Still, Lyra said nothing. Her silence was a dramatic performance all on its own.
"I apologise for the Marchioness's behavior," he offered gently. "She's known to have a tongue that can cut through ice."
"Her tongue wouldn't be so legendary if people were actually allowed to put her in her place," Lyra snapped suddenly, spinning toward him with fire in her eyes. "The nerve on that bitch. 'Looks like she's been through a lot'. Please. She looks like she's had more plastic surgery than birthdays. Like someone took a barbie doll and melted it slightly."
Elias snorted despite himself. "I must say," he said with a half-smile, "your tongue rivals hers."
"And you're a wimp!" Lyra shot back without hesitation, glaring at him.
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, you heard me." She poked him in the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt—but definitely hard enough to get her point across. "You say Lirae endured the same thing with grace, and you say it with pride like it's some badge of honor. Why? Why should she have had to endure anything? Shouldn't you have at least tried to shut those vultures down? If being without title made her powerless, you had one. You could've been her sword when she wasn't allowed to carry one."
Elias looked momentarily taken aback. Not because he didn't expect her to have opinions—Lyra had enough opinions for the whole kingdom—but because she'd touched a truth he hadn't wanted to look at too closely.
"I cannot go around pissing people off when I need the support of these same people to claim back my throne!" Elias snapped, running his hand through his hair in frustration.
The carriage jolted slightly as Lyra's head whipped toward him, eyes wide. "Your throne? What throne?"
"I am the rightful heir to the throne," he admitted. "My uncle manipulated events, twisted everything to put Matthew on the throne instead. It was supposed to be mine. I need to get it back."
Lyra blinked at him. "So… you're, what? A prince?"
"So that's the kind of king you want to be, huh? The one who won't stand up for the little guy because he's afraid his precious friends will throw a royal fit?"
She wasn't wrong.
And that scared him.
He turned to the window, staring out at the moonlit road. His chest felt tight from the deeper question gnawing at him.
Was this who he really was? A man too afraid to disrupt the political tea party, even if it meant someone he cared about was getting stepped on? Did the people love him because they believed he would be different—or because he was simply less of a monster than his cousin?
"You don't understand how these things work," he said, weakly, tiredly. The last crumbling wall of defense.
"You're right," she said, without a trace of sarcasm this time. "I don't understand anything. This world of yours with its rules and titles and thrones. But I do know one thing."
She leaned forward, eyes fierce.
"I will stand up for myself. While I'm here, pretending to be her, lying through my teeth, risking my neck—I won't let people like her talk down to me like I'm a piece of dirt on their royal boot. I don't care about titles or crowns or polished smiles. I care about dignity. Mine."
"And what the hell?" Lyra said suddenly, arms crossed, still fuming from the emotional whiplash. "Why didn't you tell me you were accused of Lirae's disappearance? Did you kill her?"
Elias's head snapped toward her. "Did you—did you just ask me if I killed her?"
"I would never hurt her!" he thundered. "I loved her, goddammit!! I loved her with every drop of blood in my veins!!"
The fury in his tone was fire—but behind it, the hurt was a tidal wave.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, the fight draining from her instantly. "I—I shouldn't have said that. I just... panicked."
The hurt in his eyes lingered. "No, you're right to ask," Elias said hoarsely, his chest rising and falling. "I've lived with the question for months. The fear that even if I didn't kill her, I somehow… let it happen."
He looked away. "I found her... bleeding. Stabbed. With my dagger. She was cold. Still breathing, but fading fast. There was blood everywhere. On the floor. On me. It—" he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut.
"I called Thaddeus," Elias continued. "He knew what it would look like. What it would mean. So I panicked. I buried her. I told myself I was doing it to find the real killer, but... the more I think about it... the more I realize I buried her to save myself."
He exhaled a bitter laugh, void of humor. "Some knight in shining armor, huh?"
Lyra turned in her seat, shifting toward him. She reached out and touched his cheek, fingertips brushing the stubble there. "You may be a giant asshole," she said, softly, "but you are not a bad man."
His gaze flicked to hers.
"You could've tossed me out on my ass the moment you found me," she continued.
His face softened. He raised a hand, gently wrapping his fingers around hers as it cupped his cheek. "You really think that?" he asked, quietly.
"I do," she said.
And then, without quite realizing how or why, Lyra leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss so soft, it felt like a question. Her mouth was sweet, curious, lingering just long enough to ask if maybe—just maybe—this wasn't a mistake.
Elias didn't move. Didn't deepen the kiss. He wanted to—his whole body screamed to—but something in him stayed still. Not out of doubt. Out of respect. For her. For Lirae. For the blurry line between the two.
When Lyra finally pulled away, she did so slowly, as if waking from a warm, dangerous dream. Her heart pounded in her chest.
What the hell was she doing?
This man was clearly still in love—with her. Well, technically not her. The her before.
(Will Be Continued On Good Novel)