Page 265 of The Mercy of Dawn

Bleak would be putting things lightly.

And that wasn’t even considering the immeasurable weight of Dion’s own sins. The ones that he knew everyone around him bore the effect of, despite the feigned undercurrent of peace that swirled all around them since Cyril’s brush with death. It felt like it would unravel at any given moment.

Celebrating was the last thing Dion felt like doing, but Runa’s eyes had a sparkle to them that was off putting.

“Yes, a party. My son”—the queen tipped her chin towards where Mikael and a dozing Cyril sat out in the sun, on a patch of grass between two vibrant garden beds—“you know, the—ah, what was it? Whelp that couldn’t keep his hands to himself?”

Fuck.

The sidelong glance she slid to Dion was caustic.

He didn’t want to know how she’d heard about that.

“He came to me this morning and asked if I would take him to the vaults to see what we had that might be suitable for an important piece of jewelry.”

Runa let him stew on that prospect for a few painfully long moments.

Dion ran his hand through his hair as he said, “Well, fuck. There’s no misconstruing that, is there?”

Cyril. Married. To a prince.

Gods help him.

“No,” Runa chuckled, “There certainly isn’t, and I know you have your doubts about my son—”

“Had.”

“Either way.” Runa waved a hand. “My son loves her, Dion, in the kind of way I wasn’t sure he would ever care for someone. Not with his, well…”

“His reputation?”

A quiet hmph left Runa.

“Yes, his reputation.” There was that caustic glance again. “The endless cycle of bedroom guests. Paying for pleasures in the city. Never being seen with a partner in the light of day. Concepts I know you are intimately familiar with, Rhodea.”

Dion nodded with each punctuated statement, a wry smile blooming on his face.

“Very.” It was his turn to chuckle. “You understand my apprehension, then, when he set his eyes on my dear niece.”

“What I was getting at, you insufferable gnat, was that I have never seen my son like this before.”

Her attention drifted over to the sun-basking lovebirds, and she shook her head.

“When he brought Cyril back that…night. I helped him clean her up and get her comfortable, and Mika broke down. I haven’t seen him cry since he was a child, Dion, but he did that night. For her. For what happened. For what he almost lost.” Runa sighed through her nose. “He let me into his mind so I could see what he saw in that cellar. But I felt everything he felt too, when she was bleeding out in his arms. There is no mistaking that sort of love.”

Dion released the white-knuckled grip he hadn’t realized he held on the whorled iron arms of the chair. Ten minutes with the Queen of Reykr and she was already testing his sobriety worse than anything else in the last ten days.

“Are you going to lecture me about fate and destiny now too?” he said coolly, because he knew exactly where she was going with this.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t remember what that seer told Malia, that—”

“That woman was a fucking farce,” Dion seethed.

“—her daughter born under the sun of day would find her heart a home bathed in moonlight. I think those are hard words to misconstrue.”

They’d had this conversation so. Many. Fucking. Times.

Dion was tired of it.