Page 39 of The Mercy of Dawn

Bron noticed too.

He casually turned his back to the prince, leaning against the table.

“How was dinner?” he muttered.

Cyril only scoffed.

“I heard,” his voice dropped even lower, “that someone may have thoroughly rubbed you the wrong way at your little welcome party.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she mumbled back.

Leave it to Dion to know something happened and say nothing to her about it.

Bron offered her one of those empathetic smiles that she couldn’t tolerate from anyone other than him.

“He’s nothing, no one. Take nothing the entitled arse says to heart. Spoiled fucker is probably just threatened.” Bron straightened up and brought his voice back to just above its usual volume. “The stables sound like a wonderful idea, dove. I’m sure Attie is wondering where you’ve run off to.”

Gods. That did sound like a wonderful idea. Shame it hadn’t been hers.

Bron slung his arm across her shoulders and made to lead her out of the room.

“Actually, Cyril?” The direct address from Lars had her whole body going taut. Bron stiffened beside her too. “My wife hoped to spend some time with you this afternoon, if that’s alright. I can walk you over to see her.”

Chapter 10

Aprivate audience with the Queen of Reykr was not something Cyril expected on her second day at the palace.

Or ever, truthfully.

Even for all the unsettling warmth and kindness she showed at their arrival the previous afternoon, the queen had to be a busy woman with no shortage of people vying for her time.

And Cyril certainly had not expected the king himself to offer a personal escort to the Royal Archives to meet his wife.

He wanted to stretch his legs, apparently, after a morning confined to counsel, and Cyril wasn’t in a position to decline. Even if Bron had cut her a withering stare she was sure said, I told you not to go anywhere alone with anyone.

But if she couldn’t even trust the fucking king long enough to walk her in plain sight over to the archives, this trip was going to be an ordeal. So she took the risk and followed his lead out of the war room. Dion at least looked pleased with her decision when she took a final glance back.

Beside her, Lars walked in silence with his hands clasped behind his back. The picture of poise and rugged grace save for the flicker of wariness she spotted in his eyes. That made two of them.

“Does Dion usually assign such work to you? Research and the like?” Lars asked, as quiet as she was sure he could manage, once they were out of earshot of the offices.

“Usually, yes. He…” Cyril hesitated, lips parted. A fine line she had to walk, speaking honestly about her uncle to people whose loyalties seemed to lie with him. “He prefers I work more behind the scenes.”

“I see.” Lars nodded slowly.

He was thinking, she could tell, as he fell silent again. It wasn’t until they had ambled down a few more halls and up the half-flight of stairs to the atrium that he stopped and looked down at her.

He hesitated this time before he spoke.

“You’ve received…training at the guild?”

Cyril nodded.

“An extensive amount, in all areas.” He’d understand what that meant, hopefully.

Lars’ thoughtful hum and shake of his head spoke volumes.

“I can’t say I’ve always entirely understood your uncle.”