Page 244 of The Mercy of Dawn

She let herself think, let herself hesitate, and the pain caught up.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she splayed a hand against the wall, steadying herself to limp away from the thundering footfalls closing in behind her.

She couldn’t move fast enough.

“Cyril!”

Cyril’s knee buckled and slammed into the cold, cragged floor. A hoarse sob left her. Nothing but the frantic rushing of blood filled her ears as she fought against the arm that wrapped around her midsection and hauled her back. She clawed and twisted, but it was pointless. She had nothing left in her.

“Give her to me.” A female voice, soft, lilting, just like—

“Nononono—Don’t, please. Please don’t hurt me,” Cyril choked out, but a bolt of ice shot through every nerve ending in her body.

Cyril stilled as tension slipped from her muscles.

A dull whine filled her ears, and she struggled to process the light that flooded her vision.

The gleaming moonstone floors she was heaped upon.

The hands, clasped at her temples and—

“You’re alright,” a familiar, masculine voice rumbled at her back. It was a tone so close to what a scattered part of her being was frantic to hear.

The hands on her temples eased her face up, and up, and up until her gaze snagged on the wide, silvery-blue eyes staring down at her. Blue eyes, and fair skin, and red hair, and—

“Sweetheart, you’re safe,” Runa said, her brows drawn together. She cupped Cyril’s cheeks before she settled her hands back in her own lap. “No one is going to hurt you here.”

Here. The palace. Not…

Cyril’s breath came in ragged bursts. She had no control over the startled half-sob that clawed its way out of her when the arm holding her loosened. Her gaze dropped past the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to her chest, to the bronzed and bleeding skin of the muscular forearm holding her upright.

“I…” She sucked in a shuddering burst of air as a shiver set into her body.

“Lars has you,” Runa said softly.

Cyril knew that, but she couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t stop the burning that pricked at the corners of her eyes moments before tears flooded her vision.

“I’m sorry, I…”

Cyril hurt him, but she just couldn’t get it out. Not as a sob rattled out of her and she clamped her hand over her mouth.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Lars sounded so calm, so nonchalant, but Cyril was already too far gone.

She couldn’t get a handle on the tears and sobs that rolled out of her. She tried to tell herself, repeatedly, that she was safe, but every fiber of her fucking being was on edge—ready for danger, ready to run. The heavy footfalls echoing down the hall did nothing to help that.

Cyril tensed, her muscles barking in protest as her legs slipped on the tile floor and she pushed back against Lars. Away from the noise, away from the danger, away from—

“It’s just Dion.” Lars’ voice was as quiet as she’d ever heard it.

Dion.

She hadn’t known a single word could conflict her so thoroughly, and seeing him only served to heightened the dread and relief that swirled through her in tandem.

She blinked through her watery vision to where Runa had gone to meet him, halfway down the fucking hall. Cyril didn’t know how she made it so far from her room, not with the pulsing ache in her leg that got worse with every passing second.

“What happened?” she heard Dion say, exasperated and breathless.

Had he run here?