Page 8 of Dragon King’s Duty Bride

“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.