Page 74 of The Mercy of Dawn

They knew damn well he could have her bent over in whichever direction he pleased in a day or two if he worked at it. But for once in his life, he wasn’t after some petty, quick fuck from a pretty girl. Not this one, at least. Those were needs he could see tended to elsewhere.

There was something else at play with the Rhodea woman that he was far more interested in watching pan out. And his curiosity always got the best of him, for better or worse.

Chapter 18

Queen Runa was a hard woman to deny. When dinner wrapped up and she cast a pointed glance at Cyril and Mikael, they both understood her ask of, “Join me for a drink?” was more of a polite command than it was an actual question.

Lars and Dion seemed keen to slip away to smoke and drink and discuss the investigation anyway. From what little Cyril overheard from their end of the table, it sounded like interviews in the city were not surfacing many fruitful leads and Dion was not pleased about it.

Not a conversation she had any interest in participating in.

So Cyril followed the prince and the queen across the dining room, where they settled into a spread of plush chairs by the hearth. Between the extremely generous pours of red wine from Mikael, an indulgent meal, and the dead weight her limbs had become, Cyril was at serious risk of never making it back out of the damn chair.

“So, Cyril,” Runa started, and Cyril tensed.

Not already.

Dinner had gone so well too.

Dion and Runa had given Lars a colorful commentary on the spectacle he missed that afternoon, much to the chagrin of Mikael, who looked like he wanted no part of the conversation.

The prince laughed with them, at least, when Dion regaled the table with stories of the earlier days of Cyril’s training. She hadn’t realized just how many times one of the rogues at the estate almost lost an eye or a finger teaching her how to handle blades. Her cheeks burned and ached by the time their main course came around.

But nights and days like this one never could end on a fucking high note.

In most cases, Dion was the one responsible, but what would it be from Runa? A misguided comment about her parents? Or did she dig up something else of Malia’s, and think now was the time to surface it?

“I was in the archives this morning.” Runa smiled, and Cyril let out a slow breath. “Tobias mentioned how much they’ve enjoyed having you there for the last couple of weeks. He sang remarkably high praises for how quickly you’ve been picking up on our old language.”

Oh.

“Ah, well…” Cyril coughed quietly, and hoped the room’s dim glow masked some of the warmth blooming in her cheeks. Not what she’d worked herself up to at all. “He’s been a very patient teacher with me. And I… Well, I think speaking it is out of the question, but it’s getting easier to read.”

Runa’s eyes lit up.

“Humor me. Can I ask you a question?”

Cyril nodded, and the words that came out of Runa’s mouth next were a flurry of lilting sounds she caught no part of.

“Can you…say that again?” Cyril winced. She was certain it was the old language, but that was it.

Runa repeated herself, and Cyril clung onto a single word—vedr.

Weather.

Cyril didn't grasp the context, but she'd be damned if she didn't try.

“I don’t know how to answer properly, but…” She stared into the flickering hearth as if the flames might will themselves into exactly what she needed.

Sentence structures weren’t things Tobias spent much time on, given they weren’t useful to the investigation, but Cyril knew at least a handful of words, two of which seemed perfect.

“Varmr, and…sol?” she fumbled out, positive she butchered the pronunciations.

Runa’s entire face lit up, and she leaned forward to squeeze Cyril’s knee.

“I’m not sure what I’m missing.” Mikael blinked between the two of them, his lips parted. “But I’m feeling left out.”

“I asked Cyril how the weather was out on the grounds today,” Runa said, a smile still plastered on her face.