Chapter 16
Sia
After the first note Orion played slid through the trees like a sigh, Sia had closed her eyes. She shouldn’t have asked him to come, but with her time growing short before she returned to the castle, she wanted to hear as much of his music as she could.
The guilt had nibbled at her ever since she’d called Orion that morning. It wasn’t that she thought she was doing something wrong. Not exactly. But she knew how it might look. A queen alone in the woods with a musician who looked at her like she’d hung the moon.
She had just pressed her lips together and forced herself to breathe.
This wasn’t about Orion. It was about the act of painting again.
The music and the colors all swirled together.
She had paused with her brush again, closed her eyes, and let the melody fuel her muse Orion’s playing was beautiful and loosened something tight inside her chest.
If she didn’t look at him, it was easier. Easier not to notice the way his gaze lingered. Easier not to feel like she was borrowing affection she couldn’t return.
The music swelled as a breeze brushed her cheeks. It was these moments that she forgot the walking boot strapped to her ankle. Forgot the weight of the crown. Forgot the way her heart misbehaved every time a certain king looked at her.
She let the sound fill her.
And then right in the middle of a song… silence.
The sudden absence hit harder than any sour note. Her heart gave an uneasy thump as she opened her eyes. Orion stood a few paces away, his flute lowered, his expression somewhere between startled and apologetic.
Beyond him, at the edge of the clearing, stood Lucas. Even from that distance, she felt him.
He didn’t wear his normal king attire. Instead he wore jeans and a T-shirt, but he still carried himself like royalty with his shoulders squared and jaw tight. Sunlight caught in his hair. His gaze locked on her, not Orion.
On her.
Her pulse did something ridiculous and traitorous. Orion followed her line of sight and stepped closer to her.
“Lucas,” she said faintly.
“Leave us,” Lucas said evenly with a flick of his hand. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Orion hesitated and glanced at Sia as if asking permission.
Guilt pricked sharper now. She’d put him in this position. “Thank you for coming,” she told him quietly with a slight nod that it was okay to leave.
Lucas’s jaw tightened further as he approached. Orion disappeared down the path with his instrument tucked protectively beneath his arm.
The clearing had felt smaller without the music. Then Lucas stepped forward and declared his intention to take her home.
Home. The word curled around her heart in a way she wasn’t prepared for. If only it was real.
“I didn’t realize I required escorting,” she replied. She had aimed for lightness but landed somewhere closer to snarky.
She tried to push herself up from the stool, but the walking boot made everything awkward. She had to brace her palms against the wood, shift her weight carefully, and angle her injured ankle just right. The motion sent a sharp reminder of pain up her leg.
Lucas was at her side in two strides.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
“I don’t need help.”
Her balance wobbled anyway.
She straightened with effort and lifted her chin. It annoyed her that he was watching. It annoyed her more that part of her liked that he was watching.
His eyes flicked to the boot, then back to her face. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
His expression cooled several degrees. “Yes,” he said and his voice slipped into that maddeningly formal tone. “I noticed.”
She crossed her arms. “If you’re about to scold me, don’t.”
“It is inappropriate,” he said smoothly, “for the queen to be consorting with a commoner in the middle of the woods.”
There it was. King mode. It was the voice he used in council meetings when someone had overstepped. Calm, authoritative, and impossible to contradict.
Heat flared in her cheeks. “We are in the middle of the woods,” she pointed out. “Far from prying eyes.”
His gaze sharpened. “That doesn’t make it wise.”
“It was music, Lucas.”
“It was private.”
“And?”
“And,” he said as he stepped closer, “people talk.”
The way he said it made something twist inside her. Not fear. Not quite anger. Could it be jealousy?
The thought startled her.
She tipped her chin higher. “You think I was doing something improper.”
“I think,” he replied, each word clipped, “that you deserve better than whispered speculation and a musician who looks at you like…”
“Like what?” she demanded.
His mouth snapped shut. The air between them felt charged. Dangerous.
She hated this. Hated the accusation in his eyes. Hated that he cared. Hated that she cared that he cared.
“Perhaps,” she said tightly, “you’re overstepping.”
She turned with the full intention of making a dramatic, dignified exit.
It would have worked beautifully if her boot hadn’t caught on a pile of loose leaves. Her injured foot slid backwards and the world lurched once again. For a breathless second, she was positive that she was going to hit the ground face-first.
Instead, strong arms caught her. Her hands flew to his chest. Solid and unyielding.
Lucas.
He’d moved faster than she could process. One arm braced around her back with the other firm at her waist. Her body pressed fully against his.
Time forgot how to move.
Her breath stuttered. She could feel the steady thud of his heart beneath her palm and feel his body heat through the thin fabric of his shirt. A spark flickered low in her stomach.
It wasn’t the first time he’d caught her. But it felt different now. His gaze dropped to her lips and desire flared through her sharp and bright… and terrifying.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured again, but softer this time.
The anger had drained from his face. In its place was something far more dangerous. Concern, yes. But also awareness.
She became acutely conscious of every place they touched. Of how safe she felt. Her heart did that traitorous thing again.
“I was not,” she whispered, “in danger of falling.”
He raised a brow. “Oh, really? You were almost horizontal.”
“That is an exaggeration.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. And just like that, the tension shifted. He adjusted his grip to test her balance as if to release her, but her ankle protested the moment her weight shifted.
She winced despite herself. His jaw tightened and decision flashed across his face. Before she could protest, he bent and scooped her into his arms.
A small, humiliating gasp escaped her.
“Lucas!”
“You’re not walking back on that,” he said firmly.
She wrapped an arm instinctively around his shoulders to steady herself. The movement brought her even closer. She could feel the flex of muscle beneath her fingers. The strength in him was almost startling. And his heat. It enveloped her like a gentle blanket.
He carried her as if it were nothing. The clearing seemed to blur again, but this time it was her heart, not her footing.
She had always known he was strong. He trained daily. Faced danger more times than she could know about. But this was different.
There was a gentleness in the way he adjusted his hold so her injured foot wouldn’t jostle. A carefulness that contradicted the stern king-mode scolding from moments ago.
“You’re very quiet,” he said.
She swallowed. “I’m plotting my revenge.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I’ll have Orion compose a ballad about the tyrant king who abducted his own queen.”
He huffed a laugh against her temple. The sound warmed her more than the sun filtering through the trees.
Jealousy. He had definitely been jealous. The realization settled softly now. He hadn’t been angry because she was reckless. He’d been angry because she’d been with someone else. The knowledge sent heat spiraling through her chest.
“You were upset,” she said carefully.
“I was concerned.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He didn’t answer immediately. His stride remained steady, measured. Finally, quieter, “I don’t like seeing you with men who look at you like that.”
Her breath caught. “You were jealous.”
“You are my wife. Those looks are worthy of treason.”
“And how,” she asked, voice barely above the rustle of leaves, “do they look at me?”
His eyes met hers.
Intensity. Possession. Something fiercely restrained. “Like you’re the only light in the world.”
Her heart stumbled.
“The way you don’t?” she whispered.
Silence stretched between them. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Sia,” he said, and her name in his voice felt like a confession.
Her chest felt too small for her heart.
This was foolish. Dangerous and complicated. He wasn’t hers.
And yet, as he carried her through the trees, strong and steady and unexpectedly tender, she couldn’t ignore the truth blooming, fragile and new.
She didn’t want Orion’s music filling her silence. She wanted this. The warmth of Lucas’s arms. The steady rhythm of his heart. And the spark that flared every time he looked at her like she was more than his queen.
Her feelings for him weren’t a distant ache anymore. They were here. Tangible and real.
And as his thumb absently brushed against her side, a small, unconscious reassurance that she was secure, awareness sparked hotter.
Her heart was in trouble.
And, if the way he held her meant anything at all, so was his.