Page 38 of Dragon King’s Duty Bride

“No,” he started. “I miss–”

“Here. Celeste wants to say hi to you.”

And just like that, Sia was gone. For the next hour, he learned all about every detail of his daughters’ trip. And somewhere deep inside, Lucas felt something unlock.

He would talk to Sia when they returned. No more pushing away, no more guessing how he felt. He was not abandoning the past but rather choosing the future.

And for the first time in years, the castle didn’t feel like a monument of loss. He smiled as he hung up the phone.

It felt like a home waiting to be filled again.

Chapter 14

Sia

The first night back in her childhood bedroom, Sia lay awake listening to the familiar creak of the ceiling fan and the distant hush of traffic on the nearby highway.

The house had always had its own rhythm, steady and unhurried, unlike the castle that always seemed like it was on high alert. It felt like slipping into a dress she had once loved and forgotten she still owned.

She had returned here not long ago with a degree in art rolled carefully into a cardboard tube and hopes and dreams shared with her university friends. She could still remember the way the afternoon sun had spilled across this very floor as she’d unpacked her paints, her mind brimming with ideas. She had felt light then. Untethered.

Very unroyal. And then the call had come shortly after she returned.

First it had been Aldrek giving the official version of what was expected of her. Shock had prevented her from asking many questions, something she didn’t think possible after receiving the call of her sister’s illness years prior. Aldrek had known that Sia would do anything for her nieces and used them as leverage in his quest to make her understand.

Then the second call came. Lucas’s voice had been confident, already certain of what her answer would be. He had spoken of stability and of expectations. The word marriage had hung in the air like some kind of business proposal.

Her mother had cried with joy. Her father had clasped her shoulder with solemn pride. Sia had said yes. She sometimes wondered if she had actually felt the ground shift beneath her feet at that moment or if she had simply imagined it.

Either way, this bedroom had seen life as she knew it cease to exist.

Now, she laid there and let the memory play through her mind. Before Lucas, she had been happy in small, unremarkable ways. Calm. She had woken without bracing herself for anyone’s moods. She had painted when she wanted. She had danced barefoot on the back deck just because a song had moved her.

She slept better than she had since her wedding. The next morning, after settling the girls with her mother, who was absolutely giddy at the sight of three little heads bent over cereal bowls, Sia slipped out the back gate. She had needed space from Lucas, now she needed peace.

The path was narrower than she remembered, or maybe it was just a bit overgrown from non-use. The place where she used to paint was only a ten-minute walk from the house.

She stood still when she reached it. Here, in this meadow surrounded by stands of pine trees, was her old pavilion that stood in the middle, all rusted and weathered, with a sunny little concrete patio off to the side where her easel had stood.

Nothing had changed. Not the bench. Not the crooked pine whose branches were used by hawks for nesting each spring. Not the faint outline of old paint stains on a flat stone she used to use as a table.

Her chest tightened.

She could see her younger self with her hair pinned up in a messy bun, a canvas propped on her easel, and music playing from her phone. Sometimes she’d set the brush down and twirl, laughing at herself while her skirt fanned out. No one watching. No one judging.

Very un-royal.

She had not painted since marrying Lucas. She hadn’t even really thought about it. The realization landed heavily. She hadn’t meant to stop. At first, there had simply been no time. Then no space that was actually hers. And then no point when her life was no longer her own.

Sia ran her fingers along the bench and felt a sudden, almost reckless urge to dig her old canvases out of her parents’ garage. The thought felt forbidden, like sneaking sweets before dinner.

Why not? There’s no law that says I can’t paint.

Memories of her past works flooded her mind. She had been able to paint with her eyes closed, figuratively, not actually. She knew what colors went where and how to make a scene just a tad warmer and more real than it was.

A thin ribbon of music floated through the air and cut into her thoughts. She froze and looked around. There was no way…

And yet there was. The sound was unmistakable. A soft, lilting sound that rose and fell like a conversation between wind and soul. A flute.