Page 57 of The Mercy of Dawn

Cyril’s eyes widened.

“Oh, that sounds—”

“It’s not glamorous,” Mikael interjected. “Morning runs, drills, basic hand-to-hand and weaponry.”

“No, that sounds amazing.” She looked from Mikael to Runa and back to the prince. “I’d like that.”

That might’ve been a flicker of surprise that graced his features.

“Alright.” He nodded, giving both Cyril and his mother a tight smile. “I’ll see that someone gets you the schedule.”

It might have mostly been the wine speaking and warming her thoroughly, but…gods, Cyril was excited. The last time she’d had something to look forward to was, well…

She wasn’t entirely sure.

Months ago, maybe? Anytime she tried to think of something she enjoyed doing, all her mind would treat her to was Dion calling her a child. Just like she was sure he was thinking now as he watched her, half-heartedly having a conversation with Lars.

Her excitement wilted.

“I…should turn in,” she said quietly, looking between Mikael and Runa again. Their own eyes followed hers to Dion and back. “I have some books I’ve been meaning to read.”

“Of course,” Runa smiled and squeezed her arm. “Mika will walk you back upstairs.”

They each stuttered a noise of protest, but Cyril overtook the prince. “I appreciate it, Runa, but I don’t need an escort…”

“Nonsense. I’m still uneasy after what happened, and I don’t want you walking alone this late. Besides,” she said, casting her son a knowing look, “he was going to slip out to the barracks any moment now.”

Mikael sighed and gestured towards the door.

“After you.”

Chapter 15

Cyril wasn’t sure how Runa still felt uneasy in the palace.

It crawled with guards now, as it had every day since Rika’s death, with each station or post doubled or tripled. There also was not a single moment since that terrible day that Cyril hadn’t encountered at least a handful of patrolling guards while she walked from place to place. They even made sweeps through the archives now, much to the apparent annoyance of Tobias.

It was unsettling, she was sure, to know something so heinous happened in your home, but Cyril had never witnessed such a level of security before. She slept well at night, at least.

Beside her, Mikael was the picture of stoic indifference as they wove through the hallways leading from the lounge, his eyes trained anywhere but in Cyril’s direction. He exchanged nods of acknowledgment with each guard they passed—six, she counted, in that short time—but did not say a word to her.

Cyril didn’t mind.

When they finally made it to the main atrium, she stopped and looked up at him. “You don’t have to walk me the entire way.”

Mikael smiled at her, a bit bitterly, and laughed.

“Oh, no, I do. If my mother finds out I didn’t, which she will because she has eyes and ears everywhere, she will kill me, find someone to stir my corpse back to life, and then kill me again. So please, Lady Cyril”—he gestured vaguely to the stairs across the atrium—“after you.”

Cyril struggled to school the amusement out of her face.

She kept walking.

“Do you usually train the guard?” she asked, though she didn’t have a fucking clue why. It had to be the wine, urging her to fill the silence. “I…I appreciate the invitation.”

“I usually do, yes.” He eyed her for a moment. “Like I said, it was my mother who thought it was something you might enjoy.”

Right, because he never would have invited her.