Marriage of ghosts

Lylie sat at the edge of the massive bed, staring at the empty space beside her.

The palace was too quiet.

After the chaos of the wedding—the endless greetings, the nobles pretending to be delighted by her presence, the suffocating attention—she had expected him to be here,on their matrimonial bed.

To finish what had been started at the altar.

To claim his place beside her, if only for appearances.

But instead—

He was gone.

A knock at the door made her snap her head up.

Elira, her personal maid entered looking hesitant. In her hands, she carried a silver tray with warm tea. "Your Majesty," she greeted softly, setting the tray down.

Lylie blinked at her. "Where is he?"

Elira didn't pretend to misunderstand. "The king has retired to his own chambers, Your Majesty."

Lylie's stomach twisted.

She hadn't expected love. She wasn't foolish.

But she had expected something.

Michael had always been sharp, teasing, infuriating. He had played this game alongside her, never backing down from her challenges. And yet, the moment the vows had been spoken, the moment the crown had been placed on her head—

He had disappeared.

As if she were a stranger.

Lylie clenched her jaw, forcing a smirk. "So, the great King Michael refuses to even share a room with his wife? How utterly romantic."

Elira hesitated. "Perhaps he is—"

"Being an ass?" Lylie finished. "That's nothing new."

But this was different.

Before, he had been present. Even when he was cruel, even when he was teasing, he had been there.

Now?

It was like he was avoiding her entirely.

Lylie exhaled sharply, standing. "Fine," she muttered. "If he wants to ignore me, let's see how long that lasts."

She had spent her whole life fighting to be seen. She wasn't about to start fading into the background now.

*********

The days that followed were a brutal wake-up call.

Lylie had expected marriage to be a battlefield—one filled with sharp words, a game of wits between her and Michael.

But instead—

Michael barely spoke to her at all.

He attended meetings without her. Ate meals without her. Even when they sat in the same room during court, he treated her like a piece of furniture.

Cold. Indifferent. Distant.

Lylie hated it.

She would have preferred him angry. Would have preferred him throwing insults her way, taunting her like before.

But this?

This was worse.

He had shut her out completely.

And the palace had noticed.

Whispers followed her wherever she went.

"The king doesn't even look at her."

"A marriage in name only."

"Will there even be an heir to the throne?"

"How long until he sends her away?"

Lylie kept her head high. She pretended it didn't sting.

But it did.

Because for all her bravado, for all her sharp words—

She was still human.

And no matter how much she hated Michael, a part of her had hoped...

Hoped she wouldn't be alone in this.

—

It took a full week before Lylie snapped.

She found him in the war room, standing over a map, deep in discussion with his generals.

Lylie didn't wait for permission. She pushed the heavy doors open and strode inside.

The room fell silent. The generals shifted uncomfortably.

Michael barely spared her a glance.

She hated that.

She hated how easily he dismissed her.

"My king," she said, voice dripping with false sweetness. "I must speak with you."

One of the generals cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, perhaps we should—"

Michael waved a hand. "Leave us."

The generals exchanged wary looks before bowing and slipping out.

The door closed behind them.

Now, it was just them.

Lylie folded her arms, tilting her head. "You've been avoiding me."

Michael didn't react. He simply stared at the map, his jaw tight. "I've been busy."

Lylie scoffed. "Busy being an ass?"

Nothing.

No smirk. No sharp retort. Just silence.

That hurt more than anything.

She stepped closer, voice dropping. "Why are you doing this?"

Michael exhaled, his fingers curling over the edge of the table. "Doing what, Lylie?"

She threw her hands up. "Acting like I don't exist!"

Finally, finally, he looked at her.

And his gaze—

It was empty.

Cold.

"As far as I'm concerned," he said flatly, "you don't."

Lylie's breath hitched.

She refused to let it show.

Instead, she forced a smirk. "So, what was all that before, huh? The teasing? The games? Was it all just entertainment for you?"

Michael didn't answer.

That silence burned.

Lylie's smirk faltered. "Fine," she muttered. "You don't want me? Good. I don't want you either."

She turned on her heel, storming toward the door.

But just as she reached it, Michael's voice cut through the air.

"Lylie."

She paused.

Waited.

Hoped.

But when he spoke again, his voice was as cold as ever.

"Don't ever interrupt me in the war room again."

Lylie swallowed hard.

Then, without another word, she walked away.

And this time—

She didn't look back.