Page 23 of The Mercy of Dawn

At the front of the group, standing atop the glittering, white stone steps, was a couple that oozed an air of composure and regality. Behind them stood nearly a dozen others—more staff, she assumed—who probably came to investigate the foreign arrivals. Truthfully, Cyril would have done the same at home.

“This is my firstborn, Astor, and his wife, Reyna,” Runa said quietly as she steered Cyril towards the couple.

Dion had already cleared the steps ahead of them, clasping hands with the crown prince. A man who, much to Cyril’s surprise, was remarkably plain-looking.

He had short and neat dark brown hair, a warm complexion, and sky-blue eyes. With his well-fitted cream tunic and black pants, Cyril was certain this was the same prince she’d read about in at least a dozen folktales as a child.

His wife, however, made up for any shortcomings in his appearance.

The silver-haired woman tethered to his side was nothing short of ethereal, with her own dark, sweeping robes and eyes of the lightest, opaque green Cyril had ever seen. She had skin as fair as Cyril’s own, but with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that added to the youthful air of her soft features.

The crown prince and princess inclined their heads at her, and Cyril did the same.

“This is Dion’s niece,” Runa said to her son. “Lady Cyril Rhodea of Helia.”

Astor’s smile was warm and welcoming.

“We’ve heard much about you, Lady Cyril,” he said, and just like Dion mentioned, the crown prince was soft-spoken. “Despite the circumstances, I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you, I hope so too. I—oh. Oh, thank you, that’s…”

Reyna had taken half a step forward and extended a small box wrapped in tan canvas towards her, a simple white bow tied around it. Cyril took it with a smile plastered on her face.

The entire display was so many levels of fucking awkward.

“A gift for your welcoming,” she said, with an unusual lilt to her voice. Reyna’s smile was small, and almost shy, as she stepped back beside her husband.

Cyril never considered that Reykr’s crown princess might not hail from Reykr.

“Thank you, that is very thoughtful.”

Mercifully, Runa splayed her hand on Cyril’s back and motioned towards the door. “Let’s get everyone in from the cold, shall we?”

The gathered crowd of staff scattered like mice as Astor and Reyna made their way back through the open doors, and Cyril was ecstatic to trail in behind them. The prospect of warmth, of soft surfaces, or gods, a bath had Cyril feeling more energetic than she had in days.

The only problem? Cyril and Dion didn’t even make it past the threshold before Runa stopped dead in her tracks and turned to them.

“Oh! I almost forgot. The council, unfortunately, has Lars all tied up this afternoon, but he asked me to send his regards to the two of you.” Runa gave them a tight, apologetic smile. As if it mattered that a man Cyril had never met wasn’t here to greet her. Honestly, she was thankful for one less set of appraising eyes. “I know he’d love it if you both joined us for dinner tonight, though, if you feel up to it.”

“Of course we will. We’ve got quite a bit to catch up on,” Dion chuckled.

Cyril cared little—not that Dion would give her a choice—as long as there was a hot bath and dry clothes between now and then.

“Gods, do we ever,” Runa sighed.

It was a wistful sound that made Cyril’s skin feel tight. This woman being a friend of Dion’s would never not be fucking strange.

“I’d hoped Mikael would be back in time to greet you both,” the queen continued, “but he is—”

“Right here?”

Runa’s eyes widened, and she spun around to face the man leaning against one of the open doors. Auburn-haired and with a predatory gleam in his ice-blue eyes, Reykr’s second prince looked nothing like his brother.

He must have known how to move quietly, because Cyril hadn’t noticed his arrival. If the flicker of surprise on Dion’s face said much, he hadn’t noticed either.

“My boy. Oh…” The queen pulled her towering son into a tight embrace, and whatever else she said was lost.

Where Astor was polished and refined, a streak of something wild glimmered in the crystalline depths of this man's eyes. Even his attire came as a stark contrast to the crown prince’s—a uniform almost identical to what the palace guards wore, with a few pieces of leather armor fashioned to look like scales.