Chapter 3
Lucas
The reception was loud with celebration, but yet Lucas had never felt more alone.
Music swelled through the hall, cheerful and relentless. It was the kind chosen to convince everyone that happiness was happening whether it truly existed or not. Glasses clinked. Laughter burst out in bright, careless waves.
Everywhere he looked, faces beamed back at him and Sia as though they had witnessed the union of the happiest couple in the Iskara Northlands. Lucas smiled because it was expected of him. He suspected that his new bride did as well.
His hand rested lightly at Sia’s back. It was more formal than friendly, but no one could tell just by a glance.
She played her part well. Her chin was up and her lips curved just enough to pass for joy.
To anyone watching, they were newlyweds basking in the glow of holy matrimony.
Only he could feel the tension in her posture and the way her body angled just slightly away from his as if instinct refused the lie even while manners upheld it.
Their families were ecstatic. Even the ones who knew that the entire thing was a farce were still overjoyed.
His parents moved through the room with pride written into every gesture and introduced Sia as though she were a long-cherished answer to a prayer.
Her family accepted congratulations with tearful smiles and voices thick with relief and hope.
This marriage, to them, was safety and stability. A way back into the royal graces after the death of their older daughter. He couldn’t help but wonder how much grief Sia had given them about the arrangement. The thought almost made him smirk.
Lucas nodded through conversations, murmured polite replies and accepted backslaps and knowing looks. You’ll be happy again, those looks said. Time fixes everything.
If only grief obeyed such rules.
Across the room, his daughters sat at the proverbial kids’ table meant for celebration.
Their small figures were swallowed by tulle and taffeta and the centerpieces almost hid them from view.
They wore dresses chosen with care with hair that was neatly styled.
Their faces were solemn in a way that cut straight through him.
They smiled when spoken to, but their eyes searched the room often until they found him.
They didn’t laugh. Not really.
They had loved Dian fiercely and so completely in the way only children can.
If this wedding wasn’t confusing to them, it was because they didn’t really understand what a wedding was.
It was confusing because they couldn’t figure out what Aunt Sia was doing with him.
They watched the festivities like guests at someone else’s party, unsure of the rules and uncertain where joy was supposed to fit now.
And now they would have to learn to accept their aunt as their stepmother. Lucas felt the weight of their confusion settle deep in his chest.
When it came time for the traditional first dance, their ruse took on another level of hell.
Lucas kept his hand light on Sia’s waist as if too much pressure might crack the careful distance between them. The band played a song meant for devotion. He almost laughed at the irony of it.
The room was full of faces he had known his whole life.
These same faces had watched this wedding unfold with nods of approval and relief even though most of them had been at his wedding with Dian.
To them, this was a problem neatly solved, as if the future hadn’t just been decided for him in front of God and everyone he knew.
Sia didn’t, or wouldn’t, look at him. Her gaze stayed fixed somewhere over his shoulder but she kept her polite smile in place and her posture perfect. She was simply performing to expectations.
He guided her through the steps they had never practiced. One, two, turn. Her hand in his was cool and steady, but totally unfamiliar. This was supposed to be the big moment that people talked about later. The first dance. The proof of the initiation of a new journey.
Instead, it felt like holding a contract.
“You’re doing fine,” he murmured, more out of obligation than comfort.
“I know,” she said quietly. Not unkind. Just… flat.
They moved in silence after that with the space between them filled by music and the collective watching of the crowd. Lucas could feel every eye, every unspoken finally. His jaw tightened. This was what had been expected since Dian died. The monarchy needed its queen.
He wondered if Sia felt the same tightness, the same sense of being folded into a shape that didn’t quite fit. When he glanced down, her lashes were lowered and her expression carefully blank. A bride in every way that mattered to the room.
But not to him. He had to admit that she was beautiful and composed. She may have the distinction of queen now, but she was not his bride. Only Dian fit into that title.
He adjusted his grip and forced himself to soften it. This wasn’t her fault. Neither of them had stepped into this because of love. They had stepped in because not doing so would have meant disappointment and consequences neither of them had been brave enough to face.
The song began to wind down. Lucas felt a strange mix of relief and dread. Relief that the performance was almost over. Dread that this was only the beginning.
As the final note faded, applause swelled around them. Sia finally looked up at him then, just for a second. Something unreadable passed between them. Not anger. Not affection.
Understanding, maybe.
Lucas inclined his head, a gesture small enough to pass for tenderness. He led her into the waiting arms of their families, the noise, and the congratulations.
And as he smiled for them, Lucas wondered how long two people could dance through life to a song they didn’t choose before the music finally ran out.
When the celebration finally faded and the night crept toward its end, relief loosened his shoulders for the first time. The performance was nearly over. Or so he thought.
The mood in their wedding suite was painfully restrained when it was finally just the two of them.
He lay awake long after the lamps were extinguished and stared into the dark as if it might give him permission to breathe.
Lucas kept his hands folded over his chest with his fingers laced tight.
It was a habit from years of sleeping alone.
The bed was wide enough for comfort, yet it felt narrow as a line he dared not cross.
Sia lay beside him, rigid and silent, with her back turned.
Even the space between their bodies felt charged with meaning, filled with obligation, apology, and everything he had failed to say.
He had not touched her, not even by accident.
The restraint hurt more than he had expected, though not in the way people would assume. It wasn’t desire that clawed at him. It was only memory.
Dian’s memory.
Loyalty, he told himself. That was what this was.
Loyalty to the woman he had loved; the woman he had buried with his own hands shaking as he laid her coffin in the ground.
Loyalty to a marriage that death had ended but never truly dissolved.
His body had learned grief so thoroughly that it no longer reached for what it was offered.
Still, guilt pressed heavier than the silence.
He had forced Sia into this marriage. He had forced her into this bed, this room, and this life shaped by his past. He could admit that now, in the dark, where no one could hear him fail.
Whatever words had been used, whatever bargains struck, the truth remained the same.
She was here because he had needed her to be.
And now she lay beside him like a stranger.
She wouldn’t want anything more anyway, he told himself. The thought settled into him with practiced ease. Sia was proud, guarded, and sharp-eyed. She would resent his touch and flinch beneath it. Restraint, then, was not only loyalty, it was mercy.
That was what he clung to.
Sleep refused him, and as it often did, memory took its place.
The night he married Dian had been nothing like this.
Instead, it had been bright and clumsy and utterly alive.
Laughter had spilled out of them the moment the door closed, the kind that left their sides aching and their words tangled together.
They’d stumbled into the room half-grinning, half-breathless, shedding formality with every step, as though marriage had given them permission to be exactly who they were.
Dian had reached for him without doubt, her hands warm and sure as she pulled him closer with a confidence that made his chest feel too small to hold his happiness.
She had looked at him then with a smile so full it bordered on wonder, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was real.
As if he were the answer to a question she’d been asking her whole life. Home, written plainly on her face.
There had been no hesitation. No careful measuring of consequences. No ghosts standing watch in the corners of the room. Only joy, unchecked and fearless, rushing in where it pleased.
Her hair had slipped loose beneath his fingers and dark strands had brushed his wrists as she laughed again, softer this time.
When she whispered his name, it wasn’t a plea or a question, it was affectionate like she was sealing something precious between them.
Candlelight had danced along the walls and thrown warmth across bare skin and hopeful smiles.
Even the bed had seemed to protest their happiness with a creak that made them laugh all over again.
Every touch had felt like a promise kept. Every kiss, an affirmation they didn’t need to speak aloud. The room had been thick with belonging and with certainty that it was right.
He had fallen asleep that night with Dian tangled against him, her legs draped over his, her breathing deep and even.
Her heartbeat had pulsed steadily beneath his palm, solid and reassuring.
In that moment, wrapped in her warmth and the simple miracle of shared joy, Lucas had foolishly believed that happiness was permanent if you loved hard enough.
Life had proven him wrong.
The memory faded and left him hollow. Lucas turned his head just enough to see Sia’s outline in the darkness. She hadn’t moved. Perhaps she was asleep. Perhaps she was staring at the same ceiling and counting the same regrets.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so quietly it barely existed. The words were meant for her, for Dian, for himself. He wasn’t sure anymore.
He stayed where he was, rigid and awake,and convinced himself that restraint was kindness and that this cold, careful space between them was the best thing he had to offer.
Beside him, his new wife slept alone.