"Everyone can learn," Thaddeus replied, smiling. "With the right motivation."
Elias let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine," he said finally. "I will consider it."
"Please do, Your Highness." Thaddeus bowed low, the victorious glint in his eyes not lost on Elias.
*****
Lyra had finally been moved from Elias's bedroom.
Her new room was large but of course not the size of the pompous idiot's room. There was a canopy bed, gold-stitched drapes, and a beautiful view. It overlooked a stone courtyard where Elias was practicing archery.
"Of course he does archery," she muttered, leaning against the window frame. "What next? Swordplay on horseback?"
Back in her world, the only view from her bedroom window was the neighbor's laundry line.
And yet… she still wanted to go back.
"Why?" she whispered to herself. "What exactly am I rushing back to?"
Elias was rude in a polished way.
Still, as much as she wanted to slam a door in his too-handsome face, she had a goal: get back to her world. And unfortunately, that meant enduring his attitude.
Dragging herself away from her window, she finally sighed and stepped into the courtyard. It was quieter than expected, save for the satisfying thwack of arrows meeting targets.
She approached slowly, standing just behind him. He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge her presence, just kept firing arrow after arrow. His stance was annoyingly perfect. His hair was annoyingly tousled. Even the breeze seemed to favor him, tousling his shirt just enough to expose the defined line of his back muscles.
Focus.
But after five minutes of being thoroughly ignored—and mildly impressed—she decided enough was enough.
She cleared her throat.
He missed.
Elias groaned, lowering his bow. He didn't even glance at her as he picked up another arrow, tension in his shoulders. He inhaled through his nose.
She cleared her throat again. Louder.
"Yes…yes… I know you are behind me," he snapped. "Could you wait until I am done with this?"
"Oh, sorry. I thought maybe if I stood there long enough in complete silence, you might actually notice me."
"Very amusing," he muttered, this time not even attempting another shot. He sighed dramatically and dropped the bow beside him on the stone platform.
He finally turned. His eyes were steely, jaw clenched.
"What is it now?" he asked, exasperated. "Because unless you've come to sabotage my aim again or remind me that you still can't walk without toppling over a banquet table—"
"I'm kind of in a hurry." She crossed her arms, ignoring his jab.
He raised a brow. "To do what?"
"You know…" She made a vague gesture toward the castle walls, "…that small matter of returning to my world and getting out of here?"
He gave her a long look, arms folded now, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You're saying your plan is what? Walk into the nearest mirror and hope for the best?"
"It's not the dumbest idea," she said coolly.
"You made me lose my streak for that?" Elias turned, raising one sharply groomed eyebrow at her.
Lyra just shrugged, biting back a grin. "There you go again… blaming me. Have you considered that you're just a lousy shot?"
Elias blinked. Slowly. Dramatically. "Excuse me?!"
Lyla knew she was pushing it. Heck, she was practically shoving it off a cliff. But something about the man brought out her inner gremlin. The more refined and poised he tried to be, the more she wanted to stick bubblegum in his boots. "Hey… don't murder me. I'm just stating the obvious," she added, feigning concern as she raised both hands in mock surrender.
Elias gave her a look. A long, withering, I-could-have-you-beheaded-but-I-won't-because-it-would-be-too-easy look.
"Here," he said suddenly, picking up the bow and practically shoving it into her hands. "Since you're such a critique, you must have amazing skills. Go on, take a shot."
Lyla's eyebrows jumped. "How hard can it be?" she muttered. But internally? Pure chaos. Her stomach dropped, her palms were suddenly clammy, and the bow felt like it weighed fifty pounds.
Okay, deep breaths. You've seen movies. Just pull and shoot. Right?
Wrong.
She picked up an arrow, then proceeded to attempt—very unsuccessfully—to notch it onto the string. It slipped once. Twice. The third time she somehow managed to jab herself in the thumb.
Elias watched her.
After five painfully awkward attempts, she finally got the arrow in place. She squared her shoulders, lifted the bow, aimed dramatically…
…and launched the arrow directly into a flower pot behind her.
Elias burst into laughter. Real laughter.
"You do not know anything about archery, do you?" he said once he could breathe again, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
Lyra flushed but held her ground, chin tilted. "Don't look so smug. Guns are more efficient."
He stepped closer to her—much closer than Lyra expected—and before she could retreat, his hands were on her arms. Gently. Firm, warm hands that radiated confidence and control, guiding her stance.
"You're too stiff," Elias muttered from behind her, adjusting her elbows.
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you," she muttered. But the sass in her voice was weaker than usual—possibly because she could feel his breath on her neck and was having an out-of-body experience trying to not remember what he looked like shirtless that morning.
Her fingers tightened on the bowstring, and his hands moved over hers—calm, assured, professional… yet maddeningly intimate. She felt the shift in her body before she could control it. Her heartbeat, which had been casually existing a second ago, now raced.
And then, he pulled. The arrow sliced through the air, whistling, and landed just a few inches from the bull's eye.
Lyra blinked. "Huh. That didn't suck."
Elias was still close. She turned around a bit too fast, and suddenly her nose was practically brushing against the hard chest of Mr Pain-In-Her-Neck.
She cleared her throat and took an awkward step back. "See… wasn't so hard."
He tilted his head at her, one brow rising in that annoyingly attractive way that made her want to slap it right off. "You are something else," Elias said.