"I apologise," she said quickly, summoning her most delicate voice and ladylike poise. "I do not remember any of that."
But Matthew only smiled and pulled her closer again, resuming the dance as though he hadn't just dropped a verbal grenade in the middle of their conversation.
"It's okay," he said smoothly. "You will remember… in time."
Thankfully, she was rescued at that exact moment.
"Excuse me," Elias's voice sliced through the tension. Lyra nearly sighed aloud with relief. If this were a drama, she'd throw a bouquet at his feet and kiss his boots. Hallelujah, my knight in shining sarcasm.
Matthew turned, clearly displeased.
"I wasn't done," he said.
"It's rude to dance with a man's betrothed for too long, Your Majesty," Elias replied, offering a poisonous smile that said try me.
There was a tense beat before Matthew stepped back with exaggerated grace, masking his irritation. He glanced around the ballroom, clearly calculating who was watching and how his exit would be perceived.
"Good night, Miss Lirae. See you soon." The words were gentle, but the implication lingered.
Lyra gave a curtsy that was all charm and zero warmth. Elias offered a bow so low it was clearly mocking. Once Matthew turned and walked off, Elias immediately stepped in, pulling Lyra into his arms for the next dance.
"You didn't tell me you are the main suspect in my death… Lirae's death," she hissed as soon as the music resumed.
"Sshhh…" Elias leaned in with a reassuring smile. "We'll talk when we get home. Right now—smile. Smile and dance. You are doing absolutely well. And you look stunning."
"Oh, well, thank you. I do love being told I'm stunning right after finding out I've been murdered by my fiancee," she muttered under her breath, still smiling.
"I promised you I would only say nice things to you," Elias quipped.
Lyra rolled her eyes and focused on the steps. The dance might have been graceful, but the tension around them was palpable.
*****
King Matthew exploded through the doors. He didn't wait for the guards or courtiers—he moved, charging down the corridor and straight to his father's chamber. Without knocking, he shoved the heavy doors open, sending them slamming against the walls.
Phillip jumped to his feet, startled from slumber, his greying hair sticking up. His silk nightshirt flapped dramatically as he staggered forward. "Have you gone mad?" he barked, still half-asleep, still somehow managing to sound imperious as he directed the accusation squarely at Matthew.
Matthew, meanwhile, was pacing, eyes wild, fingers clenching and unclenching. "You said she was dead. You said you killed her," he thundered.
Phillip's eyes widened, and he darted toward the heavy wooden doors, pushing them shut with both hands. "Keep your voice down, you fool!" he hissed, locking the door.
"You lied to me!" Matthew growled again, this time quieter but no less lethal. His eyes locked with Phillip's.
"What are you talking about?" Phillip asked, grabbing a thick embroidered robe and yanking it over his head.
"I just saw Lirae," Matthew spat the name. "At Duke Williams' ball. Alive."
Phillip froze mid-motion, his robe tangled around one arm.
"Impossible," he said. "There was no way she could have lived. No one can survive that. And did she… did she say anything?" His face was drained of color now.
"Thankfully," Matthew muttered, dragging a hand through his hair, "she has no memories of what happened. But who knows?" He looked up sharply. "She could regain them tomorrow. Or next week. Or right in the middle of a bloody toast at a wedding."
"Well then," Phillip said, slipping into his usual mode: solution, ruthlessness, repeat. "We have to get rid of her. It's simple."
Matthew took a step forward, his jaw tightening, hands at his sides. For a man who had spent his entire life dancing to his father's string-pulling, the next words tasted like rebellion.
"You lay one finger on any strand of her hair again," he said slowly, clearly, "ever again, and I will reveal every dirty little secret by myself."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me. I've got nothing left to lose. My crown? It was never mine in the first place. But her? She's the one real thing I have."
"You cannot threaten me," Phillip hissed, rising slowly, the fire behind his eyes reigniting. "You are the king. If I go down, you lose everything."
Matthew just stared back, lips parted as if debating the weight of his response. Then he said it, soft but unyielding. "So be it."
Phillip actually recoiled a step, not expecting the answer. He looked his son up and down, as if trying to find the boy he once groomed to follow orders. But that boy was gone. In his place stood a man who had apparently grown a spine.
"You are a fool!" Phillip shouted, pacing now. "Blinded by love, controlled by his loins." He waved an arm dramatically. "We are in this mess because of you, because of your carelessness. Your obsession!"
Matthew smirked dryly. "Funny. I thought we were in this mess because you tried to kill a woman because she found out about our dirty laundry."
Phillip ignored him and marched up close, practically nose-to-nose. "Listen to me. I built this kingdom's strength with my bare hands. You think love matters when the throne is at stake? Love is a distraction."
"I have given you every last shred of dignity and conscience I have," Matthew bit back. "I let you pull my strings, smile for your friends while you whispered in my ear what to say. But not anymore. I am not giving you any more." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You will stay away from Miss Lirae or so help me God, both our heads will be used to decorate the market square."
"And when she talks? What will you do then?"
Matthew didn't have an answer. His jaw clenched, his lips pressed tight. The thought had haunted him the second she walked into that ballroom. When she talked—if she remembered, it would be war.