Thaddeus's eyebrows shot up. "There will be no one to wait on Miss Lyra."
"She seems self sufficient," Elias snapped. "No one must know about Lyra. Not yet. Keep only the guards outside. And discreet ones. No chatter, no gossip."
*****
It had been a long week. Elias, despite being born with the poise of a royal and the restraint of a monk, had seriously considered slamming his head against the nearest marble pillar just to make the madness stop.
And honestly, Thaddeus deserved a medal. Gold, encrusted with diamonds, and possibly blessed by the gods of patience and sarcasm. Because watching Lyra try to curtsy without tipping over was both a test of endurance and a new form of torture.
"I am curtsying," she had once insisted, knees wobbling. "My spine just doesn't bend that way, okay? I'm not a freaking willow tree."
Still, they'd made progress. Albeit little.
Elias had crafted a cover story so airtight even the court's worst gossips wouldn't be able to poke holes in it. According to the official tale, Lirae had suffered a tragic accident. She'd been rescued by strangers, kept in seclusion to recover, and only recently remembered anything at all. Mostly just her name. A perfect explanation for any odd behavior.
They'd rehearsed the lie until it was practically muscle memory. And, to Lyra's credit, she'd nailed that part of the training. She could deliver it with trembling sincerity and just the right amount of vacant stare.
Elias sat on the edge of a bench, watching Lyra rub her sore feet. Her dress was wrinkled and crooked.
"We leave for the capital tomorrow," Elias said, trying to keep things formal. "You'll reenter society at Duke Williams' ball. It's the biggest event of the season, so—"
"—So the murderer will be there," Lyra cut in flatly, not even opening her eyes. "Yeah, I know. Surprise! It's me, the girl you probably thought you murdered."
Elias chuckled. He couldn't help it. "Yes, exactly."
"Any strange conversations, you relay them to me. Word for word. No embellishments, no Lyra-flavored rewrites."
"I embellish for dramatic effect," she muttered, then added with a mock pout, "It's a skill."
"And try—really try—not to speak like you usually do. Like you've got hot potatoes in your mouth," Elias added, gesturing vaguely at her.
Lyra gasped, affronted. "Excuse me! My voice is expressive. That's called personality."
Elias laughed despite himself.
"How I wish you would visit my world too. You wouldn't last a day," Lyra said, stretching out dramatically. She shot him a sideways glance.
"I'm sure I won't," Elias chuckled, resting his arm lazily on the back of the seat beside her. "Your world sounds like it runs on chaos. I'd die before breakfast."
"I think it would physically kill you to be less arrogant."
He laughed again. "In a world where people take honesty for arrogance, I wouldn't want to live there either." He leaned a little closer. "Are you sure you didn't migrate here on purpose?"
Lyra narrowed her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. "You know what's exhausting? You. Talking to you is like trying to have a debate with a cat that thinks it owns the room."
"And yet, here you are. Still talking to me. Must be my irresistible charm."
She groaned theatrically and flopped her head back against the plush seat, limbs splayed in defeat. "Why do I even try? It's like arguing with a marble statue of smugness."
"My Lady!" Thaddeus's clipped voice called out.
Lyra's groan escalated into a full-body protest. "No. Nooo. I just sat down. This is oppression. Elias, please, save me," she pleaded, reaching a hand toward him.
Elias smiled. "I'll give you the world if you go through with this," he said softly.
She sighed, dragging herself upright. "At least tell him to be nice."
"I don't think Thaddeus is capable of that," Elias replied, eyes following her as she smoothed the front of her gown.
She gave a final groan and disappeared around the corner, muttering.
Elias remained where he was, watching the space she'd just occupied. "She's either going to get me arrested or killed," he muttered to himself with an exasperated fondness that didn't quite hide the worry in his voice.
Because the truth was, the more time he spent with Lyra, the more he feared what would happen when the game was over and she went back to a world that wasn't his.
*****
"Lord Elias. It's so nice to see you again," Duke Williams said with a practiced smile, giving a bow It was the sort of bow that screamed, I respect you, but the guy wearing the crown is still in the room.
Elias returned the gesture with the same political grace, the edges of his smile polished and diplomatic. "It's good to see you again too, Duke Williams. This is a nice ball, as always." He was scanning the ballroom, noting every suspicious glance, every too-perfect smile. He wasn't here to enjoy the wine, he was here to sniff out whoever thought they could get away with murder and political sabotage.
The ballroom glittered but Elias's mind was elsewhere. Lyra was due to arrive any moment, and the clock inside his chest ticked just a little louder with every passing second.
"It's so weird calling you 'Lord' after years of addressing you as the prince," the Duke added.
Elias's smile softened. "We all have to get used to it," he said, as casually as he could manage. Even me, he thought grimly. Every time someone used his new title, it sounded like a bad joke.
"Well…well…Elias," a familiar voice drawled behind him, cutting through the moment.
Elias turned, already bracing himself. Enter King Matthew, resplendent in ego, striding toward them.
"Looks like you have returned in time to face judgment for your crimes," Matthew said, his smile sharp enough to shave with.
Elias raised his brows and put on the most innocent expression he could muster. "What crimes, Your Majesty?" he asked.