Its Not The Dumbest Idea

He gave her a long look, arms folded now, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re saying your plan is what? Walk into the nearest mirror and hope for the best?”

“It’s not the dumbest idea,” she said coolly.

“You made me lose my streak for that?” Elias turned, raising one sharply groomed eyebrow at her.

Lyra just shrugged, biting back a grin. “There you go again… blaming me. Have you considered that you’re just a lousy shot?”

Elias blinked. Slowly. Dramatically. “Excuse me?!”

Lyla knew she was pushing it. Heck, she was practically shoving it off a cliff. But something about the man brought out her inner gremlin. The more refined and poised he tried to be, the more she wanted to stick bubblegum in his boots. “Hey… don’t murder me. I’m just stating the obvious,” she added, feigning concern as she raised both hands in mock surrender.

Elias gave her a look. A long, withering, I-could-have-you-beheaded-but-I-won’t-because-it-would-be-too-easy look.

“Here,” he said suddenly, picking up the bow and practically shoving it into her hands. “Since you’re such a critique, you must have amazing skills. Go on, take a shot.”

Lyla’s eyebrows jumped. “How hard can it be?” she muttered. But internally? Pure chaos. Her stomach dropped, her palms were suddenly clammy, and the bow felt like it weighed fifty pounds.

Okay, deep breaths. You’ve seen movies.  Just pull and shoot. Right?

Wrong.

She picked up an arrow, then proceeded to attempt—very unsuccessfully—to notch it onto the string. It slipped once. Twice. The third time she somehow managed to jab herself in the thumb.

Elias watched her.

After five painfully awkward attempts, she finally got the arrow in place. She squared her shoulders, lifted the bow, aimed dramatically…

…and launched the arrow directly into a flower pot behind her.

Elias burst into laughter. Real laughter.

“You do not know anything about archery, do you?” he said once he could breathe again, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Lyra flushed but held her ground, chin tilted. “Don’t look so smug. Guns are more efficient.”

He stepped closer to her—much closer than Lyra expected—and before she could retreat, his hands were on her arms. Gently. Firm, warm hands that radiated confidence and control, guiding her stance.

“You’re too stiff,” Elias muttered from behind her, adjusting her elbows.

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” she muttered. But the sass in her voice was weaker than usual—possibly because she could feel his breath on her neck and was having an out-of-body experience trying to not remember what he looked like shirtless that morning.

Her fingers tightened on the bowstring, and his hands moved over hers—calm, assured, professional… yet maddeningly intimate. She felt the shift in her body before she could control it. Her heartbeat, which had been casually existing a second ago, now raced.

And then, he pulled. The arrow sliced through the air, whistling, and landed just a few inches from the bull’s eye.

Lyra blinked. “Huh. That didn’t suck.”

Elias was still close. She turned around a bit too fast, and suddenly her nose was practically brushing against the hard chest of Mr Pain-In-Her-Neck.

She cleared her throat and took an awkward step back. “See… wasn’t so hard.”

He tilted his head at her, one brow rising in that annoyingly attractive way that made her want to slap it right off. “You are something else,” Elias said.

*****

That was dangerously close to a compliment. Were pigs flying somewhere?

And then he asked, “Why are you here?”

She stiffened for a second, unsure whether he meant here as in this kingdom, this timeline, this level of confusion… or here, next to him, looking like she belonged in a period drama she hadn’t auditioned for.

“You said we could check a book out in the library,” she replied, playing it cool.

“Yes,” Elias nodded, the seriousness in his eyes dimming slightly. “But before we do that, would you have tea with me? I need to speak with you briefly.”

*****

A short while later, Lyra sat across from Elias at a perfectly manicured table in the courtyard.

She watched him with narrowed eyes as the tea was served. He didn’t touch his cup at first—he was too busy gripping the table.

She arched a brow. “What’s with the death grip? Expecting me to throw another breakfast plate at your head?”

Elias gave her a pointed look. “I’m being cautious.”

Lyra smirked. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

Elias exhaled through his nose. He stared into his teacup as if consulting it for wisdom. Then, finally, he looked up.

“What do you want to speak to me about?” Lyra asked. She wasn’t sure if she trusted him yet—but she was curious. And if nothing else, he did have good cheekbones, which made staring at him during awkward silences far less painful.

Elias studied her. He was calculating. Deciding. Wrestling with something behind those infuriatingly pretty eyes.

“I need your help with a problem I have.”

Lyra’s eyes narrowed over the rim of her teacup. “You… you… need my help….You…you need my help?”

Elias sighed and leaned back slightly, his teacup still untouched. “Are you done being dramatic or do I have to take a nap first?”

“Oh no, no. Go on,” Lyra said, waving her hand flamboyantly. “This is great. I mean, it’s hard to believe, is all.”

Elias gave her a flat look, but she was already smirking, basking in the rare glory of having the upper hand. She took a slow sip of tea.

“You look very much like someone dear to me,” Elias said finally. “And I would like you to pretend to be that someone and delay leaving for your world for a bit.”

Lyra’s smugness died a little. She lowered the cup.

“…Is that why you addressed me as Lirae when you found me?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Elias replied. “She was… we were in love. I was seeing her back at the capital and she… went missing…”

He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the table.