Page 122 of The Mercy of Dawn

“And don’t take this until you are absolutely ready to sleep. It is potent.”

“Speaking from experience?” Cyril rasped, and there was a glimmer of amusement in the woman’s gray eyes as she sighed and nodded.

“I am, unfortunately.” She looked from Cyril to the tray, and back again. “Can I send for anything else for you?”

“No, thank you. I—” Cyril’s eyes caught on the small, tented piece of parchment on her tray with a neatly written C. R.—to keep track of where the trays were going, no doubt. It may have been a long shot, but…

“Actually, have you been to Mi—Prince Mikael’s room yet?”

The woman gave her a curious look and shook her head.

“No, not yet. Her Majesty prefers we take care of their guests before the family. Do you…need something from him?”

“No, but…” Cyril gritted her teeth. She couldn't possibly make any more of a fool of herself after the display she put on last night, right? “Can I give you something to bring to him? Just a note. I’ll even put it on his tray?”

Through her wariness, the woman looked a shade of empathetic. Like maybe she too had waded through regrets the morning after the solstice once or twice before.

“Alright.”

Cyril stumbled off the sofa and over to her desk before the other woman even finished getting her wary agreement out. She dug out a notecard and a glass pen from the drawer and started writing before she could change her mind.

Sorry about last night.

- C

There were a dozen specifics she could have gone into about what exactly she was sorry about. But that would involve thinking about them each again, and she planned on pushing that off for as long as possible.

A blanket apology seemed sufficient.

Cyril folded the card up, carefully wrote Prince of Darkness on the outside, and walked over to the cart.

“I feel terrible, but I don’t remember your name,” she said as she looked through the trays, eyes searching for the M. K. marker. The least she could do was thank the woman properly now.

“It’s Hallie, but no need to feel bad. There are a lot of us to remember,” Hallie said, looking away from where Cyril now slipped the note half under the plate on Mikael’s tray. Out of sight, out of mind.

Cyril was just glad she asked and hadn’t fumbled out the first name that came to her mind.

“Well, thank you, Hallie, for the tray and the help.” Cyril mustered up a smile as the exhaustion of just standing seeped into her bones. She wobbled, and Hallie’s eyes went wide, but she waved her off and staggered right back to the sofa. “I’m going to sit and eat before you have to scrape me off the floor.”

Hallie waited until Cyril made it there and sat down before she nodded and said, “Get some rest, Lady Cyril.”

Oh, she intended on it.

Cyril took the first tonic—a watery, minty thing—and, when she was sure it wouldn’t come back up, she made cautious work of the plate of roast chicken and potatoes.

They may have very well been the best thing she’d ever eaten.

The second tonic didn’t go down as easily as the first. Its sickly sweet taste was obviously meant to cover up something unpalatable, but the last dregs of her ginger tea dealt with that.

After she’d made a half-assed attempt at cleaning up the dishes and tray, and blocked out every beam of bright, mid-morning light, Cyril knocked back the last tonic.

She barely made it into bed before it took her feet out from under her.

Cyril whined and pulled the blankets over her head. However long she’d been asleep for—hours, days maybe—had been nowhere near enough, and she wanted nothing to do with being awake.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It just wouldn’t stop. Three raps every few seconds. She was ready to scream, and tell whoever was on the other side of that door where to go and precisely how the fuck to get there.