Page 9 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Right,” Ren started, just a low, rippling rumble. Cyril was certain that was the first time he’d spoken to someone other than himself since they left that morning. “Like the bastard that fucks anything that moves knows what these freaks do with their virgins.”

“Nonononono—” Cyril couldn’t clamp her hands over her ears fast enough as she crumpled in on herself. Dion’s own hands clasped on top of hers a half-breath later.

Her uncle's rotating repertoire of personal guests at the estate wasn't a secret by any means. Cyril just actively avoided thinking about or acknowledging it. Ever.

Dion pulled both of their hands away from her ears just in time for her to hear the tail end of Ren’s snap back at whatever her uncle had hissed at him.

“—piss off Dion. She’s a grown woman.”

Yes, a grown woman who wanted to hear nothing about the intimate habits of the man who raised her. She appreciated the near endless vouching the others did for her maturity but, gods…

Cyril dropped her face into her palms and sighed.

“Is the beast almost done?” she mumbled, earning a commiserating squeeze of her shoulder from Dion. Now that she’d gotten them talking, she was desperate for them to preoccupy their mouths with something else.

“I won’t waste my breath trying to convince any of you otherwise about Reykr. You’ll see for yourselves once we get there that everything you’ve heard is nothing but slander against perfectly good people.” From Cyril’s periphery, Dion stood and brushed himself off—assuming his preferred authoritative stance. “And if I so much as hear any of you have made our hosts uncomfortable, there will be fucking hells to pay. Am I understood?”

Bron, Tyr, and Ren all just huffed.

Cyril, at least, gave Dion the decency of a verbal acknowledgment.

How the fuck had it only been a day?

Mid-morning, on their second day of riding, Cyril urged Attie to trot alongside Dion at the forefront of their group.

So far, the day had taken a much more relaxed tone than their first. Still not quite back to normal, to her disappointment, but they’d at least poked a bit of fun at each other when dawn broke and it came time to pack up their camp. Quieter than usual, still, but she wasn’t as worried Dion would get murdered in his sleep.

Ren took up his spot at the rear of their entourage, his gelding a tad less feisty than he had been, and Tyr and Bron fell into line behind Cyril. Dion headed their group again, as he likely would for the duration of their journey, as the only one who had taken this path. Multiple times, at that.

When she finally caught up with him, the forest path wide enough for them to trot alongside each other, he tossed her a wry grin.

“Come to keep me company?”

Cyril nodded. That, amongst other things.

A good rogue always came well prepared, after all.

“It’s been boring back there this morning.” She glanced over her shoulder at the three who trailed just out of earshot.

Dion’s gaze followed hers. “They’ll come around. It’ll just take a bit of kicking and screaming to get them there.”

Cyril doubted that.

Her uncles would follow any order Dion issued them, but they were a stubborn bunch who didn’t have their opinions swayed with any ease.

“Can I ask you something?” She was as untactful as ever, but this had gnawed at her ever since they made their camp last night.

He eyed her with caution. “Oh, that’s never good.”

“No! It’s not anything bad.” Cyril sighed. “It’s just, I know you don’t like it when I pry about personal things…”

Those golden eyes narrowed in appraisal, the movement tugging at his scar before he looked back at the path ahead of them. “Try me.”

“How old were you when your ascension happened?”

A sliver of tension left Dion’s body, and Cyril breathed a sigh of relief.

“How old was I? Oh, gods.” He huffed a breath, though it sounded strained. “Thirty-ish, I think?”