Page 26 of The Mercy of Dawn

Runa beamed at her.

“Of course. And if you need anything at all, we are all close by. Mikael is down there, and Astor and Reyna are just there.” She gestured at two doors opposite a seating alcove at the end of the hall, just before it turned and continued out of sight. “Lars and I are around that corner and down at the end.”

Cyril nodded along and made a mental note of each room as the last place she would turn if she needed anything. Thankfully, Dion’s room—that he was already making his way to without even saying goodbye—was closest to hers.

“Now, make yourself comfortable and get into something warm and dry.” Runa gave her arm one final, affectionate squeeze before she released her and started making her way out of the residences. “Dinner is not for a few hours, so take your time.”

Nothing but pure relief carried Cyril’s feet over to her suite door.

Well, maybe that and the prospect of the hot bath she knew must be waiting inside. A few hours to unthaw in a bit of luxury before an actual damned meal was something she’d dreamed of for days.

But a sliver of reality hit Cyril, and she spun around—Runa was just approaching the grand double doors.

“Your Majesty?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, dear?”

“Should I wear a dress to dinner, or…?”

Runa smiled.

“Only if you’d like to. Come in whatever you are most comfortable wearing.”

A minor victory that Cyril was glad to take.

She thanked the queen and headed into her room.

For the first time in almost ten days, Cyril was alone, and the solitude was blissful.

No uncles snoring and grunting and swearing at each other.

Or at her, for that matter.

No howling wind or pelting rain, or the unsettling rustle of bushes in the night.

Save for the soft crackle of logs in the hearth, her suite was silent.

And from a cursory glance, the Kallan’s spared no expense for the comfort of their guests.

Her assigned room was generous in its size and furnishings and, much to Cyril’s relief, an assortment of plush, patterned rugs sat overtop of the moonstone tile that continued through the room.

From the spacious, canopied bed tucked between two arched windows to the well-appointed sitting area nestled around a grand fireplace, the linens were all cream-colored and airy, accented with hints of silver and blue. Freshly washed too, based on the subtle scent of laundry soap that hung in the room.

Off to one wall was even a quaint writing desk, stocked with stationery and built from the same dark wood as the rest of the furniture, though Cyril doubted she would get much use of it. Not like she had anyone to write home to.

What held Cyril’s attention the firmest, though, of all the finery and comforts, was a set of ornate glass doors beside that little desk, and the view that she could glimpse beyond them.

Setting down the gift she’d clutched in her damp gloves for the duration of their tour, Cyril headed straight to the doors. Straps and fastenings of her leathers fell away as she went.

The torrent of rain had let up just enough that, as she nudged one door open, an unobstructed view of the palace gardens and the sweeping landscape beyond came up to greet her.

She stared for longer than she’d care to admit.

The balcony was covered and modest in size, with a matching set of table and chairs, and a chaise for lounging. They could have been dilapidated for all Cyril cared with the views they granted.

The palace gardens went on and on and on, full of hedges and trees, flowerbeds of every color imaginable, and dotted with bubbling fountains. Some plots were well manicured, while others were left to grow more wildly. Even through the smothering scent of rain that hung in the air outside, soft floral notes wove up through it.

If Reykr ever had warm and sunny days, Cyril was sure it would smell remarkable.