44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

B y the time Cyril cleared the palace and made it outside, her cheek stung something fierce every time she dabbed at the weeping wound with her sleeve.

Failed attempts to rationalize what had just happened swam around in her head and left her with little room to think about anything else. She hadn’t realized her feet carried her to the barracks until she nearly walked right into the doors.

Instinct had her pulling one open and taking a few cautious steps inside.

The usual dozen or so guards were sitting around enjoying their drinks, with a handful of women from the city drifting around between them. As she looked and looked, the realization of what she may unwittingly find made it hard to breathe.

She went to go push back out the doors and—

“Cyril!”

She turned back around slowly.

Silas, a lanky man with blonde hair and soft brown eyes, waved at her as he wove through tables and came to a stop in front of her.

“Is Mikael here?” Cyril asked quietly, not entirely sure she wanted the answer even as she kept scanning faces. That would be the perfect fucking end to this, seeing him tangled up with a damn courtesan.

“He’s in his office. I can walk back with you if you’d like?”

Cyril nodded and Silas gave her a curious look, head tipped and brows pinched.

“Uh, Cyril, your uh…” He gestured to his cheek.

She dabbed at her face with her sleeve, the cuff already spotted with blood.

“I know.”

“…Right. Okay then, after me.”

He led her in silence down a couple of dimly lit halls and knocked on a door she knew well. A familiar rumble came from behind it, and Cyril started to fray.

Only days since she last heard his voice, but it felt like a fucking lifetime.

She chewed at her lip to will it to stop shaking as Silas cracked the door and poked his head in. All she heard was her name before chairs started scraping against the floor with muffled, masculine voices.

Cyril avoided making eye contact with the two guards who exited.

Her legs didn’t want to carry her through the half-opened door, even as Silas gave her a gentle nudge forward.

Once Mikael knew…

She was terrified he was going to be mad at her. Think she was an idiot for provoking Dion, just like she always did. He’d think she deserved it…

Gods. If he was upset with her and Dion was too—

“Cyril?” Silas squeezed her shoulder. The tight smile on his face was all thinly veiled concern. “Go on in. He’s all yours.”

She swallowed down a painful lump in her throat and said, “Thank you.”

Silas nodded and disappeared back down the hall.

Taking measured, rigid steps, she forced herself towards the door. Her heart ached as it pounded in her chest, and she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

The smell of old, worn wood and soft leather that permeated his office didn’t bring her any of its usual comforts.

It only got worse as the floorboards creaked, and Mikael looked up from behind his desk. Something like relief settled into his face and he smiled at her.

“I was wondering when—”

Tears flooded her eyes.

“Wrath...” Mikael pushed back from his desk, his chair scraping on the floor. “What’s wrong?”

“ I’m sorry, ” she whispered, but the tail end gave way to a sob that shook her.

He moved towards her quickly, too quickly , and Cyril flinched.

Mikael stared at her, his eyes wide.

“What do you mean ‘ I’m sorry ’? What—”

“I didn’t know where else to go, and I…I’m sorry , and…”

Every word left her lips choked and broken. She struggled to get a breath in.

Warm, calloused hands cupped her face, tipping it upwards, and Cyril closed her eyes.

The anger that was surely simmering in those icy-blue eyes was not something she could handle right now. She was a fool to think she could handle both of their ire in one night.

“Slow down, alright?” Mikael said gently.

His thumbs swept through the tracks of tears on her face and she felt him still.

“Cyr…” He was tipping her face towards the light of the wall sconce now, and the prospect of what was coming next had her stomach up in her throat. “Cyril, look at me. Did… Who did this to you?”

Her eyes tried to settle anywhere other than his face, but there was a pull that she just couldn’t fight. The icy blues of his eyes were so dark . His jaw was full of tension.

“Dion,” she whispered, holding back another wave of tears that threatened to crest. “I provoked him. If I had just listened h-he—”

The warm touch of his hands slipped away, and a string of profanities left Mikael as he walked away from her. The worn wood of his desk groaned as he leaned back against it and scrubbed his palms over his face.

“ Please don’t be angry with me…I need you, Mika. I…”

Cyril stuffed down the other desperate things that threatened to roll out of her and reached for his arm instead.

Mikael stilled.

“Angry with you ?” Everything about his posture changed. Like an immeasurable weight of tension slipped from him. His voice was soft as he shook his head and said, “Never.”

Cyril was desperate to believe him, but she couldn’t.

Because even as his fingers laced through hers and he drew her in…

Even as he brushed her hair back from her face with a ghost of a touch…

Even as he kissed her forehead, then her lips, with gentle reverence…

She was afraid of Mikael, of the vulnerability she felt around him. Of the power he wielded over her because of that.

“I’m sorry,” Cyril murmured against his lips as he eased back from her.

“You have no reason to be.” He held her face in his hands like the broken thing she was. “This is not your fault.”

Cyril closed her eyes.

Waves of fatigue lapped at her, and Mikael was so warm …

“Can I clean this up for you?” he asked, his thumb skimming low on her cheek.

She nodded, and Mikael eased her into a chair.

“I’ll be right back.”

It took no small amount of effort for Mikael not to stray from his path to the supply room.

He wanted to kill Dion in a slow and creative way. Inflicting as much pain as he could manage. He wanted to see the same look of fear in that piece of shit’s eyes as he saw in Cyril’s. That man was a waste of air and deserved every fucking—

Mikael took a deep breath.

If only for her sake, he had to stay calm.

The fear that rolled off of her was heavy and sickening, and he couldn’t stand it. She was afraid of him too, he knew, and he had to prove her wrong. He had to prove that, despite the mess they landed in these last few days, he didn’t operate like Dion. That his love and affection wouldn’t come with conditions and burdens, and whatever the fuck happened today.

Love.

The word rolled around in his mind with such ease that Mikael almost wanted to laugh. He hadn’t even taken the damn woman to bed—not for a lack of want on either of their parts—and yet he didn’t—

“Whatcha lookin’ for boss?”

Mikael swore.

Behind him, Silas leaned against the doorframe with a lopsided grin.

“Medkits. Where the fuck are they?”

Truthfully, he only made it through one cupboard before his thoughts sidelined him.

“Last door on the right.” Silas jerked his head towards the end of the room. “Is Cyril alright?”

“She’ll get there,” Mikael said. Hoped.

Silas made a non-committal noise, backing out of the doorway once Mikael had one of the canvas kits in hand.

He’d made it a few steps back down the hall before he turned and said, “Oh, Silas? If anyone comes looking for her…”

Silas shrugged somewhat dramatically and said, “Haven’t seen her in days, boss, sorry.” He gave Mikael a knowing look, inclined his head, and headed back in the other direction without another word.

For better or worse, Cyril hadn’t moved an inch from where he left her, with that faraway look in her eyes that he’d seen so many damn times now. One day he’d ask her where she went, when the weight of the world became too much to bear and her mind pulled her away somewhere safe.

“Cyr?” he asked, still across the room.

The last thing he wanted to do was startle her, but she still tensed. Then her eyes met his, and she softened. The saddest, faintest smile tugged at her lips and threatened to bring him to his knees.

As he rolled out the kit on his desk, she observed him in total silence. If it wasn’t for the white-knuckled grip she had on the arms of the chair, Cyril almost could have passed for the picture of calm. Almost.

Both of their noses wrinkled when he poured some antiseptic out on a cloth. His eyes burned, and it was only going to be worse for her.

“Sorry,” Mikael murmured as he tipped her face up to get a better angle. “It smells awful and it’s going to hurt. You’re alright?”

Cyril nodded and closed her eyes.

The split ran along the length of her cheekbone, and he dabbed at it with the gentlest touch he could manage. He’d never felt like so much of a brute before, until he held her fragile, broken pieces in his hands like this. Wounds were something he’d likely mended in the hundreds by now, but never were they weighted with such vulnerability.

Through her gritted teeth and winces, Mikael apologized profusely .

And when it came time to swipe some healing salve over her wound, he found his eyes and his fingers lingering far longer than they needed to.

He struggled to accept how hard Dion had to hit her to cause damage like that. That his anger could consume him so much that this was the only answer? All for what? To prove to himself that he was in control? Fucking pathetic.

“We should tell someone, Cyr,” he said, setting aside the supplies and wiping off his hands. “My parents, I mean—”

“They know.”

“They do?”

She nodded, slowly. “They were there.”

So he wanted an audience too. Disgusting.

Mikael sank to his knees in front of her, trying to catch her attention as it settled back on the floor.

“I—” he started, and gods, he should have stopped right there. Stopped before he started offering things that his resolve might not handle. But she held his gaze, and he was desperate to see even a thread of that sun-spun gold light up again. “Do you want to stay with me, for tonight at least?”

Her brows climbed.

“ Please ,” she breathed, and his heart ached at her shaky inhale. Silver rimmed her eyes. “I…I don’t want to be alone, and…and I—”

“It’s alright,” he murmured. He stood and extended his hands to her. Cold, clammy fingers settled on his. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Cyril didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Dion was her guardian, after all—her damn family— and he was supposed to keep her safe too. Maybe Mikael was different. Maybe he meant it.

It was all she could hope as he led her back through the barracks with their fingers twined. She focused on the warmth of that hand that dwarfed hers, on the dull rumble of chatter and laughter as they neared and slipped through the great room.

But when Mikael stopped to push open the door, all that focus went up in smoke. Cyril’s whole body tensed, her heels anchored to the floor, and she…

She didn’t want to leave the barracks.

She didn’t want to go outside and brave the pathways and the palace and the people, or the possibility of what might await her out there.

Mikael turned back and gave her a curious look.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling the door back shut.

“What if he’s…” She swallowed, trying to will some semblance of moisture back into her mouth. “What if we…”

Cyril clenched her teeth. She couldn’t even get the fucking words out.

“Run into him? We won’t.” Mikael said it with such certainty as he eased his uniform jacket off and settled it around her shoulders. He must have noticed how cold she was. “We’ll take the staff halls and the back staircase up.”

His fingers found hers again, a guiding and gentle pull, and she willed her feet to follow his lead out of the barracks.

And Mikael was right.

The only souls they encountered were a handful of maids still milling about the halls at the lower levels, finishing their duties for the day. Cyril tried not to dwell on the amused smiles they wore—she’d be a fool to think she was the only woman they’d ever watched him lead back through these halls.

If only they knew the circumstances this time.

The winding, functional halls that smelled of food and clean linens eventually gave way to a staircase with well-worn treads and a railing Cyril didn’t dare put any weight on. Not that she had to, with Mikael’s guiding touch steering her along, squeezing her hand, or pulling her near as they navigated crates and people in silence.

And she hadn’t minded it at first, the quiet. It gave her mind a moment to settle, and her a chance to breathe. To focus on the sounds and smells around them, and not on why they were walking.

But now the silence felt heavy and tense, and Cyril itched to break it.

The stairwell darkened as they climbed, illuminated only by a dim faelight dotted every few feet along the walls, and she nearly walked right into Mikael’s back when he came to a sudden stop.

Cyril watched the faint outline of his hand skim the stone wall, then he was pushing and light flooded the landing. She realized, as her eyes adjusted to the light, that they were just a few feet down the hall from his room.

“That’s convenient,” she said quietly, looking back at the wall panel they just exited from as Mikael pushed it back into place. Completely imperceptible and one of many little secrets she was sure the palace walls held.

Half a smile tugged at his lips. “It’s served its purposes.”

She was sure it had.

Mikael led her into his room and locked the door behind them.

He started moving around right away and left her to stand in the entryway, taking everything in. The weapons and gear—some broken, some gleaming—scattered all over tabletops and leaned against walls. Clothes tossed over chairs and door handles. It even smelled like he usually did—earthy and clean, like spring rain.

She tugged his jacket tighter around her shoulders.

The layout of Mikael’s room and hers were nearly identical. His room was just bigger, more spacious, more fitting of a prince. Where her linens and furniture were light and feminine, his were dark and masculine, all navy blues and burgundy. There was a behemoth, four-poster bed at the far side of the room that she wanted nothing more than to crawl directly into.

“You can come in, you know,” Mikael said, with an undercurrent of amusement.

In however little time she thought she’d been standing there for, Mikael had changed out of his uniform and into some dark, comfortable-looking nightclothes, and was tending to the fire. He tossed a couple of logs in and walked back over to her.

Cyril smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

It felt strange to invade his space like this, even though he’d spent weeks living in hers.

“No more apologizing, please.”

The warmth of his arm settled across her shoulders and Cyril gave in far too easily to the urge to lean against him, to let her lungs fill up with him.

“Tired?” he mused quietly.

Not a simple question for her to answer.

That familiar and foggy heaviness of exhaustion pulled persistently at her eyes and her limbs, but her entire body buzzed in tandem with the weight of that pull. It was strange, and she didn’t entirely know what to do about it.

“I don’t know.”

Mikael squeezed her shoulder. “Well, whenever you want to turn in, the bed is all yours. I’ll sleep over here.”

As he gestured over to the sofa by the fire, Cyril realized he’d set up a makeshift bed for himself—on the other side of the room from where he wanted her to sleep.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Was she wrong in thinking…

“Is that…” He eyed her warily. “Is that alright?”

“I just thought you’d want to sleep with me, that’s all.”

An almost pained noise left him.

“Cyril, there are a lot of things I want, but I won’t make assumptions about what you are and aren’t comfortable with right now. I thought you might appreciate some space.”

Gods. Space was the last thing she wanted from him. The last few days that she’d spent not seeing him, holed up alone in her room? Awful. Every fiber of her being craved the feeling of safety and security that came from being tucked at his side.

“Sleep with me, please?” Cyril looked up at him as she issued her quiet plea.

His defeated sigh followed quickly.

“Fine.” Mikael drew her in and kissed the top of her head. “But if you touch me with those fucking cold feet, I’m kicking you to the sofa for the rest of the night. Understood?”

A quiet laugh left Cyril for the first time in what felt like forever. Her cheek ached with the smile that crept onto her face. “Understood, Commander.”