Do You Like It?

“Do you like it?”

 “Well,” Elias began. “There are… parts of you in full display that are meant for your husband’s eyes only but…” He cleared his throat, his ears tingling red. “As a man, yes. I do.”

Lyra arched a brow and tried not to laugh, but her lips twitched. “Relax. It’s just clavicle, not a crime scene.”

“I’ve seen less skin in a men’s changing room,” Elias muttered under his breath, then looked away, mildly scandalized—and deeply, helplessly impressed.

“Miss Lirae.” King Matthew’s voice sliced through the air. The crowd parted. He extended a hand. “A dance.”

Lyra turned and bowed gracefully, every muscle in her body tensing. “Your Majesty,” she replied.

“I don’t think Miss Lirae—” Elias began, stepping forward instinctively.

“You do not speak for her.” Matthew shut him down cold, without even sparing him a glance. The dismissal was casual.

“I’d be delighted, Your Majesty,” Lyra said, ignoring Elias’s warning look and slipping her hand into Matthew’s.

Elias’s fists clenched at his sides. Two reasons. Two very loud, gut-churning reasons he couldn’t breathe.

First, Matthew. The king was now his number one suspect. The idea of him whispering threats or trying to dig secrets out of Lyra under the guise of a waltz made Elias itch for the dagger he’d left in his boot.

Second… the waltz.

Why hadn’t they taught her the damn waltz? How had that slipped past both him and Thaddeus?

So he stood there, holding his breath.

Lyra moved.

She let Matthew lead, yes, but she matched his rhythm. Her posture was regal, her steps perfectly timed. The guests watched as she spun across the ballroom, somehow transforming the air around her into stardust.

“I’m sorry,” Elias muttered aloud, watching her glow under the chandelier. “Who the hell are you?”

*****

 “Interesting.” Matthew’s grip on her waist was polite but his eyes were doing a full interrogation.

“What, Your Majesty?” Lyra responded with practiced sweetness.

“Are you ever going to tell us what happened to you?” he asked, spinning her.

“I would love an explanation myself,” Lyra replied smoothly, grateful for all those childhood dance classes her mother had forced on her. “I woke up remembering nothing. A small little family in the northern province saved me. They said it seemed I had fallen from a cliff, badly injured. My memories are only just returning, in bits and pieces. The last few years… well, they’re still a bit foggy.”

Matthew hummed thoughtfully, though the sound was more judgmental than curious. “It leaves a lot of questions unanswered.”

Lyra nodded demurely. “Yes, Your Majesty, I understand.”

“For example,” Matthew continued, turning them slightly so they swept past a group of nobles gawking with wide eyes and too-large ears, “why is the first person you run to Elias?”

“Your Majesty, I have always felt safe with him,” she said, letting a softness creep into her voice. A whisper of affection, believable even to the most trained ears. “He’s always been kind to me. Besides, he is my betrothed. I do remember that.”

Matthew’s jaw ticked, and the hand at her waist tensed ever so slightly. The smile on his lips stayed fixed, but his eyes dimmed.

“He was about to stand trial for your disappearance,” he said tightly. “He was suspected of having something to do with it.”

“I heard.” Lyra kept her tone gentle but curious. “It must have been awful for him.”

 “As you know, your relationship came as a shock to a lot of people. To me especially.”

She looked up at him, pretending confusion. “Oh?”

Matthew leaned in just enough to be heard over the music. “Since you used to warm my bed.”

“Excuse me?!” Lyra stopped mid-step, her heeled foot nearly colliding with the hem of her gown. Wow, she thought, biting back a laugh. It seems Miss Lirae was quite the slut. Great. Just great.

“I apologise,” she said quickly, summoning her most delicate voice and ladylike poise. “I do not remember any of that.”

But Matthew only smiled and pulled her closer again, resuming the dance as though he hadn’t just dropped a verbal grenade in the middle of their conversation.

“It’s okay,” he said smoothly. “You will remember… in time.”

Thankfully, she was rescued at that exact moment.

“Excuse me,” Elias’s voice sliced through the tension. Lyra nearly sighed aloud with relief. If this were a drama, she’d throw a bouquet at his feet and kiss his boots. Hallelujah, my knight in shining sarcasm.

Matthew turned, clearly displeased.

“I wasn’t done,” he said.

“It’s rude to dance with a man’s betrothed for too long, Your Majesty,” Elias replied, offering a poisonous smile that said try me.

There was a tense beat before Matthew stepped back with exaggerated grace, masking his irritation. He glanced around the ballroom, clearly calculating who was watching and how his exit would be perceived.

“Good night, Miss Lirae. See you soon.” The words were gentle, but the implication lingered.

Lyra gave a curtsy that was all charm and zero warmth. Elias offered a bow so low it was clearly mocking. Once Matthew turned and walked off, Elias immediately stepped in, pulling Lyra into his arms for the next dance.

“You didn’t tell me you are the main suspect in my death… Lirae’s death,” she hissed as soon as the music resumed.

“Sshhh…” Elias leaned in with a reassuring smile. “We’ll talk when we get home. Right now—smile. Smile and dance. You are doing absolutely well. And you look stunning.”

“Oh, well, thank you. I do love being told I’m stunning right after finding out I’ve been murdered by my fiancee,” she muttered under her breath, still smiling.

“I promised you I would only say nice things to you,” Elias quipped.

Lyra rolled her eyes and focused on the steps. The dance might have been graceful, but the tension around them was palpable.

*****

King Matthew exploded through the doors. He didn't wait for the guards or courtiers—he moved, charging down the corridor and straight to his father’s chamber. Without knocking, he shoved the heavy doors open, sending them slamming against the walls.