You Said She Was Dead

Lyra sat back, unsure of what to do with this version of him. The sarcastic prince she could handle—this wounded one was trickier.

“But you said you buried her,” she pointed out. “You said she was dead.”

Just how much had he blurted out when he found her?

“Ah… yes…” Elias said, clearing his throat in a way that made it obvious he was flailing. “I, uh, secretly buried her. Because I want to find out what happened to her.”

Lyra stared at him. “So… let me get this straight. You buried her in secret… so no one would know she was dead… because you are trying to find her killer.”

“…That’s the basic outline, yes,” he said, not even trying to hide his discomfort.

“Wow.” She blinked slowly. “And I’m the weird one.”

Elias reached for his tea, muttering under his breath. “You still are.”

But Lyra didn’t laugh. She leaned in a little, studying him again, and when she spoke, her voice had lost some of its bite.

“So, you want me to pretend to be the dead woman you loved?”

Elias met her gaze. “That’s the idea. I know it’s a lot to ask. But you’re the only one who can do it.”

She sat there for a moment, silent. Torn. There was a joke sitting on her tongue but it wouldn’t come. Instead, her chest tugged just a little, because under all the princely arrogance and dramatic mystery, he looked… lost.

 “Oh, I am so going to write a blockbuster best-selling novel when I get back to my world,” Lyra declared, eyes gleaming with excitement. She threw her hands in the air. “Seriously, the ‘Prince Who Thought I Was His Dead Girlfriend’ has N*****x series written all over it. Eat your heart out, Bridgerton.”

Elias smiled at her. “You have a deal,” he said simply.

Lyra grinned, feeling unusually triumphant, and extended her hand for a shake—business-like, as if this was some legally binding contract between mildly dysfunctional time-crossed humans.

But instead of shaking her hand, Elias lifted it gently and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“Oh… oh…” she giggled, caught off guard by the prince's sudden switch from sarcastic to suavely medieval Casanova. “Right. Royal manners. Forgot we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“You do have to spend the rest of our time here training to be proper before we go back to the capital,” Elias added.

“Training to be proper?” she repeated. “Please. I can be proper.”

Elias raised a very skeptical eyebrow, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Really?”

“…Okay, fine.” She slumped slightly, conceding with an exaggerated sigh. “If I’m being brutally honest, I suck at etiquette.” She narrowed her eyes. “But if I do this—play dress-up with a dead girl’s identity, you have to promise me something.”

Elias leaned in a little, intrigued. “What?”

“You have to stop being so mean to me.” She held her chin up regally, though the effect was dampened by the way she took a sip of tea immediately after, trying to look dignified while peeking at him over the rim.

“I am not mean to you. You are just… clumsy, you talk too much, you snore, you drool, and you fart in your sleep.”

Lyra choked. She coughed so hard, her tea nearly shot out of her nose. “Oh my God!!!” she finally gasped, eyes wide with horror. “You are such a creep. Were you watching me sleep?! Ew… I feel so violated.”

*****

“I wasn’t watching you sleep,” Elias said. His jaw tightened a little as he leaned an elbow on the table. “You dozed off in the carriage, drooling all over me, and I had to carry you to bed.”

Lyra tilted her head, narrowing her eyes with a suspicious look. “Did you… cup a feel?” She leaned in closer, whispering the last part as if the walls might be listening. Her brows arched dramatically, her eyes glittering with fake scandal. “Hmm? Tell me…did you get handsy while I was unconscious?”

He looked bewildered for a beat too long.

Lyra gasped, her entire face a picture of mock betrayal. “You cupped a feel!!!”

Elias rubbed his temple slowly, as if physically massaging patience into his skull. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Lyra scoffed and jabbed a finger at her chest. “You touched my—” she paused, glancing down at her own modest cleavage and then back up at him, her finger now aggressively circling in the general boob region. “—these!”

Elias leaned back in his chair, and then he smirked. “Why would I… cup a feel,” he said slowly, dragging out the words, “when you were asleep, when I got to do that while you were awake and naked in my arms?”

Lyra’s jaw dropped. Her hands flew up to her. “You said you didn’t look!!!”

“Pay attention,” Elias replied, with the dry tone of a man giving a lecture. “I said I didn’t look. Doesn’t mean I didn’t… cup a feel.”

Lyra groaned, covering her face with both hands and waving him off. “Okay—stop. You say it weird.”

“I said it just how you said it,” Elias argued, folding his arms and leaning back smugly.

“No, no, no—you’re saying it all elegant, like it’s some fancy technique from a Jane Austen boudoir scene. You’re putting too much flair into it!” She mimicked him dramatically, tossing her hair and doing her best royal voice: “‘I didn’t look, dear madam, but I may have cupped a feel.’ Ew! See?”

Elias tried to suppress his grin, but it was creeping onto his face with alarming confidence. “I don’t think it’s the phrase that’s bothering you. I think it’s the memory.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, though her lips were twitching with a smile she tried to hide behind her teacup.

“You’re dramatic,” Elias countered, leaning forward just slightly.

“I’m traumatized,” Lyra shot back, shaking her head but laughing now.

Elias groaned, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “You really do talk a lot.”

Lyra’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Oh screw you.”