Page 84 of The Mercy of Dawn

“You must have a miserable life, Lady Salverson, to find enjoyment in throwing accusations like that,” Dion spoke with enough seething anger for the both of them, and Cyril was thankful for that.

“Accusations—” A few indignant noises left the woman.

Dion leaned forward, dishes clattering as he planted his hands on the table. His lips peeled back into a snarl as, with a lethal sort of calmness, he said, “I will only tell you once to think very, very carefully before you speak of my late brother or his wife again. Am I clear, Lady Salverson?”

Silence and wide eyes swept through their table.

Dion settled back in his seat. He shot the rest of his drink back in one go before his hand found Cyril’s again and he gave it a firm squeeze. His skin nearly felt like it was burning—had he come that close to losing it?

The sharp smell of whatever spirits had been in his glass washed over her as he leaned in and kissed her temple.

So softly she almost didn’t hear it, he murmured, “I love you, Cyr. That bitch is nothing.”

Cyril looked up at him and smiled.

He did love her, didn’t he? She had to be a fool to think—

“Savages.”

Something frightening flashed in Dion’s eyes as his attention snapped across the table and he bit out, “Excuse me?”

“Savages.” Lady Salverson was so red in the face it looked like she was ready to blow. Glistening canines bared, she leaned across the table. “You filthy, disgusting—”

Her eyes flared and every bit of color drained from her cheeks. She dipped her head as she scrambled out of her chair.

Cyril half expected to see Ren standing behind her.

“Your Majesty.”

Before Cyril processed what Lady Salverson even said, warm and tattooed fingers settled on her shoulder. The other Salversons stood, as did Dion, but when Cyril tried to, Runa’s hand kept her seated.

The fucking dress.

“It’s my fault you’re stuck in that beastly thing tonight, so please do not worry about ridiculous protocols,” Runa said with a warm smile before she turned to Dion. She hugged him and kissed his cheeks, whispering something Cyril didn’t catch, and then leaned down to do the same to her.

Whatever Runa said to Dion left a genuine smile on his face.

The queen did not extend the same warm, intimate greeting to the rest of the table. She stood between Cyril and Dion, her hands resting on the backs of their chairs, and insisted everyone sit.

“You have my apologies. I intended to do some introductions earlier, but all of Lars’ primping had us running late. You’ve all had a chance to get acquainted, I take it?”

There was a sort of soft yet commanding regality to Runa’s voice that Cyril hadn’t heard yet.

Dion snorted. “Quite.”

Lady Salverson opened her mouth, but Runa cut her off.

“I’m not sure if they told the two of you already, but the Salversons hail from a village quite near the one I grew up in, near the northern sea.” Runa dropped a very subtle glance down to Cyril and everything clicked—the Salversons were purists. “And Councilor Mathias here has been a valued member of our court for longer than I can remember.”

The councilor, at least, dipped his head in appreciation.

“Fascinating,” Dion said flatly.

Runa looked at him with a coy smile and said, “Quite.”

“And as for these Rhodeas…” she continued, “Dion’s been a close family friend of ours for, what, a century now?”

Dion blew out a breath as he nodded.