Lyra's POV
I sat with my legs folded on the grass. The hard edges prickled my legs, the sting soothed by my long, flowing dress. My eyes were trained ahead—on him. On the bastard version of the man whom I loved.
He swung and sliced at the air with his sword. The grunts and yells as he changed from stance to stance, and the sharp noise of his swings echoing to me in the wide, empty realm we were trapped in.
I blinked back the tears staining my eyes. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't cry for a bastard who just called the intimacy we just shared a big mistake. The very best thing that has happened to me since I wandered into this damn past.
