Page 85 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Believe it or not.”

“Time really has gotten away from us,” The queen chuckled. She glanced briefly at Cyril before she added, “This remarkable young woman’s mother was a dear, dear friend of mine, and I, well…” There was a flicker of that genuine sadness that tugged on the thread of guilt tethered eternally inside Cyril. “Let's just say I’m immensely grateful for this time that I get to spend with Cyril.”

“Touching,” Lady Salverson bit out.

Her husband intoned her name softly, and she cut him a narrowed glance.

“Well, I’m sure the dancing will start soon and I should get back to Lars before he sends out a search party.” Runa slipped that cool diplomatic mask back on with such ease. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

The moment Runa was halfway back to her table, the Salversons scattered.

Chapter 20

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Runa knew the timings of a state dinner inside and out. She'd likely hosted hundreds by now. But it still impressed Cyril that the entire ballroom dimmed only moments after she finished her chocolate and raspberry dessert tart.

The fae lights that filled the room dimmed into more of an intimate glow, and the clatter of cutlery and plates gave way to a slow buildup of soft music from the quartet. As the volume built, tables emptied. Some guests flitted around the room to socialize, while others paired off and worked their way to the dance floor.

Despite Dion’s half-plea to mingle, dancing or chatting with anyone was the last thing Cyril felt like doing. He tried to point out some moon-fae nobility to her, specifically a few daughters of ministers of this or that. But her uncle knew full well there was no recovering this night for her after the abysmal turn their meal took, on the heels of their earlier conversation.

Thankfully, a table of wine and sparkling potations set up near the expansive windows at the back of the ballroom served as the perfect escape as Dion started his lordly mingling.

She could listen to the quartet and laughter of the dance floor, watch the fae lights as they bobbed out in the gardens, and sip her wine in peaceful solitude.

“Lady Cyril?”

Her shoulders sagged.

Not even five fucking minutes.

Cyril plastered a polite smile on her face and turned around.

“Councilor Mathias.” She dipped her chin, sidestepping away from the table. “The white wine is lovely.”

She fucking despised prim and cordial conversation, and gods help them both if he was coming back for a second round of debate about the question of her race. Enduring Dion’s wrath wasn’t something she usually ever wanted to do, but she wasn’t above causing a scene now.

There was an entire table of drinks within arm’s reach, after all.

Mathias offered her a smile that didn’t even reach his eyes and made her stomach tighten in unease.

From across the table, she hadn’t noticed how brutally crooked his nose was—like he had broken it many, many times—or just how little warmth lived in the darks of his eyes. He was an old fae, too, based on the deep-set creases lining his face.

“I had hoped to take a moment of your time if you are not otherwise occupied?”

“Just admiring the view.” Cyril gestured to the windows and the dim glow of the gardens beyond. Her cheeks already hurt from her forced, sickly-sweet smile.

Mathias looked out to the garden for a long minute before he turned back to her and said, “I had the pleasure of meeting your mother when she last visited Reykr.”

That…wasn’t what Cyril expected at all.

“You did?”

He nodded.

“She was such a striking woman and spoke with such kindness.” Mathias chuckled, and the noise made Cyril’s skin crawl. “I was completely taken aback to see how much of her beauty you have inherited.”

And just like that, Cyril knew where this conversation was heading. She’d been through it enough at parties back home.

“That is kind of you to say,” she said softly. Just like her damn governess always told her to do. “You met my father too, then?”