Chapter 4
Sia
Sia hadn’t had any easier of a time. The walk to Lucas's chambers had felt longer than it should have.
Their footsteps echoed down the stone corridor filled with paintings that represented generations of Vanstorm history watching them pass. Sia kept her hands clasped in front of her. Her fingers were numb beneath the lace of her gloves.
Lucas walked beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, but not quite. His body was tense and his posture was rigid, as if every step were a decision he might regret. She already had wondered how much more regret she could hold inside.
“Well,” he said at last as he cleared his throat. The word fell flat, unfinished.
Sia waited, her pulse ticking loudly in her ears.
“Well,” he repeated, quieter this time. “We’re… here.”
They stopped in front of the heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. It stood solid and foreboding, which sent a chill up her spine. His chambers. Well, their chambers, now.
“Yes,” Sia said, because silence felt worse. “We are.”
Lucas nodded and kept his gaze fixed on the door instead of her face. For a moment, she thought he might say something meaningful, apologetic or explanatory. Instead, he reached for the handle.
“I suppose,” he said, then paused as his jaw tightened. “If you need anything, anything at all, you should say so.”
The offer sounded formal and safe.
Sia managed a small smile that she didn’t feel at all. “Of course.” She couldn’t say that she just wanted to go home. This was her home now.
Another silence stretched between them that was thick and uncomfortable. She could feel all the words they weren’t saying press in from every side. This wasn’t what either of them had wanted and now they were alone so they didn’t have to pretend to be happy.
No one else really cared if they were happy. They were married now, so that was all that was necessary. Happiness was a luxury that wasn’t required.
Lucas finally opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter first, the gesture polite to the point of distance.
The room beyond was large and spare, all dark wood and high ceilings, with the bed dominating the space.
A fire burned low in the hearth and cast a warm glow that did nothing to soften the tension.
Sia crossed the threshold with her skirts whispering over the floor. Lucas followed and closed the door behind them with a quiet, final click.
“I…” Lucas began before he stopped. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, a nervous habit she’d seen before. “This is… new. For both of us.”
“Yes,” Sia said again. The word was becoming a norm.
He nodded and his lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s no… expectation. Not tonight. Not ever, unless…” He broke off and exhaled sharply. “Unless you want there to be.”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
“I understand,” Sia said, though she wasn’t sure she did. Or maybe she understood too well. Either way, it wasn’t really an answer. It didn’t really matter what she wanted when he really didn’t seem all that interested.
Another pause. Another careful avoidance of the name that hung between them like a third presence. Dian was everywhere in the room and nowhere at all.
Lucas gestured vaguely toward the bed. “You can take whichever side you prefer.”
“Thank you.”
He gave a brief nod, then turned away and busied himself with removing his jacket as if that were the most important task in the world. Sia watched him for a moment longer than she meant to, then looked away.
This was how it would be, she realized. Careful.
Polite. Full of things left unsaid. She undressed behind the screen that was conveniently in the corner of the room.
She wasn’t sure if he had brought it in on her behalf or if it had been her sister’s.
Either way, he didn’t seem interested in seeing her naked, so she quickly slipped into a nightgown and scurried to the bed.
The comforter was thick and soft, and she swore she could smell Dian on the pillowcase. She shook her head and knew she was overthinking every detail. Still, it didn’t calm her nerves.
Later, Sia lay awake on the far edge of the bed and stared into the dark as if it might blink first.
The room was unfamiliar in the way that expensive places often were, too large, too quiet, and with a ceiling higher than it needed to be.
Somewhere beyond the drawn curtains, the town slept, and beyond that the mountains rose to the sky, steady and indifferent.
The bed beneath her was wider than any bed she had ever seen, and the distance between her and Lucas was as cold as the snow on the top of the highest peaks.
She could feel him there anyway. The warmth of another body.
The faint rustle of fabric when he shifted, careful, as if even that much movement required permission.
He lay on his back with his hands folded over his stomach while he stared up just as she was, with both of them pretending sleep was a reasonable thing to expect.
This was her wedding night.
The thought landed with a dull thud, not the bright, breathless rush she’d been promised by every story she’d ever heard. Their vows had been spoken clearly, even tenderly. Lucas had looked at her when he said them. She had thought that maybe things would be better than what she had imagined.
And yet here they were, divided by empty space and unspoken frustration.
Humiliation crept over her in slow, relentless waves. It wasn’t sharp enough to make her cry. It was worse than that. It was heavy and smothering. She had prepared herself for nerves, for awkwardness, even for fear. Sex had been expected despite the circumstances.
She had not prepared herself for being untouched.
Kings took what they wanted. She had grown up believing that as firmly as gravity. Men with power, men with grief, men with rights they assumed without asking. They just reached out and claimed. Lucas was a king and the Vanstorm name carried history and expectations.
And yet he hadn’t so much as brushed her hand. The sheets between them might as well have been stone and concrete.
The longer the silence stretched, the more certain Sia became that his restraint wasn’t kindness, but rejection. A deliberate, intentional refusal. As if touching her would be a lie he couldn’t bring himself to tell.
She stared at the ceiling and tried to see herself the way she imagined he must see her now.
The curve of her body that had worn a borrowed dress.
The careful pins that still tugged at her hair.
The face she’d taught to smile in mirrors as she tried trying to convince herself it belonged to a bride and not a stand-in.
Unwanted, a quiet voice inside her said.
Invisible.
She swallowed, her throat tight, and turned her face slightly toward him.
His profile was cut in shadow, familiar and strange all at once.
She knew the lines of his face from months of polite conversations and cautious glances.
She knew the way his mouth softened when he talked about the mountains and the way his eyes went distant when someone said Dian’s name.
Dian.
The name rose unbidden, as it always did when Sia least wanted it to. Her sister’s face followed, sharp and clear, beautiful and happy. Dian, with her easy laugh and her unthinking confidence. Dian, who had loved Lucas first and been loved back without hesitation.
Sia squeezed her eyes shut.
Maybe this was how haunting worked. Not the rattling windows or cold drafts, but silence. Maybe Dian didn’t need to whisper or weep to make her presence known. Maybe all she had to do was linger around Lucas, filling the space Sia couldn’t.
What kind of woman married her dead sister’s husband and expected anything else?
Guilt twisted in her chest as familiar as breath.
She had told herself a thousand times that this marriage wasn’t betrayal.
That it was practical, even necessary. That Dian would have wanted Lucas taken care of, the town protected, and things put back into order.
If it hadn’t been Sia, it could have been someone who wouldn’t love the girls the same way Dian had.
But lying here, untouched and awake, Sia wondered if her sister was watching and judging.
She imagined Dian’s voice, gentle but unrelenting. You don’t belong here.
A small, traitorous part of her almost wished Lucas would cross the distance, if only to prove that she was still visible and still a woman. Even anger would have been better than this careful absence.
Instead, there was only restraint.
She shifted slightly, but the movement was loud in the quiet room. Lucas stiffened, just barely, as if he braced himself for unwanted contact. The reaction stung more than she expected. He didn’t turn toward her nor did he speak.
I won’t touch you, his silence seemed to say. Not like this. Not ever.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying would make this real in a way she wasn’t ready to face. Crying would mean admitting that she had hoped for warmth and closeness, for some sign that this marriage wasn’t a mistake wrapped in white silk.
The bed remained wide and empty between them.
Eventually, exhaustion dulled the sharpest edges of her thoughts. The ceiling blurred. Lucas’s presence stayed carefully contained on his side of the mattress, a promise he wouldn’t break and a wall she didn’t know how to climb.
As sleep finally pulled her under, one last thought clung to her like a hand on her ankle:
If this was Dian haunting her, she was doing it perfectly by leaving Sia alone in a marriage that already felt like a ghost.