Page 187 of The Mercy of Dawn

But she crawled into Mikael’s bed anyway and felt the mattress dip with his weight a moment later.

She tried to breathe, counting through each breath in and out—like the only person who ever really cared about her taught her to do—as she curled up into the tightest ball she could manage. She focused, too, on the soft sheets as their weight settled on her bare legs, and how much they smelled like Mikael. How that earthy, clean scent made her want to feel safe.

“What’s going on in there?” Mikael murmured, easing himself in behind her. Every bit of warm muscle of his body melded to her back and her legs and he snaked an arm around her.

Cyril didn’t want to answer him.

“You can talk to me, Cyr.” His nose and his breath ghosted up her neck and he pressed a kiss behind her ear. Her own breath came in uneasy waves. “Don’t shut me out again.”

Cyril didn’t want to talk.

She didn’t want to argue, not with him.

But Mikael wouldn’t accept her silence.

“Cyr, please. Just talk to—”

“You don’t have to pretend to care, Mikael.” The whispered words just tumbled out of her, and Mikael stilled. “I know you don’t want me either.”

“What?” he breathed.

Cyril didn’t have any fight left in her when he set his hand on her shoulder and pulled her onto her back. She didn’t have any tears left in her either, when she looked up at him, even though her eyes ached. It was probably for the best that the room was so dim that his face was just a moonlit outline.

“Cyr, how could you think I don’t want you?”

“You said you didn’t.”

That much was simple. The four words that came out of him those few nights ago in her room had taken every shred of will from her. She could even hear it now, cycling through her head over and over.

I don’t want you.

“I did not mean—” Frustration crested in his voice and he swore. “Please don’t twist my words, Cyril. I just didn’t want to bed you when you didn’t have a clear mind. I didn’t want to take your damn virginity when you were angry as all fucking hells with a couple bottles of wine in you.”

She sighed.

“You always have an excuse.”

Cyril was so fucking tired. She wanted to curl up and go to sleep, Mikael be damned, but when she tried to roll over, he held her firmly in place.

“Please don’t do this, Cyr.” His fingers brushed her cheek, skimming just below where her face throbbed. “It scares me how badly I want you, okay? You mean so fucking much to me that I don’t know what to do about it.”

Mikael’s words made her chest ache, but Cyril only had one thing to say to them. She looked him right in those glacial eyes and said, “Show me.”

His fingers stilled.

“Show you?”

“Show me how badly you want me. No more excuses.”

“Cyr, I…” Mikael loosed a heavy breath. “Is that a good idea right now?”

“I need to have a say in this, Mika.” Cyril found a kernel of quiet, fleeting courage and held on to it. “It feels like I…I don’t have a say in anything… Not anymore.”

Silence fell and Mikael was deathly still.

Just like that, she crossed some other invisible, arbitrary line he’d set out.

Cyril let her eyes fall shut and tried to muster the energy to get up, get dressed, and walk out. Maybe she’d just keep walking right to the stables or the city, or…or gods. She needed to pack. She had a plan, and she had to focus on—