Lyra
The happiness I felt seconds ago from seeing Caine vanished, and in its place came hot, burning rage. My hands, cradling Rhiannon, clenched tight.
Arthur.
The name alone was enough to make my skin crawl in absolute disgust.
A low hiss passed my lips as I thought about everything related to that name.
“Lyra?” Caine called, sensing my discomfort. “What is it?” He asked.
I let out another hiss and stepped out of the nursery, still cradling Rhiannon.
“I don’t want to see him, Caine. He’s a sickness, the kind you can’t get rid of. He wants the Varynthorn name pinned to his chest, and he thinks I’m the pin.”
I didn’t need to explain the endless gifts I’d thrown away—the flowers I’d tossed out, the jewelry I’d sent back to him without a second thought. He said he wanted to marry m
