Page 102 of The Mercy of Dawn

He didn’t look surprised, at least.

“And it feels so wrong. I thought Reykr was bad, that I was supposed to hate it because…well, because that’s what I was told. But the people here…they’ve been so kind. Even the lands, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. And I just…”

Cyril sighed again and clasped her hands in her lap—she didn’t know what else she wanted to say. There were too many things floating around in her head to grab onto just one. But she didn’t get opportunities like this often anymore, to have quiet chats with Bron.

He glanced at her and a half of a smile tugged at his lips as he said, “I understand, dove.”

“You do?” Cyril’s brows climbed and Bron nodded.

“It’s not what I thought it would be like here either.” He pursed his lips, looking back out over the water. “I’m wary, still, of it all. But I understand how you feel.”

“I’ve been letting my guard down,” she admitted, and her chest felt a little lighter. “All the damn time. I keep catching myself, realizing that someone could have tampered with my food, or I'll get back from a ride and realize I didn't have a weapon. Or, gods—” She groaned. “I’m alone with people all the time. And I just think about how disappointed you’d all be with me if you knew. I know Dion already is.”

“Never, Cyr,” Bron said firmly. “You’re twenty-one. You shouldn’t have to keep your guard up all the time. We shouldn’t be putting you in situations where those are the things you worry about. You should be worried about having fun, dove. Living a little.”

Cyril eyed him warily.

“I’m dead serious. Go get hammered on solstice and dance in the grass until the sun comes up. Hells, get handsy with the prince if that’s what you really want.” He raised his brow at her, and Cyril felt her cheeks warm. This would be where their conversation ended up. “But only if that’s what you want. If it’s not, and he touches you again, I’ll break his fucking hands.”

“You don't need to break anyone’s hands,” she groaned.

“The offer will always stand, dove.” There was a glint in his green eyes that Cyril knew meant he would enjoy every moment if it came to that. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t. “And, above all that, never let some fear of disappointing us cloud your decisions or take away from your happiness. We will always be proud of you and love you, and there are no clauses to that. No ifs or buts. Really, I think we’d just be more proud of you if you did something questionable that one of us hasn’t already done.”

He looked at Cyril and swore quietly.

She hadn’t been able to stop the tears that rimmed her eyes at an alarming speed, or the couple that escaped down her cheeks.

“Shit, Cyr, I didn’t mean to—”

Cyril waved him off. She scrubbed at her face as she said, “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just…thank you.”

“Of course, dove.” Bron studied her for a long minute with that sad, empathetic smile on his face before he stood and extended his hand to her. “As much as I’d be happy to sit out here all night with you, we should get back to the inn before Dion gets his fucking panties in a twist. He was pissy enough as it was this morning.”

“He was?”

Cyril took Bron’s hand and tried to subtly brush all the pastry crumbs off her legs as she stood. She hadn’t seen Dion much this morning, truthfully, before they all left, but he seemed his usual amount of…grumpy?

“He was in a right foul mood,” Bron scoffed as he slung his arm across her shoulders and steered her back towards the street. “I didn’t stick around long enough to figure out what about.”

“He got back pretty late last night. This morning, technically, I guess.”

It was the only thing she could think of.

She’d been sound asleep herself when the squeal of hinges woke her up and boots thudding against the floor in Dion’s room kept her up for the next half an hour. Not something she was overly impressed with in the wee hours of the morning.

Bron cast her a sidelong glance. “He went out last night?”

“After he walked me to my room. Said he had things to deal with.” Her poor impression of her uncle’s smooth tone at least drew a huff of a laugh from Bron. “I thought he was with you guys.”

“No. No, he wasn’t. It was just Ren and I doing the…questioning last night.” Bron pursed his lips and shook his head. Questioning—she knew what that meant. Confirmation that the dark spots on his boots were just what she thought they were. “It’s no matter now, though.”

Cyril didn't push it with him, even though it did matter to her—another one of Dion's damn hypocrite tendencies.

He expected to know everyone’s whereabouts at every fucking point in time, and there was hells to pay if he didn’t. But if someone questioned his whereabouts? Gods.

It wasn’t a pretty thing when that happened.

“Are you having any luck with…questioning?” she asked.