Page 87 of The Mercy of Dawn

Mikael was out of her space in an instant, and a rush of air left Cyril’s lungs.

She was going to feign illness if another one of these dinners came up, lest another slimy, lecherous—

“Is that what my mother had made for you?” The prince’s voice lost its honed edge, dripping with some sort of boyish amusement now.

Cyril stared down at her skirts, trying to smooth down some of the tulle poufs. “I… Yes,” she sighed. “For what it’s worth, she’s not happy with it either.”

“It’s certainly something,” he mused before he turned and glanced out at the crowd. Looking for people he could tolerate, she was sure.

Truthfully, Cyril was okay if Mikael slipped away and left her to go cool off somewhere quiet and by herself. The gardens seemed fucking perfect, and she could probably sneak back to her room through the pathways and side doors.

But after the prince’s glacial eyes scanned the room for a long moment, he turned back to her and said, “Now, about those three dances I promised, Lady Cyril.”

A lopsided smile crept over his face as he extended his open hand.

“You—you can’t be…” She blinked at his hand, holding her own tight to her chest. “Are you serious?”

He leaned back into her space and whispered, “Our dear friend the councilor hasn’t stopped watching. It’s probably best if we keep up appearances.”

Cyril groaned.

Against her better judgment, she set her hand in Mikael’s and followed his lead.

Mikael wasn’t sure what had compelled him to come to Cyril’s aid when he spotted her in that gods awful dress, cornered at the wine table by that damned councilman. After she reveled in embarrassing him in front of his guards, the least he could have done was let her stew in her discomfort a bit longer.

And sure, Mathias was notorious for being a lecherous old creep, but he knew firsthand Cyril could handle that on her own. Hells, it might have made for one interesting evening if the old man tried to push his luck with her any further.

There was something about the look in her eyes, though, when Matthias grabbed her that had Mikael moving across the floor before he could even think twice about it.

Protectprotectprotectprotectprotect…

He’d process the alarming nature of that consuming train of thought another time. Alone, and with just enough alcohol to drown it out of existence.

The least he could do now was enjoy the fruits of his labor.

As Mikael led her through the crowd and slipped them into a spot amongst the dancing pairs, Cyril didn’t say a word.

It was almost disappointing.

No snide jab or backhanded remark, not even as he settled his hand on the small of her back and eased them into the first few steps. She just set her hand on his shoulder, turned her attention to the side, and followed his lead.

Fucking hells.

She played the part of a demure, well-trained lady flawlessly.

What a deceptive creature.

Her hand felt so small in his, her frame so delicate and feminine held up against his. But now he knew that was a body built of lean, practical muscle, and she could wield every fiber to her advantage.

Not at all surprising, in hindsight, that the woman raised by an entire guild of rogues would not be what she appeared.

His mother may have had a point.

Cyril murmured something as he drew her back from a twirl, and Mikael blinked. The sweep and flow of the layers of her skirt had him far too distracted as he guided her around.

“Say that again?”

Cyril sighed.