Just shut up and kiss me

After breakfast, the queens suggested we take a tour of the southern stables. It was supposed to be a simple outing, a pleasant way to spend the morning, but my mind was anything but calm as I walked beside Lyra through the sunlit courtyard. 

For the first time in years, the world felt new. Not just because of what had happened between Lyra and me, but because, somehow, I had let myself want it—had let the future unfurl as something other than duty and ice.

Lyra kept pace beside me, a half-step back as protocol demanded, but I could feel her presence as if she were pressed against my back. 

She was humming something, tuneless, under her breath, and I found myself watching her from the corner of my eye—the way the sun caught in her hair, the lazy confidence of her stride, the faint purple bruise at the base of her throat that I'd left last night. 

I tried not to smile.