Page 150 of The Mercy of Dawn

“I know I’m nice to look at, Cyr,” he chuckled, “but I think it’s a bit more interesting down there.”

Mikael tipped his head to the floor below and, slowly, Cyril’s attention drifted down. Her eyes widened, and she took a half step closer to the railing.

Down in the main room, all the dark corners and moving bodies made it easy to lose track of what you saw at ground level, but that wasn’t the case up in the suites. From the balconies, you could see everything.

From the more reserved patrons, chatting and dancing casually wherever space allowed, to the duos and trios that retreated to the walls and soft surfaces, their hands and mouths all over each other.

They had a front row to every bit of it, with the added benefit of being mostly shrouded in shadow magic—a little perk of being an upper-class patron.

Despite not a single bit of this going any way he planned, the awe in Cyril’s face did wonders to ease his simmering annoyance.

All Mikael had wanted was for her first night out to be a memorable one. A night she’d look back on fondly weeks, months, or even years down the road, wherever she was. Now they’d be lucky if she even remembered being here.

But, truthfully, as long as Cyril's first night out at The Stairs wasn't anything like Mikael's first, he would be happy.

Which, considering she wasn’t sixteen and being forced into a room with a courtesan, and told she couldn’t come out until she’s thoroughly made a man…her prospects looked alright.

A resigned sigh left Mikael.

He leaned over Cyril, his hands grasping the railing on either side of hers, and quietly asked, “Have you ever been somewhere like this?”

The answer was something Mikael already knew, but he wanted to hear the wonder in her voice.

“No. I…” Cyril’s eyes didn’t leave the crowd as she shook her head. “I’ve never seen...” Her lips parted, and she fell silent.

She had seen none of this, he was sure, from the glorified prison Dion kept her locked away in. For a woman who probably knew how to kill someone six different ways with her bare hands, her sheltered upbringing still struck him as the strangest fucking thing. Not that he was going to bother ever trying to understand Dion or his reasons for doing anything.

No, that seemed like an utter waste of time that would be better spent showing Cyril every worldly wonder that he could manage.

With nothing but selfish intent, Mikael swept her loose braid over her shoulder. He grazed his lips over the crook of her neck, breathing in her cinnamon warmth, and kissed his way up in slow, purposeful movements. When he reached that soft, sensitive junction of her jaw and throat, Cyril shuddered. A breathy, sensuous incantation of, “Mika,” left her lips and went straight to his cock.

He didn’t have a doubt now about how thoroughly the faelock had saturated her senses.

Mikael smiled and eased back from her.

“You feel good?” he asked, equal parts safety measure and sanity check.

The first foray she’d taken into the stimulant hadn’t gone exactly what he would call well, and they weren’t close to home this time.

Her hummed, half-hearted response as she shifted her weight from side to side gave Mikael no reassurance. Hells, she probably didn’t even know what he said.

“Cyr, look at me for a second.”

He brushed a hand up her back, and she made a noise that sounded vaguely like a protest. Of course, nothing could ever take away the edge of her attitude.

It seemed to take a concerted amount of effort, but her head turned and her eyes drifted up to him. Nothing but a thin, shimmering strand of gold clung to the edge of her pupils, and an amused sort of smile tugged at her lips. The woman had to be soaring by now.

“You feel good?” he asked again.

Cyril held his gaze for a few seconds before she nodded. Her attention waned and her eyes drifted back to all the wonders that lay beyond the railing.

Mikael cupped her face, drawing her back. “If that changes, tell me. Okay? Or if any of this feels like too much, tell me and we’ll go.”

She nodded again, and Mikael let her go. There was an entire bottle of wine with only his name on it now, after all, and a bit of privacy to take in the sights was the least he could give her.

Cyril had other plans.

He made it all of two steps toward the sofa when she snagged his arm and hauled him right back beside her. She clutched at his bicep with one hand, her eyes fully hooked on the floor below.