But then, he wasn't thinking about the kingdom.
He thought about the way she'd looked at Elias.
He thought about how her eyes had danced, even in confusion. He thought about how she'd looked at him with unease.
"Good night, Father," Matthew added, stepping back and heading toward the door.
The old man stood in stunned silence as the door clicked shut behind the king.
*****
"Presenting the Marchioness Gemma of Avenrest!" the herald announced.
Elias's foot faltered mid-step. The dance floor spun from dread. Bad timing... bad timing... oh for the love of all things sacred, bad timing. His spine stiffened. He had been told, Gemma was away attending a wedding in the outer reaches of Brinlor. Apparently, she made it back in time.
"What's wrong?"
He gave a wince. "The Marchioness?... We have a bit of history."
Lyra narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. "You dog... you."
Elias turned his head toward her with mock offense. "Excuse me?"
She snorted. "Tell me, how many women swoon at your feet?"
He smirked. "Lots—including you."
"You don't see me swooning," she shot back, lifting her chin.
"We'll test that theory when I take you home…Which we should do now."
The song ended. Another melody began to gather behind them, but Elias wasn't about to risk Gemma making this evening go bad. He took Lyra's hand, weaving through the crowd toward Duke Williams so they could say their goodbyes and vanish.
"My Lord!" came the honeyed voice.
The Marchioness stepped directly into his path, her gown sweeping. Elias stopped so abruptly Lyra nearly collided with his side.
Gemma curtsied. Her gaze lifted, sharp and gleaming. "Lady Lirae!"
"Marchioness Gemma," Lyra replied with a smile so sweet it could rot teeth. "How are you doing?"
Gemma's returning expression wasn't even trying to play polite. If looks could kill, Lyra would be six feet under and Gemma would be dancing on her grave in that embroidered gown.
Lyra, to her credit, kept her chin up and her posture regal.
Elias, meanwhile, stood between them. He cleared his throat. "Marchioness Gemma. I didn't expect you back so soon."
"No," she said. "It appears I arrived just in time to witness... Miss Lirae's miraculous return into society."
"She is feeling a bit tired," Elias said, flashing a smile that looked calm on the outside. His hand remained protectively on Lyra's lower back, gently guiding her. "We were just about to say our goodbyes and I will take her home."
"Yes, of course," Gemma replied. "She does look like she's been through... a lot."
The words were sugar-coated poison. Aimed directly at Lyra's pride.
"Excuse me…" Lyra's voice spiked as she turned, ready to ignite. Her brows shot up, and there was a very good chance she was about to say something that would earn her a duel at dawn.
But Elias had seen that spark in her eyes before and he acted fast. He caught her arm and turned her smoothly, walking her away before any part of "Excuse me" turned into "Come outside and fight me."
"We are not doing this here," he hissed under his breath, tugging her gently toward the far end of the ballroom where Duke Williams stood.
"She is a Marchioness," Elias whispered sharply, still smiling for the watching crowd. "You have no title. Try to keep your tongue in your cheek."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "I don't care if she's the queen of the damn realm. What does she mean by that? 'She looks like she's been through a lot?' What does that even mean? Do I look like I crawled here from war?"
"You look perfect," Elias muttered, rubbing his forehead. "But the point is—your attitude will get you thrown in the dungeon."
"So I just bob my head?"
Elias stopped abruptly, turning to face her. His hands cupped hers, thumbs rubbing gently across her knuckles in a subtle attempt to ground her—and himself. "Lirae went through all of these belittling and snide remarks with the grace of an angel. She never gave them the satisfaction of a reaction. If you plan on impersonating her perfectly, you have to do the same."
Lyra looked at him, the annoyance still bubbling under her skin but slowly dissolving in the warmth of his gaze. "So you want me to be perfect and quiet. That's rich."
"No," Elias murmured, leaning in slightly. "I want you to be safe."
Then he smiled that annoyingly swoon-worthy smile and hooked her arm through his again, turning them both as though they were nothing more than two guests enjoying a mild stroll.
"Now let's go before the Marchioness starts throwing champagne flutes," he said, resuming their walk.
As they approached the Duke, Elias put on his most pleasant expression. "Duke Williams, we have to say our good nights. The miss is feeling a bit light-headed."
Williams smiled sympathetically, offering Lyra a knowing look that might have felt almost paternal. "Of course. I hope it was not too overwhelming, Lady Lirae."
"Oh no," she said brightly. "It was... wildly educational."
"Hmm. I imagine it was." He gave a slight bow. "Get home safe. And I look forward to seeing you again."
Elias leaned in and whispered to Lyra as they turned toward the exit, "You passed."
Lyra allowed herself to be weaved out of the ballroom. The minute the doors shut behind them and the muffled chatter of high society faded into the night, she exhaled—loudly, dramatically, and with every ounce of flair in her petite body.
"Oh thank God," she muttered, tugging at the neckline of her gown. "It's over. Sweet merciful heavens, it's over."
Elias helped her into the carriage, offering his hand. Once they were both inside and the door closed, she slumped into the cushioned seat.
"Pouting already?" Elias asked, side-eyeing her.
She didn't dignify him with a reply. She just crossed her arms, jutted her lip out in the most theatrical pout she could muster, and stared out the window as if it had personally wronged her.
"You did great tonight. Thank you."
(Will Be Continued On GoodNovel)