Page 182 of The Mercy of Dawn

“…Right. Okay then, after me.”

He led her in silence down a couple of dimly lit halls and knocked on a door she knew well. A familiar rumble came from behind it, and Cyril started to fray.

Only days since she last heard his voice, but it felt like a fucking lifetime.

She chewed at her lip to will it to stop shaking as Silas cracked the door and poked his head in. All she heard was her name before chairs started scraping against the floor with muffled, masculine voices.

Cyril avoided making eye contact with the two guards who exited.

Her legs didn’t want to carry her through the half-opened door, even as Silas gave her a gentle nudge forward.

Once Mikael knew…

She was terrified he was going to be mad at her. Think she was an idiot for provoking Dion, just like she always did. He’d think she deserved it…

Gods. If he was upset with her and Dion was too—

“Cyril?” Silas squeezed her shoulder. The tight smile on his face was all thinly veiled concern. “Go on in. He’s all yours.”

She swallowed down a painful lump in her throat and said, “Thank you.”

Silas nodded and disappeared back down the hall.

Taking measured, rigid steps, she forced herself towards the door. Her heart ached as it pounded in her chest, and she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

The smell of old, worn wood and soft leather that permeated his office didn’t bring her any of its usual comforts.

It only got worse as the floorboards creaked, and Mikael looked up from behind his desk. Something like relief settled into his face and he smiled at her.

“I was wondering when—”

Tears flooded her eyes.

“Wrath...” Mikael pushed back from his desk, his chair scraping on the floor. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but the tail end gave way to a sob that shook her.

He moved towards her quickly, too quickly, and Cyril flinched.

Mikael stared at her, his eyes wide.

“What do you mean ‘I’m sorry’? What—”

“I didn’t know where else to go, and I…I’m sorry, and…”

Every word left her lips choked and broken. She struggled to get a breath in.

Warm, calloused hands cupped her face, tipping it upwards, and Cyril closed her eyes.

The anger that was surely simmering in those icy-blue eyes was not something she could handle right now. She was a fool to think she could handle both of their ire in one night.

“Slow down, alright?” Mikael said gently.

His thumbs swept through the tracks of tears on her face and she felt him still.

“Cyr…” He was tipping her face towards the light of the wall sconce now, and the prospect of what was coming next had her stomach up in her throat. “Cyril, look at me. Did… Who did this to you?”

Her eyes tried to settle anywhere other than his face, but there was a pull that she just couldn’t fight. The icy blues of his eyes were so dark. His jaw was full of tension.