Just then, the door creaked open and a young woman stepped inside, balancing a stack of fresh white towels. Her eyes widened with surprise. "Oh! You are awake. Good morning, my lady."
Lyra blinked. "My… what-now?"
"My lady," the girl repeated, bowing slightly. "I am Beth. I've been assigned as your personal maid."
Lyra straightened. "Wait, personal maid? Assigned?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Stop calling me that! It's weird. I'm not anyone's lady. I mean, I have lady parts—wait, no, that's not what I meant!" She covered her face. "God, I'm spiraling. I haven't even brushed my teeth."
Beth giggled softly, setting the towels down on a small ottoman by the dresser. "Would you like help preparing your bath?"
"Bath?" Lyra tilted her head.
"Yes," Beth said, smiling.
"Where's Mr. Bridge?"
Beth paused. "His Highness is having his morning tea in the solarium."
That snapped Lyra out of it. "Wait. His Highness? You mean Elias?"
The maid gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "My lady! You must not speak His Highness's name so casually."
Lyra narrowed her eyes, mock offended.
"Okay, what's next?"
The maid gestured toward an arched doorway. "Through there, you'll find the bath. I'll go search for some suitable clothing."
Lyra sighed, pressing her hands to her cheeks and puffing out a breath. "Okay, Lyra. You're either dreaming or dead."
*****
Elias knocked lightly on the door to his own bedroom and immediately scowled at himself. It was his room. Why was he treating it like someone else's quarters? Absurd.
There was no response, not even the sound of that very distinctive, ungodly snore he'd become acquainted with last night. Sighing, he turned the knob and stepped inside, half-expecting the room to be empty, the entire encounter to have been a dream born of too much wine and not enough sleep.
He scanned the room. No sign of Lyra. His heart did a tiny, irrational flip of worry. Had she vanished the same way she appeared?
He shook off the feeling and walked to the closet. If she had vanished, maybe it was for the best. She was chaotic. Disruptive. She talked like it was a sport.
Elias pulled off his shirt and tossed it over a nearby chair, his fingers raking through a row of tunics and dress coats with more scrutiny than usual. Did he want to look... pleasant? Presentable? Appealing?
He selected a deep sapphire shirt that he usually reserved for formal dinners—one that Lirae had once told him made his eyes look like something worth getting lost in. Of course, this wasn't Lirae. This was Lyra. Loud, inappropriate Lyra.
As he turned back toward the center of the room, there was a sudden soft thump—and before he could react, a very wet, very naked Lyra walked straight out of the bathroom and collided directly with his chest.
She yelped, a startled sound that echoed off the marble tiles. Her feet slipped on the polished floor and time seemed to slow. Elias, acting on instinct, lunged forward and caught her with swift precision—arms steady, gaze alarmed, and—
*****
His hands were on skin. Bare skin.
And not just any skin. On her breasts. His fingers suddenly forgot all concepts of gentlemanly behavior. One of his hands was a mere inch from—
Elias's eyes widened in horror as his brain caught up to his body. His fingers twitched, and he did the only logical thing a proud royal man could do in such a situation.
He dropped her.
"What the…? Gee…Thanks," Lyra groaned, propping herself up with a wince. Her damp hair stuck to her face, and her dignity scattered across the floor.
"Sorry! I—uh—here!" he stammered, grabbing the towel from the ottoman. He flung it toward her and immediately spun around, his back to her, his ears turning an impressive shade of crimson.
"For the love of God!" he exclaimed. "What in the world are you doing walking around without clothes on?!"
"Excuse me?" she snapped, quickly getting to her feet, wrapping the towel around her body. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"
"Your room?" he repeated, incredulous. "This is my bedroom."
She scoffed, clutching the towel tighter. "That you gave me to use! What, because it's your bedroom, I don't get any privacy? You could have knocked! You could have announced your presence! You could have—oh, I don't know—not barged in!"
"Are you decent?" he asked finally, each word carefully selected.
"Oh, what's the point? You already got a good look, you perv," Lyra huffed, throwing one arm up dramatically while still clutching the towel. Her cheeks were flushed with a mix of embarrassment, annoyance, and the faint, inexplicable thrill that came from being caught naked by someone who looked like a Calvin Klein ad. The towel slipped slightly on one side, and she yanked it up with a scowl. "You practically copped a feel and dropped me. Real smooth."
"I didn't get a good anything!" Elias barked, sounding genuinely offended. His hands shot up in the air defensively. "And I wasn't feeling anything. I was saving your life!"
"That's exactly what a pervert would say!" Lyra spat, her eyes blazing as she pointed a finger at him. Her hair was dripping wet, and the loose strands framed her face.
Elias groaned and rubbed his temples. "I have a good mind to turn around, yank the towel off you and then get a proper look," he muttered. "I will not be accused of something I didn't do."
Lyra's jaw dropped. "One look wasn't enough? You need more? Sheesh!" Her voice rose with mock outrage, but the tips of her ears were red, and she took a quick step back, just in case.
Elias turned around on the spot, his eyes sharp with challenge. His stare locked onto hers. His chest, still bare, rose and fell in slow, steady breaths. The muscles along his arms flexed slightly, as if to punctuate the intensity of the moment. He looked equal parts furious, flustered, and... infuriatingly attractive.
And that's when Lyra finally really looked at him.
Her gaze started at his sharp jawline, moved to his chest—moderately sculpted, as if the universe had decided to sketch a Greek god but stop halfway so he wouldn't be too intimidating. Her eyes trailed down the gentle dip of his abs to the faint line that disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers.
And, involuntarily—completely involuntarily—her tongue darted out and grazed her lower lip.
Elias caught it. Of course he did.
"You were just accusing me of something, Miss Lyra," he said slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he were holding back a smirk. "Regale me—what is it you're doing now?"