Page 171 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Cyril, look at me,” Runa said, grasping Cyril’s face in her hands. Her bottom lip trembled as she chewed at it, her golden eyes brimming with tears. “We’ve got you, okay? Whatever you need, whatever you want, we will take care of you.”

“He didn’t wait—” The noise that left Cyril was heart-rending. She sank to her knees, and Runa eased down into the gravel with her.

Useless and at a loss, Mikael kneeled beside them.

Cyril made some attempt to speak, but the woman could barely even breathe with how hard she cried. His mother’s own eyes had turned glossy as she wrapped her arms around Cyril and cradled her against her chest.

When Cyril finally got her choked and broken words out, the devastation of them made Mikael’s own eyes burn. Even Runa’s shoulders heaved with a quiet sob.

Dion didn’t give her a chance to say goodbye.

Chapter 41

Cyril was in bed. With Mikael.

Despite her furious blinking and rubbing at the sleep in her eyes, the prince lying on his side in front of her never vanished. Neither did the searing ache in her head, or almost every other part of her body. Her hand had the most persistent, nasty throb too, and it was…bandaged?

Cyril didn’t know what the fuck happened, but she wasn’t wearing pants, and Mikael didn’t have a shirt on, and...

Oh.

Oh gods.

Cyril pushed herself upright in slow, measured movements and touched Mikael’s back. He uttered a soft groan and pressed his face into the pillow.

“Mika?” she whispered, squeezing his shoulder. “What…what happened last night? Did we…?”

The sleeping prince just made another not-committal noise.

Cyril sighed, looking around her room.

The drapes were half-open, but the light coming in from them was dim. Her sheets were fresh, if the light, clean scent of washing soap was to be believed. The hearth crackled gently across the room like it always did. Outside of a few half-eaten plates of food, nothing seemed out of place.

Then her eyes snagged on a dark green travel pack leaning beside her door—Bron’s bag.

Reality hit her like a flash flood.

“Cyr?” Mikael said sleepily, but Cyril couldn’t get in enough air to answer him.

Her chest heaved in short, fast bursts, struggling against the vise grip that panic had on her lungs.

Bron was dead.

Bron was fucking dead.

She saw his body with her own eyes.

Not just dead.

Murdered, mutilated, defiled.

Like he’d been sent out for slaughter.

She could smell the oily reek of death in that room, laced with an undercurrent of antiseptic.

And Dion, he…

A wave of lightheadedness swept in, taking the edges of Cyril’s vision with it, and she clutched at the sheets. Her entire body felt flush and she still couldn’t fucking breathe.