Page 72 of The Mercy of Dawn

“You are fucking dead,” Cyril growled before she broke out into a run towards Mikael.

What she planned on doing when she caught him? She hadn’t thought that far. But anything seemed better than spending another second acknowledging whatever the fuck flickered to life in that moment.

Despite Cyril’s traitorous hands and mind reminding her that the prince was nothing but a tower of well-built muscle, he moved far faster than he had any right to. He took off sprinting towards the group of guards that had doubled in size since she last looked.

The sea of bodies parted, a haze of laughter and cheers, as they wove through, and Cyril finally caught up. Mikael might’ve had strength and size in his favor, but she had speed.

Cyril reached for his shirt, her fingers skimming the fabric stretched across his shoulders, and—

She slammed into his back with a soft groan. It was like hitting a fucking tree.

Breathlessly, Mikael said, “Mother.” A pause. “Dion.”

Cyril stiffened.

Oh, fucking hells.

Of course, this was how her day would end.

Cyril had kicked the prince’s ass, had all of two fucking minutes to ride that high, and now was going to be in such immeasurably deep shit. She’d spent the better part of the last week with her nose in tomes, doing everything in her power to avoid inciting another verbal lashing from Dion, and it was going to be for nothing.

As she stepped around Mikael, Cyril braced herself for the murderous look that Dion was bound to have on his face. A lecture had to be incoming about her childish behavior and—

Dion was smiling.

A wry and genuine thing that she’d seen less and less of recently.

Less surprisingly, Runa had a look of pure amusement on her face that answered any questions Cyril had about how much they witnessed.

Dion extended an arm out to her in invitation.

“When did you get back?” Cyril asked.

She was filthy as all hells, but he didn’t seem to mind as she stepped into his embrace. The subtle, clean scent of his cologne that wrapped around her was a welcome change to the dirt and sweat she’d been smelling all afternoon.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and squeezed her shoulders as he said, “Just in time to catch the show. Would’ve been sorely disappointed if I missed out on that.”

Cyril’s cheeks ran hot, and the urge to fold in on herself was strong. Her heart still raced from her victory, but toss in a hint of approval from her uncle? Too much for one day.

“That makes two of us,” Runa added. “Dion’s always bragged in his letters about how much time you’ve spent training at the guild. I’m glad to have seen it in action.”

“I—ah, well…” She cleared her throat.

A glance at Mikael showed he too looked just about as uncomfortable as Cyril felt. He stood there, his jaw tense, looking at no one in particular as he rubbed at his chest. It had to be aching just as bad as the dull throb in her elbow she could no longer ignore.

“I, for one, quite look forward to hearing all about the day over dinner.” Runa tossed a pointed glance at her son. “Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mikael replied with a tight smile.

He glanced at Cyril, opening his mouth, but he clamped it shut a moment later. The prince dipped his head instead, backing away a few steps before he turned and walked away.

Cyril blinked after him, but a gentle tug from Dion had Cyril walking with him towards the exit of the arena. Runa fell into step beside them.

“You handled yourself well out there,” Dion said quietly, and Cyril was officially fucking flustered. “Bron is going to be thrilled when he hears—”

“GOODBYE CYRIL! WE’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW!” Kaia hollered from across the arena.

Dion laughed as Cyril turned back to wave.