Page 147 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Where are we going?”

“Into the city.”

Cyril groaned, encouraging Attie into a faster trot to keep up with Mikael.

“Yes, but where in the city?”

Mikael looked back, his grin gleaming in the moonlight, and said, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

Even when they’d left their horses with the guards working the city gate and started walking through the streets, he kept his mouth shut. Mikael just took her hand and tugged Cyril along beside him, giving her an amused look when she grumbled about never being able to find her way back out of the city after the third or fourth turn they took.

“Our destination.”

Cyril blinked at the uninviting door that they approached.

Steel and a little rusted, it bore a worn sign that read The Stairs.

Her skittering excitement morphed into unease.

She planted her feet on the cobblestone and pulled the prince to a stop.

“Mikael, where are you taking me?” she hissed.

“Somewhere I think you’ll have one hells of a time. It’s safe, don’t worry.” He eased an arm around her shoulder and pulled her along. Cyril didn’t stand a chance at stopping him.

Mikael steered her right up to the door where he pushed back his cowl and exchanged a nod with a frightening moon-fae man standing watch outside. The door creaked open and Mikael motioned for her to go ahead of him.

“Watch your step,” he whispered.

Suddenly, the name made sense.

From a few feet inside the doorway, a winding staircase dropped off the landing. It looked like it wound down forever, and Cyril found herself holding on to the railing with a death grip while Mikael walked casually beside her.

With each half-flight they wrapped around, sound rolled up the stone walls. Murmurs at first, and soft rumbles of undecipherable noise, that gave way to the laughing, yelling, and chatter of what had to be dozens of people.

The air became heavier the further they descended too. Full of something smokey and sweet that made Cyril’s eyes water and her lungs burn.

So the prince had brought her to some kind of tavern. She supposed there were worse places to be.

A night out was a night out in her books.

When they finally reached the bottom, and she pushed open the door, the sheer burst of noise that hit Cyril had her staggering a step back into Mikael.

This wasn’t a tavern at all.

It was a club.

Mikael had brought her to a proper, bustling nightclub.

The two-story room that opened up in front of her was filled with bodies, packed nearly wall to wall. To her left, a crowd was gathered in front of a dark stone bar running the length of the wall, and to her right was the sprawling main room, well-appointed with tables and chairs, chaises, and nooks draped with burgundy curtains. The floor felt like it was nearly vibrating from the indistinct hum of conversation and laughter, and bodies moving across its surface.

Cyril had heard about clubs like this before when she’d eavesdropped on rogues coming back from their travels.

They would trade bawdy stories about everything from the sex to the staff, to what sort of drink and other relaxants the various establishments had. Helia, she knew, had at least one in Epheos that was renowned for the…willingness of the staff that worked there.

The entire notion of such a place always struck her as fascinating, but the thought of actually going to one? Cyril had never let herself consider that, for obvious reasons.

Mikael’s hand slipped around her waist as she gaped at the people, the scantily clad staff, and the general state of debauchery that wove itself with natural ease between all the patrons.