The King Is Here

“Your Highness!” a voice called out from the entrance to the library. “The King is here!”

Elias stiffened as if someone had dumped ice water down his back. “The… the king?” he repeated.

Lyra blinked up at him, their faces still absurdly close. “Is that code for your dad?” she whispered.

Elias glanced toward the library doors. “Shhh… stay here,” he said, gently guiding her behind one of the taller bookshelves with a hand at her back. “He cannot see you—not yet.”

He stepped away, his breath visibly exhaling the tension. That kiss—so close, so real—vanished. And maybe, he was a little grateful for the interruption. Because for a second, all he’d seen was Lirae’s face.

*****

“Your Majesty,” Elias said as he entered the lavish parlour, bowing with practiced grace and exactly the right amount of insincerity.

“Elias,” Matthew said dryly, raising an eyebrow, “I came to be sure myself that you hadn’t fled.”

Elias straightened with a smirk. “Why would I do that, Your Majesty? I’d never abandon my people.” His tone was smooth, but the dig underneath was sharp enough to draw blood.

Matthew’s eye twitched. “Your people?” Matthew repeated. “Only one of us sits on the throne, Elias.”

“Oh, I know,” Elias replied, walking over to pour himself a glass of wine. “But I don’t need the throne to acknowledge them as mine. They have been, and always will be, my first love.”

Matthew’s jaw tightened. “Romantic,” he said. “You missed your calling. You should’ve been a poet.”

Elias lifted his glass in a mock-toast. “Pass. I was destined for a higher calling.”

“Speaking of loves…” King Matthew said. “Still no word from Miss Lirae? How do you plan on wiping your hands clean of these allegations?”

Elias’s spine straightened, though his fingers itched to throw something very breakable at his cousin’s smug face. “Your Majesty, I didn’t know you cared,” he said smoothly, pouring sarcasm. “Is this why you came all the way from the capital? You could’ve summoned me.”

Matthew smiled wider, though it didn’t reach his eyes. It rarely did. “I plan to keep an eye on you myself, cousin,” he said with a trace of venom. “The disappearance of Miss Lirae—and you being the last to have seen her alive—might just be the final nail I need to ridicule you in the eyes of your people.”

Matthew’s smile sharpened. He gave Elias a long, mocking once-over before turning on his heel to leave.

But Elias wasn’t done. Not nearly.

“Your Majesty…” he called, stopping Matthew mid-stride. “Keep a firm grip on that throne. I’d like to take it back with a fight.”

Matthew paused, one foot out the door, and let out a short, humorless huff. “So dramatic. You really should have been a poet,” he muttered without turning back, then disappeared.

Elias stood there for a heartbeat, letting the silence settle. Then, his composure cracked.

“Thaddeus!!!” he boomed, striding across the room.

A beat later, Thaddeus emerged from behind a curtain, chewing on a biscuit. “Yes… Your Highness,” he drawled, brushing crumbs from his sleeve.

Elias shot him a look. “You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

“As always,” Thaddeus said cheerfully, not even pretending to be sorry.

Elias let out a sharp breath, more amused than annoyed. He honestly didn’t know how he’d survive without Thaddeus’s particular brand of dry loyalty.

“Good,” Elias said, cracking his knuckles. “Get ready. Tomorrow morning, you begin training Miss Lyra to impersonate Lirae.”

“Every maid goes on vacation. All of them.”

*****

Thaddeus’s eyebrows shot up. “There will be no one to wait on Miss Lyra.”

“She seems self sufficient,” Elias snapped. “No one must know about Lyra. Not yet. Keep only the guards outside. And discreet ones. No chatter, no gossip.”

*****

It had been a long week. Elias, despite being born with the poise of a royal and the restraint of a monk, had seriously considered slamming his head against the nearest marble pillar just to make the madness stop.

And honestly, Thaddeus deserved a medal. Gold, encrusted with diamonds, and possibly blessed by the gods of patience and sarcasm. Because watching Lyra try to curtsy without tipping over was both a test of endurance and a new form of torture.

“I am curtsying,” she had once insisted, knees wobbling. “My spine just doesn’t bend that way, okay? I’m not a freaking willow tree.”

Still, they’d made progress. Albeit little.

Elias had crafted a cover story so airtight even the court's worst gossips wouldn’t be able to poke holes in it. According to the official tale, Lirae had suffered a tragic accident. She’d been rescued by strangers, kept in seclusion to recover, and only recently remembered anything at all. Mostly just her name. A perfect explanation for any odd behavior.

They’d rehearsed the lie until it was practically muscle memory. And, to Lyra’s credit, she’d nailed that part of the training. She could deliver it with trembling sincerity and just the right amount of vacant stare.

Elias sat on the edge of a bench, watching Lyra rub her sore feet. Her dress was wrinkled and crooked.

“We leave for the capital tomorrow,” Elias said, trying to keep things formal. “You’ll reenter society at Duke Williams’ ball. It’s the biggest event of the season, so—”

“—So the murderer will be there,” Lyra cut in flatly, not even opening her eyes. “Yeah, I know. Surprise! It’s me, the girl you probably thought you murdered.”

Elias chuckled. He couldn't help it. “Yes, exactly.”

“Any strange conversations, you relay them to me. Word for word. No embellishments, no Lyra-flavored rewrites.”

“I embellish for dramatic effect,” she muttered, then added with a mock pout, “It’s a skill.”

“And try—really try—not to speak like you usually do. Like you’ve got hot potatoes in your mouth,” Elias added, gesturing vaguely at her.

Lyra gasped, affronted. “Excuse me! My voice is expressive. That’s called personality.”

Elias laughed despite himself.

“How I wish you would visit my world too. You wouldn’t last a day,” Lyra said, stretching out dramatically. She shot him a sideways glance.