Distance

The carriage rolled through the sleeping village, wheels grinding softly over the cobblestones, lanterns flickering outside the glass. Inside, the silence was a living thing, pressing in on all sides, heavier than velvet.

Lyra sat across from me, her long legs folded, hands loose but restless in her lap. She stared out the window, face unreadable in the shifting gold light.

But my mind was not silent.

It was riotous, a churning, boiling cauldron of what-ifs and how-could-yous. I could still taste her on my lips: the sweet, startled warmth of that kiss, the lingering trace of wine and summer and want.

My first kiss. My first real, honest, I-chose-this kiss. And I had given it to Lyra Skyblade, the bane of my existence, my enemy since childhood, my infuriating, reckless bodyguard.