Page 196 of The Mercy of Dawn

She knew.

Lars and Astor exchanged a curious, amused glance with each other.

They all knew.

Cyril felt a flush creep up her chest.

“You know the drill,” Mikael said nonchalantly as he tugged Cyril along, their fingers still tightly twined.

He pulled out a chair for her, and Cyril contemplated if it might be better to just slip under the table and avoid eye contact with anyone. She sat though, in the chair to the left of where Lars sat at the head of the table, Runa and Astor opposite her. The crown prince smiled warmly at her like he always did, but he looked…tired. Like maybe he’d had a rough few days too.

Mikael settled in beside her.

“Your eye…” Runa said with far less humor than she just addressed them with.

Cyril touched her cheek. “I’m… It’s alright.”

“I’m taking her down to the infirmary after.” Mikael, for reasons unbeknownst to Cyril, had taken it upon himself to fill her plate. “See if Wren can get it healed up for her, or if they’ve got something for the bruise.”

His mother nodded in approval, mentioning something about some salve or another, but Cyril didn’t quite catch it. Her attention snagged on the mountain of food the damn prince piled on her plate.

“Mika,” she said quietly, touching his arm. “That’s too much.”

He blinked down at her plate.

“Shit. Sorry, wrath,” he chuckled, swapping his empty one with hers. “Different appetites.”

She stopped his overeager serving well in advance that time.

The other three picked back up their quiet conversation, leaving Cyril and Mikael to eat in peace. And gods, she was starving. It took everything in her to not shovel back the meat pie and greens like an animal.

Cyril had just set down her cutlery and reached for her glass when she caught a flicker of tension passing through Astor, Runa, and Lars. Their eyes were all fixed on the door. Mikael must have noticed just before her because he was standing by the time she turned.

The little bubble of happiness she’d existed in all morning burst abruptly.

Dion was standing in the doorway.

Her heart sank.

“I just want to talk to Cyril,” he said slowly, his hands raised. “Alone, if—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Mikael laughed bitterly, and Dion did not like that.

He stepped forward, moving to push aside the wall that Mikael had become between them. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Like hells it doesn’t!” Mikael planted his hand on Dion’s chest and shoved him back. “You laid your fucking hands on—”

Cyril had to look away.

Just the sound of Dion’s voice, that brief glimpse of the anger in his face, stirred up the sort of panic in her she couldn’t get a handle on. Her heart was pounding, and nausea churned in her stomach. She struggled to swallow down the bile that burned her throat, and her fucking cheek ached.

Cyril tried to find something, anything, on the opposite wall to focus on as she saw Lars move in her periphery and Runa stood.

It was Astor’s eyes she found looking across the table at her. They were darker blue than Mikael’s, more like Lars’ eyes than Runa's. He had a soft, sad sort of expression on his face and quietly he said, “It’s alright.”

“Don’t fucking touch—” Dion.

She held Astor’s gaze, her breath sawing out of her.