Page 86 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Mm, yes.”

The councilor was clearly uninterested in that.

Exactly where she thought this was going, and she needed Dion now.

Cyril scanned the room as innocuously as she could, desperate to pick out his red and gold sash. She found him a half dozen tables away, watching her with a look of curiosity. He simply shook his head when she held his gaze, pleading wordlessly for an intervention.

Fucker.

“I’m often told I have my father’s eyes.” Cyril feigned some demure, ladylike smile, despite the way her palms began sweating. Mathias’ attention dipped to her chest, then back to her face for the second or third time.

His eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps, but I think your mother’s beauty truly shines above all else in you. You certainly inherited all of her most pleasing assets.”

Not even a half hour ago her uncle was ready to throttle this man's sister-in-law, and now this was alright? If Dion felt like standing there and letting this reprehensible old man ogle her, Cyril would take matters into her own hands.

“You’re too kind, Councilor Mathias.” Cyril grabbed a second glass of wine from the table. Hopefully, the flush staining her cheeks and chest passed for nothing more than shyness and not simmering rage. “If you’ll excuse me, my uncle—”

He stepped in front of her.

“I assume you have no shortage of suitors to entertain back in Helia? It must devastate them for you to be away.” Mathias grasped her elbow, and Cyril went stiff. His hand felt like fucking ice.

“Ah, well.” Cyril forced a laugh. She’d never entertained a suitor once in her entire damned life and planned on keeping it that way. “It can be busy from time to time. Really, though, I should be—”

“Have you any interest in entertaining suitors during your stay here?” The councilor still had a grip on her forearm, his broken and yellowed nails pressing into her flesh.

Cyril was about five seconds away from doing something really fucking stupid.

“That is not my decision to make, Councilor, you see—”

An indignant noise left Cyril’s mouth as a hand slipped around her waist and splayed far too comfortably—and low—across her stomach. Wine sloshed against the rims of the glasses in both her hands as she staggered and Councilor Mathias dropped her arm.

This was it.

She was going to cause a fucking scene.

Moon-fae were pigs, every damn—

A swath of auburn hair fell into her periphery.

“Terribly sorry,” Mikael murmured against her ear, quiet enough that only she would hear. He tugged her back against his body, all warmth and hard muscle.

Councilor Mathias paled and put plenty of distance between them.

“Commander,” he said flatly.

Cyril must have looked like a bewildered animal, blinking wordlessly up at the prince as he straightened up. It was a blessing she was already flush from her near outburst when he arrived, because the heat spreading from the press of Mikael’s hand felt like a fucking brand. Cyril was certain she was on the verge of combusting.

“Councilor Mathias,” Mikael started, his voice low and authoritative like she’d only heard during basic training. Cyril wasn’t sure why, but her knees felt a little weak. “One would think you intended on hogging Lady Cyril all to yourself this evening.”

“Ah, well…” Councilor Mathias cleared his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind me stealing her away.” Mikael took the full glass of wine from her hand and shot it back in one go. He jerked his chin at the half-full one in her other hand, and Cyril followed suit. “I promised the lady three dances tonight, you see, and she’ll have me by the balls if she doesn’t get them. Not in a way I’d enjoy, either.”

Cyril shot him an incredulous look, and the insufferable prince grinned at her, a wild flash of those gleaming canines.

The councilor eyed Cyril and Mikael for a moment before mumbling something that sounded awfully like fucking prince, and slipping into the crowd.