Page 129 of The Mercy of Dawn

The door clicked shut behind her, and a modicum of sense rushed back into her. She turned back to Mikael, eyes narrowed, ready to—

“Gods, isn’t it disgusting how cute she is?! I swear, if Mika isn’t fucking her already…” Kaia’s voice disappeared down the hall and the flush crept back into Cyril’s cheeks.

Mikael looked at her with raised brows.

“Do not. I’m annoyed with you.” Cyril folded her arms over her chest and planted herself firmly in front of the door, willing every semblance of reason back into her body.

“Annoyed with me?” Mikael, obviously, was skeptical, if his huff was any indicator. “Please, go on.”

“What kind of half-assed note was that this morning? Come see me at the barracks before dinner. You couldn't be bothered to give me any context? Let me know why? You ruined my morning ride and my trip to the archives.”

He certainly didn't ruin her bath, but he didn't need to know that.

Cyril took a deep breath, and the insufferable prince smiled at her.

“You know, Cyril.” He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned back on them on his desk. “You could’ve just said you spent the whole day thinking about me.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I do. But, if you’ll let me defend my actions today…”

Cyril gestured for him to get it the fuck out already.

“One, I think I deserve a bit of credit for tidying up and tucking you in without waking you up. Two, I was half asleep when I wrote that, so cut me some slack. Three—”

“Three? You can’t be serious.”

She had the sneaking suspicion that Mikael might like to listen to himself talk as much as Dion did. And that was…concerning. Also endearing in the worst way possible.

Mikael was not impressed with that.

“I’m very serious. Three, if I had written that dinner tonight is just you, me, and my mother, I had a feeling you might not show up. And lastly—”

“Wait, why is it just the three of us?”

Cyril didn’t care if she was interrupting him anymore. She would have found an excuse out of dinner if she had known that beforehand. It sounded like a recipe for one hell of an awkward evening.

He sighed.

“Because my brother and his wife are gone, your uncle is apparently back in the city, and my father is busy. Can I finish?”

Cyril gave him a wary look but nodded.

“Lastly, I also wanted to ask you something, and it felt a little disingenuous to just write it down on a note instead of asking you in person.” Mikael’s voice was far gentler than with his previous declarations, and her damn palms started to sweat again. “Does all of that sate your annoyance with me, or…?”

“I… It might.” Cyril gripped her arms and frowned at him. “What did you want to ask me?”

She was already rolling through a list of possibilities and—surprise, surprise—none of them were pleasant.

Mikael fidgeted, gripping the edge of his desk.

Fucking hells.

She was sure she’d never seen him look nervous before, and there was no realm in which that boded well. This was when he was going to tell her it was a mistake, right? Say that it wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t drunk, and ask her to keep her mouth shut about it?

She would’ve preferred a note, honestly. This was excessively cruel.

“On solstice…was that just drunk desperation, or are you actually interested?”