Page 79 of The Mercy of Dawn

I am your ally.

Even three glasses of wine, a sip of Dion's putrid spirits, and an overfull belly hadn't left Cyril any more sure how she felt about those words.

Could she truly trust a woman she’d only known for a couple of weeks?

Her entire upbringing and the tenets of the guild told her no, she shouldn’t give out her trust so easily. A woman in Runa’s position would only ever have her own best interests in mind.

And she was in Reykr, for fuck’s sake.

But the man responsible for that same upbringing, and every experience she’d had so far with Runa, said yes, not only could she trust this woman, but the queen was indeed her ally.

Cyril wasn’t sure that was something she’d ever had.

Sebille and Bron were probably the closest, but Dion still paid their wages.

Cyril huffed a sigh and sat up from the sofa she’d spent the last hour draped across, watching the sconces and firelight flicker and dance on the ceiling as she tried to make sense of things.

Too fucking much for her to process in one night.

The history lesson alone would have been a lot, without Runa sharing so many personal details and trying to forge that connection with her.

Then there was dinner.

Cyril hadn’t even made it halfway through the meal when Lars casually mentioned an upcoming state dinner he hoped she and Dion could attend. Runa had already sent for a dress to be made for Cyril just for the occasion. If the piercing stare Dion pinned her with hadn’t clearly enough said that they were very much going to be attending, that would have settled things.

She didn’t quite have the gall to ask, but Cyril hoped it wouldn’t be frilly or pink, or require a team to put on.

A state dinner was something she could navigate. She knew that from the events that Dion dragged her back home. But she wasn’t confident her dignity would survive being the queen’s dress-up doll.

It hadn’t helped at all that everyone else seemed intent on having a chatty evening, when all Cyril wanted was to curl up in front of a fire and unwind in silence.

Dion and Lars were all grins and laughter, with a few inappropriate jokes Cyril pretended she did not hear. She was sure Runa sat closer to her than any dinner so far, making innocuous small talk the entire time.

No one even seemed fussed when the arrogant prince showed up far later than even she thought was appropriate, smelling like ale and smoke and with a tipsy glint in his eyes. He eased right in with her uncle and Lars, and their laughter and crude jokes.

Just as Cyril thought she might tolerate the abrasive prince, the entire day told her otherwise.

From the moment she stepped into the barracks that morning, dragged right into the group of drowsy King's Guard by Kaia, the prince had been frosty as all fucking hells towards her. The few interactions they had were short and remarkably snippy. If it hadn’t been for Kaia’s desperate attempts to joke around, Cyril would have dipped out far earlier than she needed to for her garden visit with Runa.

But she had just three more days of basic training to get through, and then she could go back to riding and researching and steering clear of Mikael. Three days she had to get through, she told herself, because there was not a chance she would give him the satisfaction of seeing her quit.

And maybe, just maybe, Cyril hoped he’d challenge her to a rematch before the week was through. Putting him in his place one more time sounded like something she’d thoroughly enjoy.

Chapter 19

Well, the dress wasn’t pink. But Cyril didn’t have a hope in any of the hells of getting into it on her own. Even the dressmaker needed help to lift it from its box and spread it out on her bed.

She wasn’t sure how he expected her to move around in it.

“It’s beautiful.” Cyril looked at Runa, who had gathered in her room with Dion for the unveiling, and offered her a smile. “Thank you.”

The dress was a work of art.

It was just better suited for the likes of a princess, or a proper, demure lady and not, well…Cyril.

She loved the color of the deep, burned orange fabric Runa picked for the base dress, and the black and gold embroidery covering the bodice must have taken a small army days to do. Even the sleeves, long and sheer with matching embroidered cuffs, were something she would wear happily.

But the skirt…