Page 138 of The Mercy of Dawn

She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders heaved with a sob.

Mikael took a few lengthy strides to her, but Cyril wanted no part in it. She backed away from him until she hit the end of the railing.

“Cyril…” he said softly.

“No.” The single word was half choked as she wiped at her face, her voice thick with tears. “Please don’t, I—”

“Fucking hells, woman, just let me comfort you.”

Cyril swore and pushed at Mikael’s chest as he reached for her, but she didn’t stand a chance. He tugged her to him, and she lasted seconds before her body weight sagged against him. Her warm, damp face pressed into his chest. Another few seconds and the pained, rattling sobs started.

Cyril’s fight left her with alarming speed.

So Mikael wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her close. This woman, that he knew next to nothing about, but there they were.

The next words she spoke made his chest ache.

“Nobody wants me.” They were ragged, half-sobbed things. “And I…I don’t know why.”

Mikael had no answer for her, despite the abundance of clarity she just gave him.

It was why she could be quiet and shy. Why she was reactive and abrasive. Why her confidence wavered and faltered. Hells, it was probably why she fucking drank. It was why Cyril was every fucking curious thing he’d wondered since the day he met her.

All the damn woman wanted was to be wanted, and Dion had done a piss-poor job of ever giving her that sort of love without conditions. That much was obvious and had been since the moment Mikael watched him lay into her in the hall all those weeks ago.

But Mikael understood more than most what that bitter sort of rejection felt like. He was intimately familiar with what it was like to always be second best, to toe that line between worthy and waste day in and out. He was closest to his mother for a reason.

At least he’d always had his freedom though—something he wasn’t sure Cyril ever had the luxury of experiencing.

“Let’s go sit inside. Your room?” Mikael smoothed his hand down her back, and a soft, shuddering breath broke through her quiet sobs, but Cyril nodded.

The evening air had taken on that cool, heavy quality it liked to when night settled in, and Mikael didn’t want to stand there anymore. Not when he couldn’t comfort her like he wanted to.

Mikael took her free hand as she wiped at her face, and he led her back inside. Back through the quiet and turned down sitting room, glasses and wine all cleared away, and down through the main hall of his parents’ suite. He’d have to thank his mother for that bit of privacy, even though he was sure she needed it too.

The walk back to Cyril’s room occurred without as much as a word or a glance from her. But as she sniffled and coughed, and wiped at her eyes, her hand squeezed his. That spoke enough for him.

He settled them both onto the sofa, keeping Cyril tucked close to his side. She sat still and quiet for a long while, her knees drawn up and attention turned entirely on the crackling hearth in front of them. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what she was thinking, even though the temptation to ask gnawed at him.

When she finally shifted and looked up at him, there was no wicked sun-spun gold left in her eyes. There was only darkness and defeat there. And she held his gaze for a few long breaths before her eyes slipped shut and her head settled against his shoulder.

“I’m tired of being alone,” she whispered, and it was then that Mikael made a decision.

As much as he tried to believe whatever was budding up between them was just physical and fun—another conquest, as the guard so ineloquently put it—there was something else to it.

He didn’t understand the obligation he felt to Cyril, or where the fuck it came from. But for however long Cyril stayed in Reykr, be it days, weeks, or months more, Mikael would see to it that she felt wanted.

He would make sure that she didn’t feel alone.

Even if that meant it might be fucking painful for both of them when she inevitably was brought back to Helia. Because he knew Dion would drag her back, regardless of what she wanted.

And maybe it was cruel, with how much it might hurt, but at least she would go back knowing what it felt like for someone to want her around. And maybe, just maybe, she could find herself some happiness then. He would gladly deal with whatever repercussions came if it meant he could give her that.

Mikael rubbed her arm and said, “You’re not alone, Cyril. Not here.”

Chapter 32

Cyril woke up on her sofa—again. For her stiff body’s sake, this had to stop happening.