Page 89 of The Mercy of Dawn

Her cheeks dimpled, and the corners of her eyes lifted—there it was.

“Exactly.”

Mikael chuckled and spun her away again.

But as he drew her back, the quartet eased into something slower than Mikael wanted to navigate, and getting his hands off Cyril, even for a minute, felt prudent.

“Let's get a drink,” he said, and her eager nod was a relief.

After he guided her off the dancefloor, Mikael walked ahead of Cyril, parting the crowd of congregating nobility. He almost tripped when he felt Cyril's hand brush his back and grab his jacket.

Completely and utterly fucked.

Chapter 21

Men made zero sense to Cyril.

Zero. Fucking. Sense.

And it had nothing to do with the fact that she was unreasonably hot and flustered. Or that she didn’t think twice about holding onto Mikael’s jacket like it was the fucking shore in a storm.

After Mikael spent the entire damn week of training pretending she didn’t exist, Cyril made peace with the fact that he hated her after she’d handed his ass to him in front of the guards. She earned that hate thoroughly.

But now? She was con-fucking-fused.

Why would he sweep in like a white knight to rescue someone he hated from the company of a creepy old man? It would’ve been far easier to let her suffer.

Cyril would have, if the tables were turned.

Or maybe this was just some backhanded way of reminding her she would never command the same sort of authority he did, or invoke that same look of fear in someone’s eyes.

Would he have danced with her, though, if that was the case? The two songs Mikael swept her through with shocking ease felt decidedly friendly. Hells, his entire demeanor even felt a little…flirty? Not like she had enough experience to say for certain.

“Drink.”

Cyril blinked at Mikael as he shoved a glass of wine into her hand.

Chilled wine.

She could’ve groaned at the first refreshing sip that hit her lips if she hadn’t watched the prince throw back his entire glass in one go.

Mikael watched her expectantly.

“I don’t know what you’re in such a hurry for,” she grumbled, taking another slow sip.

This dinner had to be hours from ending. Cyril wasn’t convinced that shooting back an entire glass of wine every time she was thirsty would do her any favors come morning.

“One more dance and I’ll get us both out of here.”

Well, if that was the case.

Cyril drained her glass and left Mikael to follow her as she trudged back through mingling courtiers, right past a group of women who gestured far too broadly as they spoke.

She side-stepped as a hand laden with glittering rings came flying in her direction, but her gods damned dress. The prince’s sudden grip on her waist was the only thing that stopped her from careening right into another guest.

Mikael didn’t let her go for the rest of the trip to the dance floor.

They’d just missed the start of another song but slipped back into the pairs with only a couple of annoyed looks. One hand settled on his shoulder, the other in his hand, and they fell back in step with ease.