Page 49 of The Mercy of Dawn

The men were all in various stages of dress and undress—Dion in his night pants, Mikael in nothing but shorts, and Lars with a hastily tied robe—and they all held grim, tired faces.

“Dion?” she called out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Each member of the group gave a bit of a start in her direction. “What happened?”

“Shit, Cyr.” His shoulders heaved with a sigh. “It’s…I…”

Dion never struggled to find words. He motioned for her to come instead.

Noises started up from behind her—guards, it sounded like, with the echo of heavy boots on stone—as Cyril hurried the rest of the way down the hall.

The smell of blood—sharp, metallic, and a little sweet—hit her first. Then the thick, foul smell of death. Goosebumps rippled across her bare arms and legs.

Dion stepped back a bit, and Cyril laid eyes on what had left them all with such grim looks on their faces—a nude and gutted body, female, sprawled out on the floor in front of the alcove.

Runes of all shapes and sizes painted around the body in blood and—

Cyril clamped a hand over her mouth when she took in the woman’s face.

The gouged-out eyes that should have been hazel and full of bright curiosity. The golden blonde hair, soaked half through with burgundy.

A muffled noise still escaped her.

No. Nonononononono—

Mikael sighed from her left. “If she can’t handle—”

“She’s been tending to you, hasn’t she?” Lars asked, his voice uneven with what Cyril could only assume was shock.

She nodded.

“Rika. I…I just saw her last night…” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, and she couldn’t pull her eyes away from Rika’s mutilated face.

“And when did you get in? You’re usually the latest one of us all.”

Cyril hadn’t realized who Lars was speaking to until Mikael cleared his throat.

“Midnight? One, maybe,” the prince said. “And this was not here.”

Lars said something else, and Dion replied to him, but Cyril didn’t hear any of it over the low humming in her ears. A twisting knot of guilt worked its way up her stomach, and she felt like she was going to be sick.

How long after their lighthearted conversation had something so vile happened to the poor woman? Rika was so small and gentle that Cyril didn’t know if she would have it in her to fight off an attacker. Maybe Cyril should have told her to stay, should have told Rika to shirk her responsibilities for the rest of the night, and keep her company.

Dion’s hand smoothing over Cyril’s shoulders served as an abrupt tether back to reality as Mikael began issuing orders to the group of guards gathered behind them.

Some were to head to the servants’ quarters to begin questioning, others assigned a full sweep of the palace, and he tasked two with moving Rika’s body. If Cyril hadn’t been in such disbelief over this, she may have had a sliver of appreciation for the respect the guard had for the prince, given the circumstances.

She wasn't sure anyone at the guild would've listened to Dion if he was issuing orders bedraggled and wearing nothing but his shorts.

“We need every bit of this cleaned up before the palace is alive.”

And just like that, all of Cyril’s senses came rushing back to her.

“Absolutely not,” she said as she whirled around.

Her uncle, Lars, and Mikael all stared at her.

“Excuse me?”

Oh. There was the bite of the Prince Commander.