Page 185 of The Mercy of Dawn

She didn’t want to leave the barracks.

She didn’t want to go outside and brave the pathways and the palace and the people, or the possibility of what might await her out there.

Mikael turned back and gave her a curious look.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling the door back shut.

“What if he’s…” She swallowed, trying to will some semblance of moisture back into her mouth. “What if we…”

Cyril clenched her teeth. She couldn’t even get the fucking words out.

“Run into him? We won’t.” Mikael said it with such certainty as he eased his uniform jacket off and settled it around her shoulders. He must have noticed how cold she was. “We’ll take the staff halls and the back staircase up.”

His fingers found hers again, a guiding and gentle pull, and she willed her feet to follow his lead out of the barracks.

And Mikael was right.

The only souls they encountered were a handful of maids still milling about the halls at the lower levels, finishing their duties for the day. Cyril tried not to dwell on the amused smiles they wore—she’d be a fool to think she was the only woman they’d ever watched him lead back through these halls.

If only they knew the circumstances this time.

The winding, functional halls that smelled of food and clean linens eventually gave way to a staircase with well-worn treads and a railing Cyril didn’t dare put any weight on. Not that she had to, with Mikael’s guiding touch steering her along, squeezing her hand, or pulling her near as they navigated crates and people in silence.

And she hadn’t minded it at first, the quiet. It gave her mind a moment to settle, and her a chance to breathe. To focus on the sounds and smells around them, and not on why they were walking.

But now the silence felt heavy and tense, and Cyril itched to break it.

The stairwell darkened as they climbed, illuminated only by a dim faelight dotted every few feet along the walls, and she nearly walked right into Mikael’s back when he came to a sudden stop.

Cyril watched the faint outline of his hand skim the stone wall, then he was pushing and light flooded the landing. She realized, as her eyes adjusted to the light, that they were just a few feet down the hall from his room.

“That’s convenient,” she said quietly, looking back at the wall panel they just exited from as Mikael pushed it back into place. Completely imperceptible and one of many little secrets she was sure the palace walls held.

Half a smile tugged at his lips. “It’s served its purposes.”

She was sure it had.

Mikael led her into his room and locked the door behind them.

He started moving around right away and left her to stand in the entryway, taking everything in. The weapons and gear—some broken, some gleaming—scattered all over tabletops and leaned against walls. Clothes tossed over chairs and door handles. It even smelled like he usually did—earthy and clean, like spring rain.

She tugged his jacket tighter around her shoulders.

The layout of Mikael’s room and hers were nearly identical. His room was just bigger, more spacious, more fitting of a prince. Where her linens and furniture were light and feminine, his were dark and masculine, all navy blues and burgundy. There was a behemoth, four-poster bed at the far side of the room that she wanted nothing more than to crawl directly into.

“You can come in, you know,” Mikael said, with an undercurrent of amusement.

In however little time she thought she’d been standing there for, Mikael had changed out of his uniform and into some dark, comfortable-looking nightclothes, and was tending to the fire. He tossed a couple of logs in and walked back over to her.

Cyril smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

It felt strange to invade his space like this, even though he’d spent weeks living in hers.

“No more apologizing, please.”

The warmth of his arm settled across her shoulders and Cyril gave in far too easily to the urge to lean against him, to let her lungs fill up with him.

“Tired?” he mused quietly.