a long enough mourning period.”
“You are saving the kingdom,” her mother whispered as tears gathered in her eyes.
“There is no such thing as a mourning period.” Sia straightened and her anger morphed into something colder and heavier. “No,” she said flatly. “I am being sacrificed to preserve your precious kingdom.”
The carriage slowed and bells rang in the distance. Celebration bled through the walls like an insult.
Sia turned her gaze to the window with her jaw set. “Let’s not pretend this is noble,” she added quietly. “Just be honest enough to call it what it is.”
The city gleamed as if polished for display with banners that snapped in the wind in celebration.
It made her teeth ache. Crystafalls looked untouched by tragedy, unscarred by the loss that had split her family open.
As if her sister had not died here and as if Sia were not arriving to take her place.
Her hands were steady only because she forced them to be. She kept them folded in her lap with her spine straight and her chin lifted. If she relaxed even slightly, something inside her would give way.
Replacement.
The word landed cold and absolute.
She had not come because she was wanted. She had come because she was useful. Because it was expected of her.
When the carriage stopped, the sound of celebration poured in. The bells, laughter, and music wove together bright enough to feel obscene. Sia’s jaw tightened as the noise scraped against her nerves, each note a reminder that this day was meant to be joyful.
It was not.
She stepped down into waiting hands and rehearsed smiles. Faces blurred together with townspeople beaming, nobles bowing, and servants whispering. Her parents stood closest and appeared radiant with relief and pride. Her mother’s eyes shone with tears. Happy tears.
Sia resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she looked at them and felt nothing but a dull, simmering anger.
How could they stand there smiling as if this were not stitched together following a funeral? How could they look at her gown and not see another woman’s shadow inside it? Their own daughter’s ghost.
She moved because the moment required it. The gown was heavy with its train whispering along the floor like it knew something she didn’t. Every step toward the altar felt like walking deeper into a role she had never auditioned for.
And then she saw Lucas.
He stood and waited beneath the crown banners. His posture was rigid and his hands clasped as if holding himself together by force alone. He did not smile when he noticed her. His gaze lifted, met hers, and froze.
For a heartbeat, everything else fell away.
His eyes were darker than she remembered but stripped of warmth and sharpened by grief that had not been allowed to settle. There was recognition there, yes, but also something harsher. Resignation. A flicker of anger quickly buried, but not at her.
At all of this.
Her chest tightened. So he hated this too. Part of her felt sorry for him, but then she reminded herself that he had allowed this to happen. He was the king and had chosen this path.
Their eyes locked longer than was proper. Long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.
I didn’t choose this.
Neither did I.
A muscle in his jaw jumped. He looked away first.
The ceremony began.
Sia barely registered the words. They washed over her colder than the mountain waterfall behind them with their formality and emptiness.
When it was time to speak, she did so clearly and crisply, with each vow delivered with precision.
She did not soften her voice. She did not pretend they meant more than duty required.
When Lucas spoke, she glanced at him despite herself.
His voice was low and controlled. The words were correct. His eyes were not on her.
Good.
She did not want his attention if it came wrapped in memory. She was afraid that if he looked at her, he would see her sister standing where she now stood. The thought burned sharp and ugly.
At one point, their hands were joined. His fingers were colder than her own.
The contact was brief, almost reluctant, as if both of them feared that too much awareness would crack something open. His thumb twitched once against her skin, a reflex that seemed to surprise him. He stilled immediately and tightened his grip but not for comfort, but control.
She didn’t look at him and kept her thoughts on her nieces instead.
Three small girls who had already lost too much. Three lives the court would gladly mold and twist if left unguarded.
That was the biggest reason as to why she stood here. To Sia, the girls were the only reason.
When the crown was placed on her head, its weight settled like judgment. Applause erupted and it was too loud and much too eager. Sia’s smile was thin and numb. She could feel it tremble at the edges.
Queen Sia.
The title slid over her like glamour she had never wanted.
Lucas turned toward her and offered his arm. There was a pause before she accepted. His touch was distant as though he were afraid of either hurting her or acknowledging her existence too fully.
As they walked together out of the church, he leaned just close enough for his voice to reach her.
“This isn’t…” he began.
He stopped.
Sia waited with her eyes forward and her pulse hammering.
“It doesn’t have to be cruel,” he finished instead, quieter.
She almost laughed.
Almost.
She did not look at him when she replied. “It already is.”
The tension between them sharpened and became more strained. He inhaled slowly, as if debating how to proceed. She felt his gaze on her, heavy and searching.
For what? Forgiveness? Understanding?
She had none to spare and she wasn’t sure he did either.
The doors closed behind them and muted the celebration to a distant roar. Silence rushed in both thick and uncomfortable.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
They stood side by side bound by law and loss, both strangers carrying the same grief in different ways.
Sia stiffened her shoulders and kept her face carefully blank.
She would survive this marriage and protect her nieces.
And whatever was left of her heart, whatever cold, aching thing remained, she would keep it locked away where no king, no crown, and no memory of her sister could reach it.