Page 31 of The Mercy of Dawn
“Not when it’s some shitty ploy to talk about yourself. I have no interest in your rank, or title, or hobbies, Your Highness, and best of luck finding someone at this table who does.”
The sidelong glance Mikael leveled at her was chilling. She clearly struck a nerve, but he said nothing and Cyril started back at her food.
A small win to shut the arrogant arse up.
“Lady Cyril Rhodea, age twenty-one. Unwed and childless,” Mikael started suddenly, his voice low, some few minutes later.
Cyril blinked at him.
“Daughter of Hector and Malia Rhodea, both deceased. Malia lost to childbirth and Hector to a suspected self-inflicted injury two years later.”
Her utensils clattered against the plate as she set them down. Runa’s attention snapped over, but Cyril avoided eye contact like her fucking life depended on it.
“Ward of Lord Dionysus Rhodea, with no known attachments outside of the Rogues’ Guild of Helia,” Mikael continued, leaning into Cyril’s space to top off her wine, like they were a couple of friends catching up. “She has thus far shown no affinity towards any known magics, elemental or otherwise, and, outside of receiving base rogue training, is an otherwise unremarkable fae of mixed race.”
Any lingering wisps of Cyril’s appetite were gone.
Cyril knew she wasn’t anything special, and always had, but to know it was so plainly written in the records of a foreign court was just fucking lovely. As if she hadn’t been through enough reminders of that on their trip.
Mikael eyed her with a look that dripped smug satisfaction, like he enjoyed being cruel. The prince and her uncle were going to get along perfectly.
“Was that everything? Or is there something missing from our intelligence that might make you remarkable, Lady Cyril? I’m just dying to know.”
Cyril could think of about a dozen remarkable ways to tell him to fuck right off.
Instead, she called across the table, “Dion?”
His eyes found hers, a flicker of gold in the room’s dim candlelight. He only looked somewhat irritated that she’d interrupted whatever enthralling conversation he’d been having with Lars.
“May I be excused?”
Dion’s gaze narrowed. “Is everything alright?”
Her responding smile was tight, and the prince rolled his eyes beside her.
“I think—”
The queen cut her uncle off.
“Of course you may, and never worry about asking for such a thing.” Runa smiled at her, radiating a warmth that Cyril still wasn’t sure how to handle. “You must be eager to get some proper rest after such an arduous trip.”
“Thank you for dinner,” was all Cyril said as she pushed back from the table and exited the dining room. She didn’t give the prince, her uncle, or anyone else the benefit of a look back.
The path she walked back to her room was a determined one, full of slow and steady breaths to ease her racing heart. She ignored the curious gazes and the nagging pull to wander in this unfamiliar place.
Upstairs, she bid both of the guards outside the royal residences a polite goodnight—two fresh faces from the pair standing watch earlier—before she slipped through the double doors and down the hall.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to see Rika standing beside her door, rocking on her heels as she hummed to herself, but the entire notion of someone waiting on her was still weird as fuck.
She met Cyril halfway down the hall, her eyes lit with hope. “Did you have a nice dinner, Lady Cyril?”
A solid fuck no almost clawed its way out of Cyril.
“I did,” she said instead, forcing a tight smile. “It was nice to eat some proper food after that long.”
“Oh, good.” Rika smiled. Then she looked at Cyril’s door and hesitated before she said, “I’ve turned down your bed, and left some nightclothes out. I tidied up your things—”
Fuck. Cyril knew full well she left the room in a half-disastrous state when she headed for dinner with Dion and, frankly, this was embarrassing as all hell.
