Page 92 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Thank you, again,” she said, before Mikael could tease or goad her about anything else. Because she was sure he was about to, with that wry smile and flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to help me, and I…” Gods, she was bad at this. “I appreciate that you did.”

Mikael only nodded, and Cyril let slip a quiet breath of relief. A breath that she sucked back in when his eyes dropped to her skirt and he tipped his head thoughtfully.

“I don’t mean any offense, but…” He stifled a chuckle. “Can you manage the stairs on your own in that thing?”

Cyril’s eyes flared—she hadn’t thought about that. Dion was there to keep her steady on the way down, and going up was always more of a pain in the ass.

“Ah…” Cyril grabbed a handful of her skirts, giving them a test lift. Fucking heavy, but she’d manage if she went slow. “I think so?”

Mikael couldn’t have looked any further from convinced.

He gestured to the stairs and said, “After you.”

A team effort, then.

At the base of the stairs, she gathered as much of her skirts up into her arms as she could manage—the least ladylike thing she’d done all evening—and was immediately thankful for the prince’s help. He grabbed a handful of the back, and most of the weight of the oversized bustle, and followed behind Cyril as she took one cautious step at a time.

“Are you going to the barracks?” she asked when they neared the top and every ounce of her attention wasn’t tied up in not eating a stair.

“I am. The company is a bit more…laid back than the ballroom.”

Cyril fully understood that.

Of all the areas and outbuildings she visited so far on the grounds, the barracks reminded her most of home.

Noisy, busy, and built almost entirely of dark, worn wood. There was a sort of liveliness there that came from people who knew each other for years, and trusted each other with their lives. Even only being in Reykr for a few weeks now, the time she’d spent in the barracks made her realize how much she missed the guild.

At the top of the stairs, Mikael set her skirt down and let her straighten herself out before he said, “You’ll manage from here?”

“I will, thank you.” Cyrill nodded and she should’ve stopped there. Instead, foolishly, she asked, “Is it just guards who go to the barracks at night, or…?”

He gave her a tight smile.

“Just guards, I’m afraid.”

And now Cyril felt like an idiot. Of course it was only guards who went to the barracks at night to unwind. Why would they want anyone else there? She knew the rogues back home wouldn’t.

It just stung a little how quickly Mikael shut that train of thought down, like he had thought she might ask him that and decided well in advance he wanted nothing to do with that.

“Of course.” She plastered another smile on. “Have a good night, Mikael.”

Mika wasn't even halfway back down the stairs when his idiocy slammed into him as hard as Cyril had.

He cursed and bounded back up the stairs two at a time.

As half-assed and indirect as it was, that had been Cyril’s attempt at seeing if she could come to the barracks. If she could spend time with him, if he read into it a little too far. And he’d crushed her hope without even a second thought.

She tossed a door fucking wide open for him, and he slammed it right in her face. No wonder she thought he hated her when this was how he treated her on instinct.

Stupid stupid stupid…

The guards standing watch at the doors to the residences gave Mikael an amused look as he slipped past them and down the hall.

Just in time to see Cyril’s door shut.

He stopped and ran a hand through his hair, sighing.