Page 101 of The Mercy of Dawn

She blinked.

“He what?”

“I believe the exact words he said to me were, ‘That arrogant whelp can’t keep his fucking hands to himself,’ and ‘If he thinks he can get that comfortable with Cyr, he’s got another fucking thing coming.’”

Cyril stared at Bron in disbelief. But he nodded slowly, like he understood exactly what pieces just clicked into her mind with startling clarity.

Cyril was glad she had already finished the dinner Bron bought her because she suddenly found herself with no appetite. The pastry felt like a ball of lead in her stomach.

“Is that why he brought me here? To keep me away from Mikael?”

“I think that may have been a contributing factor, yes.” Bron sighed and shook his head, tendrils of blonde hair slipping back over his shoulders. “Something has him all sorts of fucked up, Cyr, and I haven’t figured it out. But Ren and Tyr see it too. He’s hot one minute, cold the next.”

Bron leaned back on his palms, his emerald eyes turned out over the rippling water of the harbor. “And I know this is easier said than done, dove, but try to not take it personally. You’re just bearing the brunt of whatever bullshit’s keeping him up at night now. I wish there was something I could do, but—”

“I’ll be alright.”

What were her other options?

She knew Bron would pluck the moon itself from the night sky if he thought it would make her happy, and it meant more than she could say. But things just weren’t that simple dealing with Dion, and Cyril refused to burden Bron or the others with any more details on just how volatile her uncle was becoming. They had enough on their plates as it was, and it wasn’t like she was being given much opportunity to help with their investigation.

“Did he tell you he took off with some women without saying a word and left me to fend for myself at that same dinner that he’s pissed about?” she added. “Or did he leave that part out?”

Bron huffed a dry, bitter laugh.

“Not surprising in the least. Though, I can’t say I’d want to tell my niece I was leaving to get my—”

“Please don’t finish that,” she groaned, and he tossed her a wry smile. “It was bad enough that Mikael had to tell me…”

“Oh? Was that before or after the whelp couldn’t keep his hands to himself?”

“Not you too!” Cyril hissed. Bron feigned a grievous injury when she smacked him, clutching his arm tight to his chest. “Whatever Dion thinks he saw, he’s wrong. We just danced a few times.”

“Just danced?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Yes!” Cyril cut him a sharp glare, but the amusement in his face didn’t falter whatsoever. Her cheeks burned. “I don’t know what you thought I got myself into.”

The insufferable arse chuckled.

“You are Dion’s blood relative. Anything is possible, dove.”

Cyril didn’t give him the benefit of a response to that.

Bron grinned at her, but he let silence settle in. It was never an awkward or uncomfortable thing when she was with him. Wherever they sat, whatever they watched, it always came so easily.

“They’re treating you well, up at that big fancy house?” he asked a few minutes later.

“And by big fancy house, you mean the palace?” Cyril chuckled. “They are. The food is good, the wine is good—” She eyed Bron. Two things of the utmost importance to him. “—and I get to do a lot of riding. And I…”

Cyril sighed.

For her entire life, Bron was the only person she could speak to without restraint. Her deepest, darkest secrets? He knew them all. Her hopes and dreams, no matter how delusional? He knew every one of those too. And Bron never judged her for any of it, not truly. He wouldn’t tell a soul either, unless she asked him to.

But to the man who gave her so much unrequited advice and guidance, especially as they embarked on this shitshow of a contract, it brought Cyril no insignificant amount of discomfort to say, “I don’t hate it here.”

Bron nodded, but said nothing, and his eyes never left the harbor.