Page 213 of The Mercy of Dawn

Cyril nodded, and Mikael started to stack everything into a neat pile.

“I meant to ask you though…Did they not consider Bron to be—” Nope. She couldn’t say it. The words just caught in her throat. “I noticed there wasn’t a file for him.”

Mikael cast her a cautious glance. He set the folders to the side of his desk.

“He has a file. Same as the others, I…” He sighed. Softly, he said, “It has details of everything, Cyr. The…condition he was in, what Wren thinks happened to him. I didn’t think you’d want to see that.”

Cyril shook her head.

She didn’t need to read any of that. Not now. Maybe never.

“No, that’s okay.” The lump in her throat fucking hurt to swallow.

A handwritten description of the condition of his body was the last thing she needed when she could still see it so vividly in her mind. The gaping wound in his throat, that mottled bruising on his face, the—

Cyril took a slow breath.

“I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t forgotten about, because…”

Because that was when everything fell apart.

That was when Cyril lost track of herself, and she stopped asking questions.

That was when the days blended into weeks, and months just slipped by.

Mikael clasped her face in his hands, his smile a soft and sad thing. She reached up and tucked a piece of his own wavy, auburn hair behind his ear.

“Never. He was treated like one of our own.” Cyril could accept that.

She murmured a quiet “Thank you” as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Let’s go get some rest, yeah? And maybe…” There was that trace of that heady little glint in his eyes as he pulled back, that she’d barely seen in days. “Maybe we take a bath?”

Cyril knew precisely what that meant because it happened every damn time he convinced her to join him—which was often—and it certainly wasn't bathing.

She stared at him.

“Everything that’s happened today, and you’re thinking about sex?” she said, and a wry smile tugged at his face.

“A happy end to a fucking awful day? Absolutely I am.” Mikael chuckled as he leaned in, ghosting his lips across hers. “I think we could both use a little distraction. A few, maybe.”

“I’m so tired, Mika,” she sighed.

Cyril wasn’t entirely confident in her abilities to even make it back to their room, let alone any other sort of activity.

“I know you are.” His hands splayed over her shoulders with that firm and guiding touch she struggled not to go slack under, and Mikael steered her towards the door. A step from the threshold he leaned down, lips skimming her ear, and he said, “Which is why I will do all the work, Lady Cyril. You can just lie back and enjoy yourself.”

Cyril snorted. “Lie back in the bath?”

“Something like that.” He grinned, those damn double canines gleaming.

Chapter 52

That ever-growing pile of laundered uniforms never saw its end.

Every time Cyril had a free hour or two between packs and supplies and organizing, she’d get down to the last half a dozen pants and jackets before someone would come and drop off a new pile.

It became a progressively later and later, later Cyril problem.