Chapter 9
Lucas
Lucas fidgeted with his cufflinks for the third time and told himself it was about the meeting, even though he was well aware that it wasn’t.
The images of the wedding wouldn’t leave him alone. He could still see the hall full of floral displays with sunlight pouring through the tall windows as everyone was being seated to celebrate Liam’s moment.
When the bride finally walked down the aisle, she had looked…
He exhaled slowly.
Not just beautiful. That was too small a word. She’d looked certain. Like she was walking toward something she’d already chosen a hundred times over in her heart. Her dark hair swept back. Eyes fixed on Liam as though the rest of the room had dissolved.
Lucas had stood beside his brother at the altar and watched Liam’s face change when he saw her. His kid brother, steady, serious, always the practical one, had looked undone in the best way. Open and illuminated from the inside.
It had been almost painful to witness.
Not because he begrudged Liam the happiness. Never that. If anyone deserved that kind of steady, anchoring love, it was Liam. But standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, Lucas had felt the absence of something he hadn’t known he was still hoping for.
Warmth.
Not politeness. Not partnership in the civic sense. But what he saw in Liam.
Pure happiness.
At the reception, when the new wife leaned into Liam when he spoke, Liam had brushed a thumb over her knuckles when he thought no one was looking.
Lucas had noticed. And that had been the problem.
Because when he’d glanced down at his own hand resting on the edge of the table, there had been no answering hand. No quiet squeeze. No unspoken understanding shared across a crowded room.
Just the faint indent where a ring had once been. He straightened his tie now, jaw tightening.
It wasn’t envy. He refused to name it that. It was… awareness. A recognition that whatever Liam had found was made of something sturdier than obligation. Something warmer than compatibility.
He’d had warmth once, with Dian. A feeling he never expected to feel again.
Lucas dragged a hand down his face and forced the thoughts away. He was not doing this today.
The council meeting would start in twenty minutes. Budget revisions. Various permits. Practical, measurable problems. The kind he knew how to solve.
Not this quiet ache that had followed him home from the wedding and taken up residence somewhere behind his ribs.
He stepped back from the window and reached for the binder on his desk. The familiar weight grounded him. Agendas. Reports. Numbers neatly highlighted in yellow. Order.
He preferred order.
Love, as Liam had just proven, was a wildfire, all consuming and impossible to control. And Lucas had spent most of his life making sure nothing burned out of control in Crystafalls.
He slipped on his jacket and squared his shoulders. The mirror behind the door reflected a man composed, capable, and entirely put together. King Lucas, ready for duty.
No one at that long polished table in the council room would guess that he’d stood under twinkling lights a week ago and felt something in him tilt.
He reached for the doorknob and paused for a second. He was happy for Liam. Truly.
But as he headed down the hallway toward the council chamber, the hum of voices already drifting out beneath the door, Lucas couldn’t shake the unsettling thought that while his brother had just begun something extraordinary, he himself was quietly letting something essential go dim.
He tightened his grip on the binder and pushed the door open into much safer territory. But once he stepped into the room, the council chamber instantly felt colder than usual.
Lucas sat at the head of the long table with the royal crest carved into the stone behind him. It had always felt like heritage. But for some reason, today it felt like an accusation.
The matter began politely just like it always did. But that quickly changed when they refused to stay on topic.
“My king,” one elder began with his fingers steepled. “It has been nearly a year.”
Lucas's heart dropped but he did not feign ignorance. “Just say it.”
A shuffle of paper. A glance exchanged between elders.
“There has been no announcement,” another said carefully. “No indication of an heir.”
The word landed heavily.
Heir.
Lucas's jaw tightened. “I have heirs.”
“Daughters,” he was corrected.
A stillness fell over the room.
Lucas felt it then. A low burn beneath his skin. His dragon stirred, irritated by the dismissive tone, by the implication. By the audacity.
Celeste’s laughter in the gardens. Luna’s small hand in his. Stella’s solemn, searching eyes.
“I don’t care how many times we have this same conversation, but leave my daughters out of it. I will not have my children diminished in this chamber,” Lucas said, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Ever.”
“The throne requires stability,” another elder pressed on. “A male successor strengthens alliances. Secures the line. Ensures continuity of the dragon throne.”
The dragon throne.
As if his daughters were not born of that same ancient fire.
“The line is secure,” Lucas replied.
“With respect, Your Majesty, this was the whole purpose of your marriage. If Queen Sia has not conceived by now, it may be prudent to consider alternatives.”
Alternatives.
The dragon did not stir this time. It roared. Heat flashed through Lucas's veins, a surge so sharp he gripped the armrest of his chair to keep from rising. His vision flickered at the edges.
“You suggest,” he said softly, dangerously, “that I take another wife.”
“A strategic marriage would not be unprecedented. It would be… responsible.”
Responsible.
As if love were a treaty. As if a woman were a vessel. As if Sia were a failed investment. As if his daughters were footnotes.
“The girls,” another elder added dismissively, “are beloved, of course. But they are not what the realm requires.”
Something inside Lucas snapped.
“The realm,” he said as he rose slowly to his feet, “requires loyalty. Strength. Wisdom. It requires a ruler who does not discard those under his protection the moment they prove inconvenient.”
The temperature in the chamber seemed to climb with him.
“My daughters matter,” he continued, each word deliberate. “They are not lesser because they were born female.”
Silence met him. Hard, calculating silence.
“And Sia?” Elder Aldrek finally spoke carefully. “I warned you of this, Lucas.”
Lucas hesitated. Because here was the fracture line. He and Sia shared a roof. Shared responsibility. Shared silence. But they did not share a bed in true form. They occupied opposite sides of it, separated by ghosts and restraint.
“There will be no second marriage,” Lucas said finally. “This discussion is closed.”
The council did not look satisfied but no one spoke.
Later that evening, Lucas sought out Aldrek in his quarters.
His old friend sat beside the open balcony with his silver hair stirred by the wind and his eyes sharp despite his years. He had advised Lucas's father before him, and his grandfather before that.
“You are furious, but not surprised,” Aldrek observed mildly as Lucas entered.
“They want me to replace her,” Lucas said without preamble. “As if wives are chess pieces.”
Aldrek studied him. “Is that what angers you?”
“They speak of Sia as though she has failed. As though the girls do not count. As though the only worth in this castle is a son.”
“And what do you believe?”
Lucas stared out over the kingdom below.
“I believe,” he said slowly, “that if I bring another woman into that household, whatever fragile trust the girls have placed in Sia will shatter. Celeste barely allows herself to love again. Stella clings. Luna watches everything.” He swallowed.
Aldrek nodded once. “And Sia?”
Lucas's throat tightened unexpectedly.
“She has given them laughter,” he admitted. “Gentleness. Stability. If I cast her aside, or even wound her with the mention of another, it will fracture what little peace exists in that house. The girls have already buried one mother. Losing Sia would be losing their stepmother and their aunt.”
“And your heart?” Aldrek asked quietly.
Lucas stiffened. “Dragons mate once,” he said. “I buried mine.”
Aldrek’s gaze softened but didn’t waver. “You buried Dian. You did not bury yourself.”
Lucas couldn’t answer.
“The council sees lineage,” Aldrek continued. “You must see the legacy. Sometimes they are not the same.”
Lucas exhaled slowly. “I will make this work,” he said. “With Sia. I will not tear my family apart for their comfort.”
Aldrek inclined his head. “Then stand firm. But be certain, my king, that you are fighting for the right reason. I tell you this as a friend, not an elder. They’ve been patient thus far, but you know they won’t stay that way.”
Lucas left with fire still simmering beneath his skin but with a clearer head. There would be no new wife, no discarded daughters, and no surrender.
Even if it meant confronting the fact that he needed to rethink things with Sia.