Page 172 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Easy, Cyr.” Mikael’s hand brushed up her back. “Take a deep breath.”

It was too late for that.

Cyril’s stomach knotted, and a sickly feeling crept up her throat. She fought back the blankets and staggered to her bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She sank to her knees in front of the toilet and voided the almost non-existent contents of her stomach in a couple of painful heaves.

When she was certain her body was done, Cyril leaned back against the cupboards. She pressed her palms to the cold floor tiles as she tried to catch her breath.

The door creaked open.

“Do you need anything?” Mikael asked as he leaned against the doorframe.

Cyril closed her eyes, taking a slow breath in and blowing it out.

“His bag,” she whispered. “Can you put it away? I…I can’t…”

Mikael swore and said something else, but his voice trailed away.

There was silence for a moment, then doors opening and closing, and then she heard Mikael walk back into the bathroom. When he sat down beside her, Cyril finally looked up at him.

His auburn hair was sleep-mussed and tousled, but she felt the exhaustion in his eyes. She was sure it hung heavy in her own too for how much they ached.

She settled her head on Mikael’s shoulder and asked, “He’s really…?”

“Yeah,” Mikael said quietly. “I’m so sorry, wrath.”

Cyril blew out a shaky breath.

She was living her worst nightmare.

Chapter 42

Cyril didn’t understand how to navigate her grief in the weeks following Bron’s death. Even the most simple of tasks, like getting out of bed or brushing her damn hair, felt like they took the sort of energy that she couldn’t muster no matter how much she slept. A feat, considering sleeping was all she felt like doing.

She wasn’t sure what she did to deserve Mikael, but he made sure she didn’t have to do anything on her own.

If she wanted to talk about anything, which wasn’t often, Mikael sat on her bed and talked with her. If all she could manage were tears, which was often, he held her silently through it all. If she even insinuated she was hungry, he was back in minutes with food and tea. And when all she wanted to do was sleep, he pulled her into the safety of his embrace and slept with her.

Hells, Mikael even drew a single fit of laughter from her when he tried and failed miserably to braid her hair. He told her how much he loved to hear her laugh, but Bron used to say that too, and her happiness wasn’t long-lived.

Some time after the first week, her sadness evolved into a numb sort of emptiness and she wanted none of the comforts that Mikael was so keen to offer her.

At night, when sleep became more of a fitful, fleeting thing, she was still grateful for his presence. The warmth of his body pressed against hers, and the possessive weight of his arm around her brought a sort of comfort she couldn’t even put into words.

But during the day? His hovering wore on her.

It took his mother making a not-so-discreet suggestion that he consider tending to his duties with the guard, lest they pile up to an unreasonable amount, for him to give her a bit of space. He didn’t seem happy about it.

Seeing as her hand was finally healed, she used that space to ride, and not even out of a personal want to do it. But she owed it to Attie to let the poor horse stretch her legs a reasonable amount again.

Mikael only had to come looking for her once, when she’d just sort of…zoned out, sitting in the glen until the sun went down. There were a lot of days where that happened, truthfully, but sometimes in less opportune places than others.

It had been two weeks since the worst days of her life when she finally saw Dion and the others again.

They returned to the palace to liaise with the royal guard on whatever valuable information they’d uncovered in their time away. Cyril didn’t even care enough about the murders, the old language, or her conspiracy theories anymore to weasel her way into any of their meetings.

The last two months they’d been here had been such an unfathomable mistake.

But it was at dinner that night that the numb and empty pit consuming Cyril cracked open, and her anger came crawling out from its yawning depths.