Page 81 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Why would I…” Cyril shook her head. “If you don’t want me at the guild, I’ll find work somewhere else back home. I am not staying here.”

“Cyril, you are a highborn woman who doesn’t want to get married. Trying to make any sort of life for yourself in the south will be nearly impossible.”

Oh. They were not having this conversation again.

Not a fucking chance.

They’d done this spin dozens of times, and Cyril’s answer never changed.

“If this is some ploy to convince me to get married, you can stop,” she said, willing an ounce of calm into her voice. “You know that I—”

“It isn’t, Cyr,” he groaned. “I know you don’t want to. I know you think it’s stupid. Trust me, I won’t waste my breath trying to convince you otherwise. But it doesn’t change the fact that every damn lord in the south wants nothing more than a pretty wife with the promise of land and riches one day. And none of those men are good people, Cyr.”

She scoffed. “Worse than you?”

“Yes, Cyril, worse than me,” he bit back, “because I would never have it in me to steal a woman’s virtue from her and use it as blackmail. Or hope she fell pregnant and force her into a marriage that way.”

Cyril blinked.

Was he insinuating that these men, that they would…

Her stomach turned.

“You can’t be serious,” she mumbled, watching Dion’s scar tug and pull as he rubbed at his face.

He looked at her for a long second before he said, “I’m dead serious, Cyr. So forgive me for wanting to find an alternative for you.”

Cyril certainly didn’t enjoy the sounds of what Dion insinuated, but what option did she have? Helia was her home, and with it came navigating the politics of their neighboring states.

Quietly, she asked, “So you want me to stay here?”

Here, as in an isolated, foreign land.

Here, as in a place full of people she knew nearly nothing about, and wasn’t sure if she could trust.

Here, as in a place that was not her home.

“I want you to consider it, yes.” He glanced at her briefly before he rested his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Part of the reason I am so fond of Reykr is its freedoms, and I would like for you to have that.”

A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled in between Cyril and Dion, broken only by a knock at her door that she couldn’t have been more grateful for.

Dion rose and said, “Please, think about it. And if you have the chance, talk to Runa about it, see what thoughts she has.”

Cyril nodded as Dion walked away, and let in the two maids who came to help her get ready. And even as the kind, soft-spoken women pinned gold baubles in her hair and cinched her into the extravagant gown, she could only think of one thing;

Dion didn’t want her around anymore.

Nineteen years as her sole guardian, and he was done. Fed up with teaching her, taking care of her, and protecting her. He wanted her to stay in Reykr not because it would be any good for her, but because she wouldn’t be his burden anymore.

For as badly as Cyril always craved a sliver of freedom, this was never how she wanted it.

The weight of that reality had her stomach in knots, but she feigned a tight smile when the maids cooed over how elegant she looked, and ushered her out the door.

Dion was waiting for her just outside the door to the residential wing, chatting with the guards. She took his arm in silence and spent their entire walk trying to convince herself that she had gotten it all wrong, that Dion only had her best interests in mind and not his.

In all of her twenty-one years, Cyril wasn’t sure something had ever stolen her breath like the state ballroom did.

And what a welcome distraction it was.