Oh My God!

But Lyra wasn’t one to wallow in pity. No, she’d decided to drown her sorrows somewhere fun—a strip club.

As she sipped her overly sweet cocktail, trying to ignore the neon lights and the questionable dance moves, she spotted her boyfriend kissing a stripper right in front of her. Yep. That was a special kind of heartbreak cocktail no one warned her about.

The day after, Lyra received news that should have been a miracle—or at least mildly uplifting. Her aunt, who had been missing for twenty years and whom the family had long presumed had run off to join a cult, had been officially declared dead. And apparently, the woman had left her house to Lyra in her will.

The house was a disaster. Disaster felt like a cute understatement, actually. It was less “dream home” and more “haunted junkyard with a mortgage.” The windows were cracked, the walls whispered in the wind, and she was fairly certain something had moved under the floorboards when she sneezed. The only thing missing was ominous violin music.

She had decided to sleep in the least creepy room and return to her apartment first thing the next morning.

Then there was the mirror.

It was shoved in a dusty corner of the garage, hidden under a tarp. Lyra had pulled it off, expecting to see her own face staring back. But the mirror didn’t reflect her at all. It just shimmered. She remembered frowning, reaching out to touch it, and then—

Wham.

Sucked in.

The memory slammed into her. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God!” she gasped, springing to her feet. “I knew that mirror was cursed!”

She began to pace the bedroom floor. What was that thing? Had her aunt been a witch? A sorceress? A really elaborate prankster?

Elias’s words echoed in her mind. “This could be magic.”

Determined to confront him—and maybe, just maybe, get some answers—she marched to the door.

Just as her hand touched the doorknob, she froze.

She glanced down.

Still. In. The. Same. Clothes.

“Ugh!” she groaned, and did a full 180 toward the mirror in the room. What she saw nearly made her scream.

“Jesus, I look like roadkill,” she muttered, pulling her cheeks down with her fingers.

Step one: clean face. Step two: tame hair. Step three: figure out what kind of Twilight Zone she had fallen into.

 “Ugh, what even is this tangle?!” she muttered, yanking out a knot in her hair that could probably qualify as a small rodent.

*****

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.