Page 162 of The Mercy of Dawn

Mikael was ready for the most awkward hour of his life to just roll into the most awkward walk of his life, but Dion stopped as soon as they cleared the first few steps into the atrium.

The look that the Rogue Master fixed Mikael with raised every alarm in his body.

“I will only say this to you once, Prince. My niece is not some object for your amusement. If you value your hands, keep them to yourself and stay the fuck away from her.” Dion spoke with a quiet, lethal sort of calmness, but Mikael held his gaze. He just didn’t have any fucking words. “Is that clear?”

Mikael knew there wasn’t a true answer he could give to that question that wouldn’t spark disaster.

Dion did not wait for a response before he turned and stalked toward the main doors, oblivious to the determination he had just ignited in Mikael.

Chapter 38

Cyril never considered that her life might fall apart in Reykr. That all she ever knew and loved could be ripped to pieces. But two days later? Everything unraveled.

The banging at her door at just past four in the morning jarred her awake and had her stumbling out of bed in a haze.

She bleared miserably at the guard who stood in the hall.

He looked apologetic as he said, “I’m sorry to wake you, Lady Cyril, but you’re wanted down in the infirmary.”

Cyril blinked.

“Was there—” She tried to clear the hoarse sleepiness from her throat. “—another murder?”

“I’m not sure.” The guard grimaced. “I was just starting my hall patrols when someone asked me to come and find you. They didn’t say why, but it seemed urgent.”

Cyril rubbed at her eyes. “Who asked you to come find me? My uncle?”

“I, ah… I’m not sure who that is? This was a frighteningly tall man, sun-fae, I think, with black hair and dark eyes. There was another man with him, a dark-skinned fae, but he didn’t say anything.”

If that was Ren and Tyr, which it really fucking sounded like…

Sleepiness peeled away from Cyril as her heart started racing.

“Fucking hells, hold on a second.”

She shut the door in the poor guard’s face and rushed to find the clothes she discarded on the floor the night before. She hopped around one-legged, trying to get her pants and boots on, and didn’t even have her shirt fully over her head by the time that she was half out the door.

“Thank you,” Cyril said to the red-faced guard, and then she was running as fast as her feet could carry her. Straight out of the residential wing, down the main staircase, and into one of the hallways off the side of the foyer.

After half a dozen wrong turns and dead ends, her heart pounded so hard it ached, and the acrid taste of bile burned at the back of her throat. Panic had sunken its claws into every inch of her body by the time she spotted Ren and Tyr at the far end of the hall that she’d just turned down.

Ren, sitting on the ground, with his face buried in his palms.

Tyr beside him, standing with no readable expression on his face.

Between them sat Bron’s travel bag.

If all three of them were here…

Her breath came in ragged pants and she willed her feet to carry her faster.

“Where is Dion?” she called out, and her voice broke. “Where is he?”

Ren didn’t lift his head, but Tyr’s attention snapped over and his eyes went wide.

Cyril started shaking.

She wasn’t ready for this.