Page 4 of Dragon King’s Duty Bride

Sia resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she looked at them and felt nothing but a dull, simmering anger.

How could they stand there smiling as if this were not stitched together following a funeral? How could they look at her gown and not see another woman’s shadow inside it? Their own daughter’s ghost.

She moved because the moment required it. The gown was heavy with its train whispering along the floor like it knew something she didn’t. Every step toward the altar felt like walking deeper into a role she had never auditioned for.

And then she saw Lucas.

He stood and waited beneath the crown banners. His posture was rigid and his hands clasped as if holding himself together by force alone. He did not smile when he noticed her. His gaze lifted, met hers, and froze.

For a heartbeat, everything else fell away.

His eyes were darker than she remembered but stripped of warmth and sharpened by grief that had not been allowed to settle. There was recognition there, yes, but also something harsher. Resignation. A flicker of anger quickly buried, but not at her.

At all of this.

Her chest tightened. So he hated this too. Part of her felt sorry for him, but then she reminded herself that he had allowed this to happen. He was the king and had chosen this path.

Their eyes locked longer than was proper. Long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.

I didn’t choose this.

Neither did I.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. He looked away first.

The ceremony began.

Sia barely registered the words. They washed over her colder than the mountain waterfall behind them with their formality and emptiness. When it was time to speak, she did so clearly and crisply, with each vow delivered with precision. She did not soften her voice. She did not pretend they meant more than duty required.

When Lucas spoke, she glanced at him despite herself.

His voice was low and controlled. The words were correct. His eyes were not on her.

Good.

She did not want his attention if it came wrapped in memory. She was afraid that if he looked at her, he would see her sister standing where she now stood. The thought burned sharp and ugly.

At one point, their hands were joined. His fingers were colder than her own.

The contact was brief, almost reluctant, as if both of them feared that too much awareness would crack something open. His thumb twitched once against her skin, a reflex that seemed to surprise him. He stilled immediately and tightened his grip but not for comfort, but control.

She didn’t look at him and kept her thoughts on her nieces instead.

Three small girls who had already lost too much. Three lives the court would gladly mold and twist if left unguarded.

That was the biggest reason as to why she stood here. To Sia, the girls were the only reason.

When the crown was placed on her head, its weight settled like judgment. Applause erupted and it was too loud and much too eager. Sia’s smile was thin and numb. She could feel it tremble at the edges.

Queen Sia.

The title slid over her like glamour she had never wanted.

Lucas turned toward her and offered his arm. There was a pause before she accepted. His touch was distant as though he were afraid of either hurting her or acknowledging her existence too fully.

As they walked together out of the church, he leaned just close enough for his voice to reach her.

“This isn’t…” he began.