Page 207 of The Mercy of Dawn

Cyril’s brows climbed, and she laughed.

“How much laundry have you done in your life, seriously?”

Mikael set down the tea and—ooh, he’d brought her a pastry.

“Enough, thank you. Now sit and eat, please.” The insufferable arse gripped her shoulders and steered Cyril to the chair. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep standing up.”

Gods, she wanted to argue with him on principle. But he wasn’t wrong in the least. Cyril complied, even though she wasn’t confident getting back up was something she’d manage.

“I’m just not used to this anymore,” she grumbled.

Just like how Mikael was evidently not used to ever doing much folding based on the haphazard way he was dealing with the stack of pants. She’d save that to tease him with another day.

“I know. Now shut up and eat.”

Cyril glared at him before she tore into the icing-covered and apple-filled pastry. It could have been her hunger talking, but it was absolutely delicious. The watery excuse for tea was definitely Kaia’s doing, but Cyril downed it all anyway.

Then she watched Mikael fold—poorly.

She didn’t have enough energy to correct him, or even give him a hard time.

He made it around halfway through the pile when Cyril saw another guard come into the mess hall. And it wasn’t her trainee, which raised all sorts of concerns. She didn’t even want to think where he ended up with another armful of laundry.

“Yes?” Cyril said, because this one wasn’t great with his words either.

“Miss Cyril.” He nodded at her and stiffened up when Mikael turned around. “Commander, His Majesty sent for you.”

“Why?” Mikael sighed and grabbed another pair of pants to fold. “I swear to the gods if this is about resourcing again…”

The trainee cleared his throat. “The crown prince has taken ill. He collapsed in a council session apparently, and they’ve brought him to the infirmary.”

Mikael went still.

Something that looked an awful lot like fear flickered through his eyes.

“Just go,” Cyril said as she took the half-folded pants from him. “I’ve got this under control. Go.”

Mikael grabbed them back and tossed them on the table.

“Please,” he said softly, and there was never a way in any of the hells she’d be able to tell him no. Just that single word, spoken with that sort of unease, made her chest tight.

Cyril took his hand and let him lead her towards the door.

“You,” he said to the guard standing still as a fencepost by the door, “tell Kaia where we’ve gone, but no one else.”

Just the sight of the infirmary’s double doors set every part of Cyril’s being on edge. It was a blessing Mikael didn’t even think twice when she told him to go in without her, that she would wait in the hall.

Weeks ago now, when he’d tried to bring her down to have her eye looked at—and for a supply of contraceptive tonics—things hadn’t gone well.

In the wake of a wave of panic so terrorizing it made her sick, Cyril had opted to let the bruising heal on its own. Mikael shouldered the brunt of the awkward conversation with one of the healer’s aides about tonics, which she now took daily.

She wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready to see the inside of those walls again. But Mikael had far more pressing things to worry about now than Cyril’s fear of that room.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her either.

She now sat exactly where Tyr and Ren sat on the day she tried so hard not to think about. The same spot where she laid eyes on them moments before her world unraveled, waiting now to find out if Mikael’s own life faced the same fate.

Time in that hallway drifted by at an agonizing pace.