Page 114 of The Mercy of Dawn

Silent.

Mikael stood and cocked his head at her. “…Everything alright in there?”

Chapter 28

Cyril never should have left the ground.

She should have kept her ass rooted in the grass, shuffled a few feet over to the willow tree, and slept underneath the damn thing. But no, the thought of those damned soft sheets and the bliss of her heavy duvet whisking her off to a deep, liquored sleep just had to beckon.

The moment she got upright, the entire fucking world slipped from its axis.

Her head swam.

The pathway rippled like frothy waves at low tide.

And the faelights? Fuck.

The drifting and bobbing balls of light only stirred up a sickly feeling in her stomach. Even the fucking grass wasn’t safe to look at with the way the blades eddied under the moonlight.

Cyril squeezed her eyes shut and swore.

“Yeah, I’m taking that as a no,” Mikael chuckled, and Cyril had forgotten he was even there. A graze of a touch met her back, steering her in some unknown direction. “If you don’t open your eyes though, I’m just going to carry you back.”

“Not a fucking chance.” Cyril glared at him, and the world spun a bit less.

The faelights were still untrustworthy as fuck.

Mikael stood there on the path, just a foot or two ahead, with his arm extended to her. She took a half-stumbling step and latched on to him without a second thought.

Nothing but warm, firm muscle met her when she hugged his arm to her body—entirely to steady herself, of course, even though Bron’s words lingered in her mind.

Get hammered on the solstice and get handsy with the prince.

She'd already accomplished half of that fucking well.

The getting handsy part was still something she was on the fence about. Even though technically her hands were already on him, clinging to his arm for dear life.

Now, Cyril hadn’t meant to press her cheek up to his arm and nuzzle her damn face into it. He just moved too soon, and she staggered into him on their first step. The rich, midnight blue fabric of his tunic also just happened to have a softness to it that sucked her in like a vortex.

And gods, why did he have to smell good too? It was like spring rain flooded her senses the moment she stepped into his space.

Mikael didn’t seem bothered by her clinging at least, if the half-self-satisfied grin she caught him looking down at her said much.

She had to force herself to peel her eyes away from the gleam of his canines as they caught on his lip and the entirely indecent train of thought that tumbled through her mind.

This was bad, bad news.

Cyril hadn’t felt this fucking giddy around someone since…

No.

No, no, no.

Cyril glued her eyes in front of her.

She focused on the slate and stone path as it gave way to steps and thresholds and polished moonstone, shoving that disparaging train of thought away. Right back down into the depths where it belonged.

“I’m going to pay for this tomorrow, aren’t I?” Cyril mumbled when the stretch of silence and closeness tipped into something she wasn’t sure how to handle.