Page 232 of The Mercy of Dawn

On the far side of the atrium, near a seating alcove flanking the main staircase, Lars stood with a handful of advisors who looked like they still hadn’t clued in. Beside him, Dion sat on a cream-colored bench, hunched over with his head held in his hands.

Mikael wasn’t sure when the fuck the disgraced Rogue Master made it back to the palace, but Dion paled when Lars nudged him and jerked his chin towards Mikael and Cyril. Mikael didn’t feel an ounce of empathy for the man though. How fucking convenient for her well-being to be a thing of importance to him now.

Against his better instinct, Mikael came to a stop at the base of the stairs. He waited as his father peeled away from the group of advisors, a thunderstruck-looking Dion trailing behind him.

Cyril shifted in his arms, making a quiet noise of discomfort as she gripped the front of his jacket. Her eyes fluttered, her eyebrows knit, and then she was gone again. The damn woman was burning through any bit of energy her body tried to muster up.

“Is she…”

Dion's voice, filled with unease, pulled his attention from Cyril. Wary and hoarse, it was unfitting of the callous man Mikael knew he was.

The sheen in Dion’s dark and tired gold eyes was unmistakable.

“Wren couldn’t mend everything at once, but she’ll recover,” Mikael said flatly. Truthfully, that was more than Mikael felt Dion deserved to know. But in the presence of his father? He’d pull out a measure of diplomacy.

“Alright.” Dion nodded slowly. He eased back a step, like he couldn’t bear to be that close to her fragile form. Coward. Discomfort sat clearly on his face too, when he looked Mikael in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”

Mikael didn’t treat him to a response.

The last time Dion deigned to give Mikael that much of his attention, he was threatening him just a few feet from where they now stood.

He left Dion to stand there in silence as he started up the stairs, his father following up behind him.

“What can I do?” Lars asked, but Mikael didn’t feel like speaking with him either. Not when he had a part to play in this fucking disaster too. Lars couldn't be bothered to do anything except bend over and take whatever bullshit General Ezra fed to him.

“Is my mother upstairs?”

“Yes, she is. Do you want her?

“I’ll need her help.”

If there was only one other person in the entire fucking kingdom who could help with the vulnerable task of cleaning up Cyril, it was his mother. He couldn’t trust anyone else, not now.

“Of course.” Lars nodded. “I’ll send her to you.”

He sprinted up the steps past Mikael, disappearing beyond the residential wing doors.

Chapter 61

Mikael was certain his mother’s legs were going to give way when her eyes locked on Cyril. He had her somewhat settled on the plush little vanity stool in her bathroom, propped between the wall and counter, when Runa eased through the half-open door.

Dressed in her simple, dark base layers, she swore softly.

“Mika, no…” his mother murmured as she walked over. She brushed the back of her hand down Cyril’s cheek and frowned. “What can I do?”

“I just need help, I…” From where he was crouched at Cyril’s feet, his hands splayed over her knees, Mikael sighed. Quietly, he added, “I don’t know what to do.”

And he didn’t mean in the literal sense—Cyril needed to be cleaned up and put to bed. That much was simple.

But Mikael had taken one look at her in the light—at the torn blouse he forgot was fucking white, with how saturated in blood it was, and the bruises forming around her wrists that he knew could only mean one thing—and the gravity of what happened had his entire body in a fucking chokehold.

“Let’s clean up her face first, alright?” Runa gave Mikael a soft, sad smile. “One thing at a time.”

Mikael hadn’t even seen her move, but his mother had already dug out a cloth from gods know where and was at the sink, holding her hand underneath the stream of water.

She made everything seem so easy.

Like he wasn’t looking up at the half-lucid woman who was more important to him than fucking breathing. Like it hadn’t even been hours since he sat with her in a pool of her own blood, not knowing if she was going to fucking die.