"Don't turn the tables here," she snapped, crossing one arm under the other as best she could. "You looked first. This is just payback. Equal nudity opportunity. Besides…"—she gave a small, dismissive shrug—"there isn't much to look at."
Elias blinked, taken aback. "I did remember saying, 'I didn't look'…But since we're doing paybacks…"
He started walking toward her, each step practically a warning bell. When he reached striking distance, he raised an eyebrow and reached a hand out, making a show of his fingers twitching toward her towel, just inches from touching it.
"I swear, if you so much as graze this towel—" she began, backing up so fast she nearly tripped over the rug.
The bedroom door burst open.
Beth stood at the threshold, holding a neatly folded dress in her hands. Her eyes landed on Elias first—shirtless and standing entirely too close to a barely-toweled Lyra—and she froze mid-step.
"Your highness!" Beth yelped, bowing so fast her hair flopped over her face. She looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Elias stepped back, clearing his throat. "Beth," he said, nodding stiffly. Then he turned to Lyra, his face composed but his eyes lingering just a second longer than they should have. "Get dressed and meet me for breakfast."
With that, he scooped up his shirt, tugged it over his head with an annoyed flick, and walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And on the other side of it, Elias stopped. Pressed his forehead to the wood. Exhaled slowly.
He hadn't meant to look.
But dear God—he had seen.
And it was going to take a cold bath and a long prayer to get that image out of his head.
*****
Thaddeus was just placing a steaming plate of eggs benedict in front of Elias when the doors to the breakfast room creaked open. Elias didn't look up at first but his spoon froze midair as he caught sight of her.
Lyra walked in with a slow, uncertain grace, looking regal. Her hair had been tamed into a sleek ponytail, and two delicate pearl earrings dangled like punctuation marks against her neck. A matching necklace hugged her collarbone. But the real crime was the dress. That dress was a war crime of beauty. Flowing, cinched at the waist, just enough cleavage to confuse a priest.
"Your highness… I believe what you're doing at the moment is drooling," Thaddeus murmured dryly as he poured a glass of pomegranate juice.
"Shut up," Elias said, not even blinking.
Thaddeus, wearing the smug face of a man who knew he was right, moved behind Lyra's designated chair and bowed slightly. "Good morning, my lady," he greeted.
Lyra gave a polite, charming smile that looked far too natural on her face. "Good morning," she replied, and there was a noticeable softening in her voice.
She stepped forward as Thaddeus pulled out her chair.
Her heel slid and she toppled backwards. Lyra's arms flailed as she grabbed onto the nearest life preserver: the tablecloth.
With the grace of a falling chandelier, she landed with a resounding thud on the polished floor, dragging half the contents of the breakfast table down with her in a symphony of crashing silverware, flying toast, and sloshing juice.
A full jug of orange liquid arched beautifully through the air and landed squarely on Elias.
"Oh my God!" Lyra gasped, sprawled. Scrambled eggs clung to her arm, and toast was stuck in her hair. She blinked rapidly as a rogue sausage rolled down her dress and came to a dignified stop on her lap.
Thaddeus looked like he was about to implode. "My lady! I—I am so sorry! Are you alright?" He rushed to her side, helping her to her feet.
Thaddeus took one look at Elias and froze. His eyes widened in utter horror as he took in the juice-soaked attire.
"Your Highness! I… Oh Lord," Thaddeus breathed. His lips moved but no words came out. He looked like he might start doing the sign of the cross at any moment.
Elias, dabbing at his once-impeccable tunic with the faintest shred of his dignity, sighed with the deep, exhausted breath of a man who had seen battle and survived… only to be taken down by breakfast. "Thaddeus," he said slowly, "it is not your fault."
Relief began to flicker across Thaddeus's face.
"We just happen to have a guest who has issues staying on her feet." Elias's tone turned sharp, biting, and then—he turned to Lyra, one brow raised in mock horror—"Were you dropped as a child?"
Lyra, dripping orange juice, and righteous fury, narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, go to hell," she snapped, standing tall despite the piece of egg in her ponytail.
"I have never in my life," Elias began, "seen anyone fail so epically at being proper."
Lyra gasped indignantly. "Excuse me?! I tripped!"
"For the love of God!" Elias threw his arms up in disbelief. "Would it kill you to act like a lady?"
She took a step forward. "Would it kill you to stop being insufferable?"
Thaddeus stood frozen between them. "Perhaps…a fresh dress?" he squeaked hopefully.
Lyra turned to Thaddeus sheepishly. "So… I guess you could say I made quite the splash at breakfast."
"I'll just—uh—fetch a maid." Thaddeus said and disappeared.
Elias took another deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was really trying not to lose what little patience he had left.
He turned toward Lyra, who was now seated opposite him, looking like a soggy, deflated version of the regal woman who had waltzed in just moments ago.
"So?" Elias asked. "Tell me… how is it you landed here? The sooner we find out how you got here, the sooner we can get rid of you."
Lyra narrowed her eyes and offered him a sugary-sweet smile that could curdle milk. "Oh please… sound even more eager to get rid of me will you?" she quipped, leaning back in her chair with exaggerated elegance.