Page 180 of The Mercy of Dawn

Cyril was done.

She was so. Fucking. Done.

It took every ounce of courage, and maybe stupidity too, in her body for her to look Dion in the eyes and say, “No.”

“No?” Dion stood and took a couple of swaggering steps towards her. Shockingly, his drink stayed on the table. “I’m not sure what part of that wasn’t clear, Cyril, but—”

“I’m not doing it.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t think I misspoke.” There was no way this would end well, and Cyril couldn’t find it in her to care anymore. One more showdown before she never saw Dion again. She just felt bad that Lars and Runa had to play witness to it. “No escorts, no telling you where I’m going. You can’t control—”

He stepped closer.

“Cyril, this is about your safety, so lose the fucking attitude.” She could smell the spirits on his breath now, and see the dark circles that clung to his bloodshot eyes. “This isn’t up for—”

“My safety?” Cyril laughed bitterly. “Like you give a fuck about what happens to me. You just want control and you’re too much of a gods damned coward to admit it.”

Dion looked at her with such seething disdain that she wanted to fold in on herself. Cyril was shaking now, her heartbeat just a loud rushing behind her ears, but she held his gaze.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he bit out.

He moved to grab her arm, but Cyril shoved him away, harder than she thought she had in her. Lars scrambled out of his chair in her periphery and said something she didn’t hear.

“No, Dion! Fuck you—”

She never saw the back of his hand coming.

It hit her face with such a crack that her hearing thinned, leaving a muffled, high-pitched whine in its place.

Her vision blurred, a copper tang filled her mouth, and Dion had her slammed back against the wall before Lars grabbed hold of him. The impact rattled her bones and knocked the air from her lungs.

It had to be what getting struck by lightning felt like.

Everything was loud and quiet all at the same time.

Bile burned the back of her throat.

She was dizzy, and everything spun, and her fucking eyes wouldn’t settle on anything.

Cyril slid to the floor.

Somewhere in the distance, Runa’s voice cut through the haze Cyril swam in, the soothing warmth of the queen’s voice telling her to breathe.

Fingers touched her face.

She swallowed down that acrid, sick feeling and took a ragged breath. The room refused to slide into focus. Commotion and noise filled her periphery, but the faces blurred and the words jumbled.

“Can you look at me, Cyril?” Runa asked gently, her voice so much closer than it was before.

Cyril shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m dizzy,” she mumbled.

She didn’t know if Runa said anything else, but moments, or minutes, or maybe hours later, something cold and damp touched her forehead. When it moved down to her cheek, it burned like hell.

Cyril sat there for what felt like forever, struggling to catch her breath. Eventually, feeling seeped back into her limbs and a wicked throb settled into her face. The high-pitched whine in her ears eased too, and when she opened her eyes, Runa was kneeling at her side.