Page 261 of The Mercy of Dawn

His men. His comrades. His friends.

Cyril’s heart ached a bit more.

When he finally spoke, some immeasurable amount of time later, his voice was as uneasy as she’d ever heard it. That sometimes exhausting, cocky bravado was nowhere to be found.

“Will you walk with me?”

Mikael led Cyril far enough from the shore that the smell of incense dissipated on the wind, taking the sound of the crackling pyres with it. They found a bench leading up the path back to the palace, quiet and private.

Mikael’s exhaustion was palpable as he sat down.

He let out a slow breath and, without an ounce of preamble, said, “Astor wants to abdicate his position as crown prince.”

“He what?” Cyril froze, blinking.

Mikael nodded slowly, his gaze vacant.

“My brother no longer feels fit to one day fill our father’s shoes with all of this.” He waved vaguely back towards the lake. “And I mean…I understand the sentiment, but…”

Cyril stared at him. “Would that mean…?”

“Me. And I’m not—” Mikael shook his head. “I think my parents have talked him off that ledge for now. They want him to focus on his well-being and worry about his duties later. But…”

He leveled his gaze with hers, and Cyril’s stomach sank at his hesitation.

“Mika.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me, Cyr. I…I don’t know what’s going to happen. How my life might change, how your life would change. And I just—”

He sighed, and Cyril’s heart didn’t just plummet. It vacated her entire fucking body. She trusted her legs so little that she took a seat beside him on the bench.

Quietly, she said, “You want me to go?”

Mikael bristled. “No! Gods, no, of course I don't. But I think you should—”

Cyril pressed her finger to his lips and shook her head.

“I don’t care what you think I should do. I care about what you want.” She cupped his face in her hands, brushing back errant auburn waves and leveling their gazes. Those brilliant blues were so dark—so tired. “So, Mikael. What do you want?”

He closed his eyes and nuzzled her palm.

“I’m selfish, wrath. Of course I want you to stay here, with me,” Mika murmured, losing a ragged breath. Cyril made a soft noise as Mikael took her hands in his own and pulled them away from his face, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles. “All I want to do is mark you and make you part of my life forever. But choice is something I’ve always had the luxury of, and you haven’t, ever. So, what do you want?”

Cyril had never been more sure of anything.

She didn’t have to pause, or think, or even consider before she said, “You. This. Whatever happens, whatever that means, I—” A shaky breath left her, and a smile peeled across her lips. “I feel at home here, with you. And you…you took care of me when everything fell apart. I want to be able to do that for you, and not because I owe you, but because I love you.”

Those were definitely tears that had the moonlight glimmering in his eyes. Mirrors to her own, she was sure.

“Wrath,” Mikael said quietly, his voice thick.

He reached for Cyril, pulling her into his lap, where he wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled his face in the crook of her neck. His contented sigh felt like it reached out and soothed her damn soul.

This felt like home, in a way that home never did.

“You’re making a soft man out of me.”

She knew he couldn’t see her face, but Cyril grinned.