33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

“ Y ou like it here, don’t you?” Mikael murmured in her ear, and Cyril nodded. It might have been the doing of her third pint of ale, but if Cyril closed her eyes, it felt like she was back home.

Her earlier assumption about the barracks was largely correct.

The primary activity the off-duty guards busied themselves with the evening was indeed drinking. With a healthy dose of darts, card games, and a few other pissing contests sprinkled into the mix, of course.

The laughter and bawdy behavior saturating her senses was identical to the raucous symphony that rumbled out of the great hall on any given night at the estate. That familiarity, combined with the generous serving of ale placed in her hands the moment she and Mikael walked through the doors, did wonders to help her ease in.

“It’s like home,” she said quietly, eyes never leaving the current pissing contest unfolding between Kaia and two other guards.

Apparently, this was the part of the evening they usually migrated down into the throwing room to prove their mettle. A sizeable amount of copper had already changed hands.

Mikael just made a quiet noise of confirmation, tugging her closer to him.

The only difference, really, between the barracks and her home was that other than Bron or Ren or Tyr hauling her over a shoulder to put her to bed, no one at home ever came near her.

Not in the same way the prince did, at least.

From the moment they left a mildly awkward dinner with his parents—Lars was enthusiastic about their prospect , just as Runa had mentioned—Mikael was hellsbent on never not being in physical contact with her. Either his fingers were twined with hers, an arm sat wrapped around her waist, or, much to her horror, he was hauling her into his lap while they played cards.

The prince’s particular brand of possessive and public displays of affection was an experience Cyril had been wholly unprepared for.

The thrum of embarrassment she’d felt in the archives earlier paled brutally compared to what seeped into her when Mikael kissed her in the barracks, in front of everyone .

Not just a peck, either. No, it was a kiss that lingered with depth.

Her entire damn body flushed afterward, and Cyril drowned herself in her mug.

Everyone else got a laugh out of it, at least.

By the third or fourth time Mikael had tipped her head back and slipped his tongue into her mouth, Cyril may have found herself less worried that people were around and more annoyed that they had company.

Even now, as they stood against the back wall of the throwing room, watching knives of a concerning size fly toward targets on the far wall, the prince gave her no reprieve.

Just like when he came to her rescue at the state dinner, his hand sat splayed across her stomach. This time, though, he had his thumb hooked in the waist of her pants, and he kept her pulled back snug against him. Merciless heat had bloomed in her core even before he started pressing his lips to her throat, from the crook of her neck to the base of her jaw, and up along the shell of her ear.

The arrogant prince was out to drive her fucking mental .

“If you want to go upstairs at any point…” Mikael finally said, his voice a gruff whisper.

Cyril didn’t need any further elaboration.

She lifted her eyes to his and nodded. Mikael was steering her out of the room before she’d even fully set down her empty mug.

From behind them a voice she now clearly remembered hearing the day before called out, “For fuck’s sake, lock the door this time!”

A rumble of laughter and whistling chased them out of the room.

When they had managed to keep their hands off each other for long enough to make it back up to his office, she and Mikael both reached for the bolt on the door. A flicker of amusement danced between them before his hands cupped her face and pulled her to him.

“You're a rake,” she murmured against his lips.

Mikael laughed and abandoned her mouth, kissing his way down her throat as he walked her backward.

“Go on,” he rumbled.

“You can’t keep your—” Those fucking canines grazed her skin and Cyril whined. “—hands to yourself.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

She lost whatever argument she had when his hands gripped her ass and hauled her up onto his desk.

His eyes roved her with a sort of interest she had never been on the receiving end of when he added, “And can you blame me?”

“We have to be careful…”

It wasn’t what she wanted to say, not with the way Mikael was looking at her and how he’d notched himself between her thighs. But she knew if Dion ever found out that this was how she’d spent her time, gods…

He’d rip this bit of happiness away from her in a heartbeat.

“I know, and we will.” Mikael tipped her chin up. “But that means we have to enjoy ourselves when we can, yeah?”

That she could agree with.

Cyril wrapped her arms around Mikael’s neck and, against his lips, she breathed, “Yeah.”

A sharp grin came only moments before the feeling of wood met her back, and Mikael kissed her until she was breathless.

Despite all her whining and writhing, and her needy fingers sinking into his shirt and his hair, the boundary the prince refused to cross was painfully obvious. His broad, strong hands palmed at her breasts and her backside, drawing sinful noises from her, but they never ventured beneath her clothes.

And gods, she wanted them to.

She arched into every touch that felt scorching even through her shirt and reciprocated every subtle rock of his hips, but Mikael wouldn’t fucking budge. And maybe this was her limited experience, but the teasing had gone on for too fucking long.

“Mika, I…”

Cyril finally had enough. He drew back just far enough to give her a curious look, and his eyes flared when she hooked her fingers in the laces of his pants.

She had his attention, at least.

“I want more .”

“Mm. The feeling is mutual, wrath.”

She wasn’t sure if it was possible to get off on the sound of someone’s voice alone, but that…that might have done it.

Mikael grabbed hold of both Cyril’s wrists and eased them up over her head, pinning them to the desk. Her breath caught, and her heart thundered in her chest. This was not helping at all.

His lust-blown, glacial eyes held hers as he said, “I want to bend you over this desk and fuck you so hard you can’t speak, but…some things are worth the wait, aren’t they?”

No, that certainly did it.

Cyril whimpered, and Mikael claimed her mouth in a slow, languid kiss.

“You’re cruel,” she groaned, and a rough laugh left him.

“No, it’s not cruelty.” Mikael wore a lopsided smile as he pulled her to sit up. “Consider it a…test of patience . One that will see you thoroughly rewarded at the end.” He notched his fingers under her chin and chuckled, “Gods, you’re a needy thing. Don’t scowl at me.”

Cyril continued to scowl.

She and the ache between her legs were not impressed about any of this.

“So, what? You’re going to bring me here every night, work me up, and not do anything about it? That hardly seems fair.”

“Not every night, no. That would be needlessly cruel.” The smirk on his face told Cyril that needlessly cruel might be something he’d still enjoy. “Just most nights, when we don’t have to worry about…prying eyes.”

Ah, Dion.

“And what I’d really like to do? One night, when I’m sure we can get away, I’ll take you somewhere in the city. Somewhere I can torture you and maybe do a little something about it. Alright?”

On principle, Cyril didn’t want to do everything on Mikael’s terms, but that sounded like the best idea she’d heard in a long time.

She feigned her begrudging sigh as she agreed with the prince and let him lead her back to the palace for the night.

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” she asked, maybe a bit too hopefully, when they stopped in front of her door.

Mikael only smiled and shook his head, leaving her with one hell of a parting kiss before he walked down the hall to his room.

Again, that night, images of her mother haunted Cyril’s dreams.

But it wasn’t just glimmers of what Runa showed her.

This time, her mind tortured her with what could have been.

Fragmented pieces of a different life, one filled with support and warmth and guidance, left her in cold sweats.

Sleep was not something she got much of.