47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

I t was a miracle Cyril and Mikael made it down to the dining room with how little the prince seemed to be interested in keeping his hands off of her.

Just at the tail end of lunch, too, if the casual way Lars, Runa, and Astor were sitting back and chatting was any indicator. The smell of savory, fresh baked pastry hung faintly in the air in the dining room and had Cyril’s mouth watering as soon as they crossed the threshold.

“Afternoon, you two. Come to be fed and watered?” Runa smiled at them—no, she smirked— and tipped her head, and… Oh gods.

She knew.

Lars and Astor exchanged a curious, amused glance with each other.

They all knew.

Cyril felt a flush creep up her chest.

“You know the drill,” Mikael said nonchalantly as he tugged Cyril along, their fingers still tightly twined.

He pulled out a chair for her, and Cyril contemplated if it might be better to just slip under the table and avoid eye contact with anyone . She sat though, in the chair to the left of where Lars sat at the head of the table, Runa and Astor opposite her. The crown prince smiled warmly at her like he always did, but he looked…tired. Like maybe he’d had a rough few days too.

Mikael settled in beside her.

“Your eye…” Runa said with far less humor than she just addressed them with.

Cyril touched her cheek. “I’m… It’s alright.”

“I’m taking her down to the infirmary after.” Mikael, for reasons unbeknownst to Cyril, had taken it upon himself to fill her plate. “See if Wren can get it healed up for her, or if they’ve got something for the bruise.”

His mother nodded in approval, mentioning something about some salve or another, but Cyril didn’t quite catch it. Her attention snagged on the mountain of food the damn prince piled on her plate.

“Mika,” she said quietly, touching his arm. “That’s too much.”

He blinked down at her plate.

“Shit. Sorry, wrath,” he chuckled, swapping his empty one with hers. “Different appetites.”

She stopped his overeager serving well in advance that time.

The other three picked back up their quiet conversation, leaving Cyril and Mikael to eat in peace. And gods , she was starving. It took everything in her to not shovel back the meat pie and greens like an animal.

Cyril had just set down her cutlery and reached for her glass when she caught a flicker of tension passing through Astor, Runa, and Lars. Their eyes were all fixed on the door. Mikael must have noticed just before her because he was standing by the time she turned.

The little bubble of happiness she’d existed in all morning burst abruptly.

Dion was standing in the doorway.

Her heart sank.

“I just want to talk to Cyril,” he said slowly, his hands raised. “Alone, if—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Mikael laughed bitterly, and Dion did not like that.

He stepped forward, moving to push aside the wall that Mikael had become between them. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Like hells it doesn’t!” Mikael planted his hand on Dion’s chest and shoved him back. “You laid your fucking hands on—”

Cyril had to look away.

Just the sound of Dion’s voice, that brief glimpse of the anger in his face, stirred up the sort of panic in her she couldn’t get a handle on. Her heart was pounding , and nausea churned in her stomach. She struggled to swallow down the bile that burned her throat, and her fucking cheek ached.

Cyril tried to find something, anything , on the opposite wall to focus on as she saw Lars move in her periphery and Runa stood.

It was Astor’s eyes she found looking across the table at her. They were darker blue than Mikael’s, more like Lars’ eyes than Runa's. He had a soft, sad sort of expression on his face and quietly he said, “It’s alright.”

“Don’t fucking touch—” Dion.

She held Astor’s gaze, her breath sawing out of her.

“Mikael, sit .” Lars, booming. The prince swore, and the chair beside her creaked. She didn’t look. “And you , out. Do not cause a scene, Rhodea.”

“Oh, I’m the one causing a scene?” The anger in Dion’s voice crested. Cyril chewed her lip so hard she tasted blood, Astor mouthed “Breathe” at her. She tried. “So, what, those two can do whatever the fuck they want? Throw drinks, shove people around, but suddenly I’m the problem? I’m the one causing—”

Runa’s hand slamming down on the table drew a quiet whimper from Cyril. Dishes and silverware clattered, and the room fell silent.

“You are over a hundred fucking years older than them, Dion”—Cyril flinched as the queen waved her hand aggressively between Dion and the table—“and you assaulted her, your own gods damned family, under my roof. You are a monster . Get out of my sight.”

The door slammed shut, and Lars did not return to the table.

A suffocating sort of quiet took hold of the room.

Mikael slipped his arm around Cyril, tugging her as close as the chairs would allow, and he kissed her temple. It did nothing to ease the way her heart or her mind fucking raced .

Runa sat back down, and Astor just looked surprised.

Cyril looked slowly from Mikael to Astor, and then to Runa. The queen was the first to open her mouth.

“Cyril—”

“I’m sorry.” Cyril’s voice was a hoarse, uneasy thing, but it was all she could think to say. Mikael brushed his hand down her arm and said her name softly.

All the tension slipped right out of Runa’s face.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I know…” Runa sighed. “I know you weren’t ready to talk yesterday, but I think we need to have an important conversation now.”

Cyril still didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to face the reality that she knew Runa was going to lie out in front of her. But options weren’t something she had anymore.

So, Cyril nodded.

The queen stood and worked her way around the table, extending a hand to Cyril. With a smile that spoke of so much sadness, Runa said, “Let’s go chat, just the two of us. I’m sure Mika has some work to keep himself busy.”

Mikael had paced in the residential hall for over an hour. From one end, straight through to the other, he couldn’t find it in him to settle or be anywhere else.

Cyril was still inside his parent’s suite, talking to his mother about what, he didn't know. He was so fucking worked up that he took one look at the stack of papers on his desk and turned right out of the barracks.

It hadn’t helped that during the short trip to and from his office, half a dozen damn guards asked if Lady Cyril was alright after catching a glimpse of her the night before. He lied and said she was but, gods, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

If only for Cyril’s sake, Mikael needed to calm down. But that was a task that was proving to be nearly impossible. His heart still beat like a drum in his fucking chest and he… He wanted to kill Dion.

There was no question about that anymore. Maybe that’s why he came back here, hoping they’d cross paths. Even though it was a foolish hope to think that he was nearby anymore.

A door in the hall creaked, but it wasn’t the one Mikael had watched like a hawk. His father came down from the main residence’s doors in lengthy strides.

Lars ran a hand through his hair, and he looked…frustrated. A sentiment Mikael was sure every member of the Kallan family felt now. His father inclined his head towards the seating alcove near the end of the hall and Mikael fell in step with him.

“Cyril is still with your mother?” Lars asked a bit roughly.

Confirmation then that things hadn’t gone well with Dion. Not that he thought they would.

“They’ve been in there for-fucking-ever.” Mikael nodded as he sighed and sank down on a sofa.

The last time he’d spent any real time here was when they found that poor maid’s body, months ago now, when Cyril was a stranger to him. An off-putting one at that, too. To end up back here, under these circumstances…

His father settled beside him, bracing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Exhausted as Mikael had ever seen him. “Dion’s gone to Brynnhold indefinitely. He knows he isn’t welcome here.”

Mikael just nodded slowly.

One relief, at least, if only for Cyril. The look of fear he saw on her face last night wasn’t something he was sure he could handle seeing again.

“I’ll kill him if he touches her again,” Mikael said. Forward wasn’t something he was usually fond of being with his father, with how little civil conversing they did, but no part of this was usual anymore.

It was Lars’ turn to nod as he tossed him a sidelong glance.

“I think a few people share that sentiment. I thought you were going to kill each other earlier, truthfully.”

Mikael scoffed. If it wasn’t for how badly it would’ve fucked up Cyril, it might’ve been for the best.

“He threatened me, you know,” Mikael said, staring at the tapestry that hung opposite them on the wall. Its rolling flower fields felt entirely off putting.

“He…” Lars stared at him. “When?”

“Just before Bron died,” Mikael sighed. “He didn’t want me anywhere near his sweet little niece, because obviously I’m the danger.”

Lars was silent for a long minute, shaking his head.

“Dion has never been an…easy man to deal with. His temper and arrogance, and his vices—” His father laughed, bitterly. “They’ve always been problematic, but never like this. I think everything has finally caught up with him.”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for him?” Mikael could feel that tenuous hold he had on his anger slipping again. “That fucking waste of air has had a hard life, so that means he gets a free fucking pass on tearing Cyril down into nothing? He fucking hit her—”

“I was there, Mikael. I am well aware of what happened.” Lars loosed a slow breath. “His behavior is inexcusable, but you have to forgive me for trying to wrap my head around what series of events caused my friend to become such a monster.”

Despite what his father said, Mikael knew he was looking for an excuse.

A reason for why this happened that was anything but Dion being a fucking monster. Some tangible thing he could blame everything on that would separate the actions from the person. Separate the deplorable behavior from his dear friend .

Mikael knew what his thoughts on the matter were, but he needed to calm down. Cyril couldn’t see him angry and worked up like this, not when she came out of that room. She needed calm and—

“Your mother is offering Cyril sanctuary.”

Mikael blinked.

“She’s what ?”

His father wore a sad smile as his attention turned to the end of the hall, where one of the double doors to their suite pulled open. “She’s offering Cyril refuge and safe haven. A way out of her life, if she wants it. I’m sure your mother will want to explain it all to you too.”

Cyril and his mother stepped out, and Mikael’s feet had him halfway there before he realized it, his father trailing behind. Cyril’s shoulders shook, her quiet sobs echoing down the hall as Runa pulled her into an embrace.

Not a happy conversation then.

“...You take your time to decide, all right? There is no rush.”

Runa stepped back from Cyril and took her face in her hands, sweeping her thumbs across her cheeks.

That usual rosy pink undertone of Cyril’s skin was gone, replaced with something ashen and cold. Her eyes were glassy, the brightness in them winked out. She looked like she was in agony, and Mikael’s heart felt like it was being torn apart.

“She would like to go lie down,” his mother said to him, and another quiet sob left Cyril when she looked at Mikael. “And I would appreciate it if you came back to speak with me afterward.”

Cyril reached for him with a shaking hand and tucked herself into his arms. The urge to hide her away somewhere safe—somewhere that no one could see her, touch her, or make her cry ever again—sank its claws into his spine.

Runa’s eyes met his, and they were weighed down with pain. The sadness, laden thick in her voice, was something wholly unfamiliar to him, the calm and soothing current of a being that his mother was.

“Of course.” His eyes drifted down to Cyril, to the hastily braided mess of black hair tucked against his chest. He rubbed her back. “You want to go to your room, or...?”

“Yours, please ,” Cyril whispered.

As if she thought he would want to dictate where she could or couldn’t go to rest her damn head. He would have thrown her over his shoulder and carried her to fucking Helia if she asked him to.

“Come on.”

Cyril didn’t say another word as he led her the short distance back down the hall. She walked on legs that seemed unsteady, a blood-stained sleeve pressed to her face as she fought to get a handle on her tears.

Mikael didn’t think he had it in him to leave her.

There was no way in any of the hells it was healthy for her to be alone.

“Do you want me to stay? I can talk to my mother later.” Mikael asked as they came to a stop in front of his door. He tried to cup her face in his hands, tried to get her to look at him for even a moment, but she bristled and stepped closer to the door.

“No, you can go, I—” It took an inordinate amount of effort for her to swallow.

Her eyes didn’t leave the floor. She looked like utter hell, with her scabbed-over cheek and the purple bruising that filled the hollow of her eye. It was easy to overlook when she was flushed and smiling earlier, but the contrast now to her gaunt skin was impossible to ignore.

“I need a few minutes to myself…if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” Mikael would not push her on this, not when he couldn’t even fathom how she felt. He nudged open the door and motioned her in. “There are comfortable clothes in the dresser at the end there, if you want something else to wear.”

Cyril nodded absently and wandered in. He waited until she was halfway across the room to close the door and jog back to his parents’ suite.