Page 91 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Honestly? It’s mostly to spite my father.” That was logical. Sort of. “I think he’d prefer me clean-cut like Astor is. I know Ezra would, too.”

“Ah.”

Cyril was well acquainted with those sorts of familial conflicts, though with the opposite outcome. She’d always wanted to keep her hair short, but Dion insisted it suited her better long, and she gave up arguing with him about it years ago.

“I hope you’re not planning on asking about my hobbies again,” she said.

Mikael laughed loudly enough that a couple to their right shot over an unimpressed glance. His canines were a hopelessly distracting thing as he grinned down at her and started leading her off of the dance floor.

That third dance came and went, and she hardly even processed it.

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I’m confident now all you do for fun is beat the shit out of fully grown men.”

Cyril smiled.

“I ride, too.”

Mikael half-rolled his eyes. “Of course. And you learn ancient languages in your free time. A woman of culture, I get it,” he teased as he tugged her through the crowd. “Just one slight detour, and then we’ll both be free. Play along.”

Play along? Cyril noticed he wasn’t taking them straight to the main doors, but she hadn’t the faintest idea where—

Cyril swore quietly as she plowed right into Mikael’s back again.

The insufferable arse walked right into someone, and…

Oh.

Oh.

That someone, who she soon discovered was Councilor Mathias, had red wine spilled down the front of his green and gold doublet. Wide-eyed and a little red in the face, he stammered up at the prince. The woman who took his now empty wine glass from him failed at hiding the wild amusement on her face.

“Gods. Sorry, Councilor Mathias, didn’t even see you there.”

Either Mikael was a terrible liar, or he didn’t give two shits about getting in trouble. She didn’t know him well enough to decide.

The councilor leveled an unimpressed glare at him.

“Watch where you are going, Commander. This isn’t the barracks.”

Mikael chuckled. It almost came across as a little embarrassed. Almost.

“That it isn’t. My apologies, it won’t happen again,” he said as he tugged Cyril in front of him. His hands smoothed over her shoulders and down her arms in a far friendlier way than she had been ready for. A rush of heat bloomed straight up her chest. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Cyril wants to…turn in early. Have a good evening, Councilor.”

“Play along,” Mikael had said, not knowing Cyril didn’t have the first fucking clue on how to handle even subtle displays of affection in public.

But to insinuate that they were leaving to do what? Go to bed together?

Gods help her.

At least the flush in her cheeks was genuine as she plastered a smile on her face and looked from Mikael to the councilor, who must have been as red as she felt.

“Goodnight, Councilor Mathias,” she said softly, like a lady should, with a dip of her head.

He stammered something in response—pleasantries, she hoped—but Mikael already had his hand on her back and was steering her straight towards the doors. The prince seemed like he was getting a little overly comfortable in the way he handled her, and Cyril…well, she didn’t hate the implication of that.

Maybe it meant that the second round of grappling wasn’t off the table.

The blast of cool air that hit her when they emerged into the atrium felt like a gift from the gods. Quiet, deserted, and refreshing—it was everything that the state ballroom wasn’t.