Page 126 of The Mercy of Dawn

“You’ve met Dion, yes?” she said flatly.

Mikael looked off-put at the fact that these roads were converging. Like her uncle having anything to do with her intimate encounters—or lack thereof—threw him entirely off course.

“Back home, I’m not allowed to go anywhere or do anything on my own that isn’t riding, reading, training, or my chores, and Dion makes sure of that. I’m also certain he threatens every living body at the estate with death if they even think about coming near me. So yes, Mikael, it’s been difficult to find a willing partner.”

This was the sort of conversation Cyril wanted nothing to do with, but the contemplative look on Mikael’s face had her inclined to believe it wouldn’t be over soon.

She should have sent him packing with his damn tea and cake.

“I hadn’t thought about that…” he said, with a bit more humility than his previous statements. It lasted all of about three seconds, though, until his jaw went slack and he turned to her. “Cyril…was I your first kiss?”

He sounded so fucking smug at the possibility.

She snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“Ah, that’s a shame.” He tossed her a wry smile, and Cyril shook her head. “Well, may that poor bastard’s soul rest easy. I’m sure Dion made quick work of him.”

Cyril swallowed. “Her.”

“Her?”

“May her soul rest easy.”

“I… What?” Mikael blinked at her in disbelief. “Shit, I wasn’t being serious, I—”

Cyril wasn’t sure what driving force had her feeling compelled to share any of this with him, but every fiber of her being wanted it out.

The words just started tumbling.

“It was one of our farmer’s daughters, Keelie. We, uh…enjoyed each other’s company a bit.” Cyril smiled sheepishly, and Mikael still looked stunned. “No one really batted an eyelash when she and I would disappear together, especially at parties. But she…well, she got sick a few summers ago. Caught something in her lungs, and it killed her.”

It wasn’t often that Cyril let herself think about that raucous, hazel-eyed woman who had darted in and out of her life for all of, what, two years? But she felt oddly at ease telling Mikael, even if it still stung.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Mikael looked wholly uncomfortable. That helped to lessen the sting in the strangest way. “She was fae, or…?”

Cyril shook her head.

“Mortal.”

And honestly? That was part of the reason she found Keelie so fascinating. She lived with the sort of intensity and curiosity that didn’t come naturally for many fae, not with the centuries they had to wade through life. Not the case for mortals, though, and especially not the case for Keelie.

For a long while, Mikael said nothing, and Cyril appreciated the silence that he let her sit in. Only two other people knew the finer details about Keelie, and Cyril wasn’t well practiced in talking about it. She was okay if it stayed that way, too.

Knees drawn tight to her chest, Cyril pressed her cheek to the back of the sofa and let her eyes fall shut. Feelings were fucking draining, and it wasn’t like she’d gone into this with an abundance of energy either.

Mikael noticed.

“I can go if you want,” he said, far softer than he had any right to. “You look exhausted.”

“You could stay too.” Cyril cracked open an eye to see the surprise that graced his features. “I’m just not long for this world.”

She pressed her face back into the sofa and he chuckled, “That’s alright.”

Cyril wasn’t sure if he said anything else after that.

The next time she opened her eyes, the fire was low and, at some point, she had stretched her bare legs right across Mikael’s lap. The warm strength of his hands was wrapped around her calves, and the man looked blissfully peaceful. His chest moved with the slow, steady rise and fall of sleep, his head tipped back against the sofa.

Cyril smiled and let sleep take her again.