Page 76 of The Mercy of Dawn

Cyril rose with her.

“I’ll walk back with you.”

It was getting late, and she didn’t want to risk being forced into an awkward conversation alone with the prince, or into interrupting her uncle. She was determined for the day to end on a high note.

“I should go too.” Mikael sighed and shot back the rest of his wine.

His mother reached for his arm and for Cyril's too, clearly set on being escorted arm-in-arm. Cyril couldn’t stifle her wince when the queen's fingers grazed her elbow, and Mikael’s eyes shot to her.

“So you did hurt yourself,” he said dryly.

Whether he was annoyed or amused, she couldn't tell, but Cyril chose not to respond to him. She only gave Runa a reassuring smile when the queen’s worried eyes found her own.

They left the dining room without another word and walked a quiet, somewhat uncomfortable walk back to the residences. Exhaustion lulled Cyril to sleep the moment she crawled into bed, a healthy slathering of Dion’s salve on her elbow.

Cyril knew the royal gardens would be a thing of beauty up close—the glances she stole from her balcony told her as much. But being here, traversing the pathways through flora that was blooming and vibrant and fragrant…

Words eluded her.

And they had since the moment Runa led her through the gates, but the queen didn’t seem to mind. While Cyril gawked and gaped at fronds as big as her body, and more colors of flowers than she could name, Runa taught her about the gardens.

Lars’ grandfather built some parts of it based on designs his own mother thought up while the palace was in its infancy—a timeframe ago that Cyril couldn’t fathom. Each generation since had added its own touch, with new plots, paths, and plants.

They made an effort over the years to introduce botanicals from faraway lands into the collection as well. Pieces collected from Southern Carinae, and from as far as the mortal continent and nymph lands, sat woven tastefully through pieces native to Reykr.

It all reduced Cyril to nothing more than breathy incantations of wow for almost an hour until Runa finally motioned for her to sit at a wrought-iron table set outfitted with pale blue cushions.

Cyril ran her fingers through her hair, still damp from the hurried bath she’d taken after leaving training, as Runa flagged down a maid and asked them to bring some refreshments out. Something cold, she hoped, after walking around under the humid heat of the late afternoon sun.

“So, I take it you approve of our quaint little gardens?” Runa mused, her smile coy, as she settled into the chair beside Cyril’s.

“Immensely,” Cyril chuckled.

Even from the unassuming little alcove they sat tucked in, they had pleasant views of a fountain hewn from moonstone. Not a single area crafted without thoughtful consideration.

“You’re welcome here anytime you like. The men don’t seem overly interested in ever coming out, so it’s perfect for when you need…” Runa pursed her lips. “Peace and quiet.”

She raised a knowing brow at Cyril.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And on the subject of men, has Mikael been treating you well?”

Cyril blinked.

“I think so?”

Runa laughed, a clipped bark of a noise. “That doesn’t give me much confidence.”

“I, ah—” Cyril grimaced.

Was she even in a position to speak candidly about him with his mother?

She hoped so.

“I don’t think we get along well. And after what I did yesterday…” A nervous laugh left her. “That probably didn’t help. He seemed pretty…” Miserable. Arrogant. Standoff-ish. The list went on and on. “Unenthused about me being there today. I’m not sure if I should even go back, really, I…”

Cyril was rambling, and the queen wore a grin of total amusement.