Page 197 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Mikael, sit.” Lars, booming. The prince swore, and the chair beside her creaked. She didn’t look. “And you, out. Do not cause a scene, Rhodea.”

“Oh, I’m the one causing a scene?” The anger in Dion’s voice crested. Cyril chewed her lip so hard she tasted blood, Astor mouthed “Breathe” at her. She tried. “So, what, those two can do whatever the fuck they want? Throw drinks, shove people around, but suddenly I’m the problem? I’m the one causing—”

Runa’s hand slamming down on the table drew a quiet whimper from Cyril. Dishes and silverware clattered, and the room fell silent.

“You are over a hundred fucking years older than them, Dion”—Cyril flinched as the queen waved her hand aggressively between Dion and the table—“and you assaulted her, your own gods damned family, under my roof. You are a monster. Get out of my sight.”

The door slammed shut, and Lars did not return to the table.

A suffocating sort of quiet took hold of the room.

Mikael slipped his arm around Cyril, tugging her as close as the chairs would allow, and he kissed her temple. It did nothing to ease the way her heart or her mind fucking raced.

Runa sat back down, and Astor just looked surprised.

Cyril looked slowly from Mikael to Astor, and then to Runa. The queen was the first to open her mouth.

“Cyril—”

“I’m sorry.” Cyril’s voice was a hoarse, uneasy thing, but it was all she could think to say. Mikael brushed his hand down her arm and said her name softly.

All the tension slipped right out of Runa’s face.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I know…” Runa sighed. “I know you weren’t ready to talk yesterday, but I think we need to have an important conversation now.”

Cyril still didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to face the reality that she knew Runa was going to lie out in front of her. But options weren’t something she had anymore.

So, Cyril nodded.

The queen stood and worked her way around the table, extending a hand to Cyril. With a smile that spoke of so much sadness, Runa said, “Let’s go chat, just the two of us. I’m sure Mika has some work to keep himself busy.”

Mikael had paced in the residential hall for over an hour. From one end, straight through to the other, he couldn’t find it in him to settle or be anywhere else.

Cyril was still inside his parent’s suite, talking to his mother about what, he didn't know. He was so fucking worked up that he took one look at the stack of papers on his desk and turned right out of the barracks.

It hadn’t helped that during the short trip to and from his office, half a dozen damn guards asked if Lady Cyril was alright after catching a glimpse of her the night before. He lied and said she was but, gods, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

If only for Cyril’s sake, Mikael needed to calm down. But that was a task that was proving to be nearly impossible. His heart still beat like a drum in his fucking chest and he… He wanted to kill Dion.

There was no question about that anymore. Maybe that’s why he came back here, hoping they’d cross paths. Even though it was a foolish hope to think that he was nearby anymore.

A door in the hall creaked, but it wasn’t the one Mikael had watched like a hawk. His father came down from the main residence’s doors in lengthy strides.

Lars ran a hand through his hair, and he looked…frustrated. A sentiment Mikael was sure every member of the Kallan family felt now. His father inclined his head towards the seating alcove near the end of the hall and Mikael fell in step with him.

“Cyril is still with your mother?” Lars asked a bit roughly.

Confirmation then that things hadn’t gone well with Dion. Not that he thought they would.

“They’ve been in there for-fucking-ever.” Mikael nodded as he sighed and sank down on a sofa.

The last time he’d spent any real time here was when they found that poor maid’s body, months ago now, when Cyril was a stranger to him. An off-putting one at that, too. To end up back here, under these circumstances…

His father settled beside him, bracing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Exhausted as Mikael had ever seen him. “Dion’s gone to Brynnhold indefinitely. He knows he isn’t welcome here.”

Mikael just nodded slowly.

One relief, at least, if only for Cyril. The look of fear he saw on her face last night wasn’t something he was sure he could handle seeing again.