51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51

H ow many small offices and sitting rooms this damn palace had, Cyril couldn’t even fathom. But after a couple of twists and turns down from the infirmary doors, Runa led them into a room that looked like it hadn’t been touched in Cyril’s lifetime.

The queen willed an orb of faelight into existence, and none of them risked the worn wicker furniture. Mikael scrubbed his hands over his face from where he leaned against the wall. Cyril stood in the center of the room, her sweating palms clasped tightly together.

“I shouldn’t leave Astor for long,” Runa said, her eyes darting toward the door she’d just closed. A worried mother was breaking through her calm regality. “But what in the hells has the two of you looking like you saw something crawl out of the lake?”

“All you,” Mikael said, waving a hand at Cyril.

The fucking arse .

Runa turned all of her attention on Cyril, and her tongue suddenly felt like lead in her mouth. Her lips parted, but she had no words.

“Oh, sweetheart. Out with it, please. Whatever it—” Runa inhaled sharply and her eyes snapped back to her son. She hissed, “ Mikael , did you get her—”

“Absolutely not.” Mikael threw his hands up in defense, shaking his head.

“How radical are the purists in the Forns?” Cyril asked, the words just tumbling out of her far too quickly.

Runa’s dry laugh had an undercurrent of relief to it.

“Gods. They’re about as bad as they come. Why?”

Cyril’s heart felt like it was about to beat right out of her fucking chest. But she looked at Mikael, and his single nod was all she needed.

“Let's just say…” She swallowed thickly. “If someone of great value to them fell ill, like a… princess . Would they resort to desperate measures to try and bring back balance ? Would they deem anything necessary to tip the scales back, to cleanse whatever wrong they deem responsible?”

The next few seconds felt like some of the longest in Cyril’s life, but she saw the exact moment the terrifying realization skittered through Runa’s body.

The queen’s scrutinizing eyes went wide, and she breathed, “Good gods…”

Cyril could only nod.

“Where is Reyna right now?” Mikael asked quietly.

“I-I…” Runa blew out a shaky breath. “We don’t know. Astor was confused, thought she was here at first, then he said she was at their house in the city, but no one could find her.”

“Fucking hells,” Mikael sighed. “She’s gone crawling back to the Forn’s already. We’ll never track her down.”

“Can’t we send someone there for her?” Cyril asked. “I mean, her husband is lying in there—”

Runa shook her head.

“Not that simple, my dear. The Forn’s are heavily warded, and the only way in is by a boat across the harbor. And even then, we will be turned away at the docks. They do not want outsiders in their lands.”

“ Outsiders in their lands?” Cyril scoffed. She had little control over how her voice raised as she bit out, “Who gives a fuck about what they want? They are killing innocent people in the name of their bullshit beliefs! They fucking killed B—”

Runa stepped forward and grabbed the hand Cyril started waving in the air.

“Lower your voice now ,” Runa whispered harshly. “If there is any chance that we are wrong, these sorts of accusations would spell disaster. There are eyes and ears loyal to the Forn’s all over the damn palace, and we cannot risk anything right now.”

Cyril took a slow, shaky breath.

“So what do we do?” she asked, and Runa turned her attention to Mikael.

“I hate to ask any more of you…”

“Our resources are already stretched so thin.” He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes before he raked his hands through his hair. “I’ll have to see if some of the boys working in the city can pull a few days of double duty, see if they can get a pulse on anything from the docks.”

Runa reached out to rub his arm. “Discretion, please, until we have something more than a bad feeling. We can’t afford to cause any sort of panic right now.”

“Of course,” Mikael sighed as he nodded.

“Your father is going to need your help too, you know, while Astor recovers…”

Whatever else Runa said to Mikael, something or other about lords and dinners, Cyril didn’t quite catch.

She couldn’t get Reyna’s face out of her mind. Her soft voice, her kind smile.

Bron was dead because of the purist princess, and Cyril wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to forgive herself for that. Cyril had shared meals with this woman. Held conversations with her, if only briefly. How many times had Cyril looked her right in the eyes and not thought twice about the quiet way Reyna observed everything around her?

Maybe Cyril was just desperate for someone to blame. Maybe she was drawing wildly out-of-place connections. But she was confident Reyna destroyed everything she ever loved and ripped the one pillar of strength and stability from her life.

A quiet noise left Mikael that sounded awfully like defeat, and Cyril blinked over at the prince and his mother.

“Thank you, my boy.” Runa cupped his cheek and gave him a soft, warm smile. “I should go back now, but be safe, both of you, please. And keep me apprised should you hear anything at all. I will do the same.”

The door barely closed behind her when Mikael turned to Cyril and sighed, “What in the actual fuck...”

What an understatement.

Cyril wasn’t even entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“Yeah.” Cyril just nodded.

All the tension slipped from Mikael’s face and he stepped over, brushing his thumb over Cyril’s cheek.

“We’ll figure it out, wrath,” he said softly.

“I know.” Cyril blew out a shaky breath. Even though she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see any of it, she asked, “Can I see the records for the murders? I…just want to check something.”

Curiosity flickered in his eyes, the most comforting thing she’d seen since they left the barracks.

“Of course you can,” he said, taking her hand. “Lead the way.”

Two haphazardly stacked piles of folders sat on the worn and marred surface of Mikael’s desk, and Cyril just stared at them.

She felt sick.

Sick that no one had listened to Runa. That no one had listened to her . That no one connected these dots or asked these questions, or did fucking anything .

She knew from grumblings of rogues at the estate that there were always little bits of complacency that surfaced in these types of incidents, things that were overlooked or had a blind eye turned to them. But this was egregious.

There was an implication buried in there that Cyril wasn’t sure she was ready to accept yet.

“Find what you were looking for?”

Mikael’s voice came from behind her suddenly and she stiffened. She hadn’t heard the door open back up after he left to deal with some guards.

It really was for the best that Dion cut her loose from the guild. She was a piss-poor excuse for a rogue.

“Just…confirmation, I guess.”

Really, that was all that she got. No light in the dark, so to speak. Just the sad confirmation that maybe, just maybe, not all of these people would have died if someone just fucking listened.

“Too confidential for this lowly man to know about, or…?” Mikael flashed her a wry grin as he tipped Cyril’s chin up and kissed her. Just a brief, soft thing. He settled back against the edge of his desk after, eyes drifting over the two piles.

It was remarkable how well he could smooth over the stress she knew roiled just beneath his surface.

“You remember when I helped with training?” she asked.

Mikael raised a brow at her. “Fondly, yes.”

Cyril should have smiled, but she didn’t.

“When I went to the gardens with your mother that week, she taught me about Reykr’s history with the purists, and where she and Reyna came from. All because I mentioned that scroll that…Tobias helped me translate, and how Dion shut me down.”

“Right…”

“Your father and the general shut her down too. Your mother said when the first murders happened, and the runes came up, she tried to give some guidance, but they just told her not to worry about it.”

“Of course they did.” Mikael sighed and shook his head. His vacant stare across the room told her just how much else he probably wanted to say. She knew he held opinions about both men. “I knew she put you up to something…”

Cyril shook her head. “She only gave me information and encouragement, Mika. Thought maybe the two of us might be stronger together. But Dion was pissed with me for the implication of what I was looking into, and then he, well…”

He destroyed so much more than just her research, but Cyril just waved her hand vaguely and slid further down into her chair. Mikael would understand.

“And you wanted the records for…”

“ Right .” Gods, the fatigue was seeping into her very bones. Mikael’s half smile was empathetic at least. “So we know the purists believe in balance and cleansing, and all that bullshit, yeah?”

Mikael nodded, and Cyril pointed a finger toward the stack of files on the left.

“The barmaid, the carpenter, Rika, and Tobias. All of mixed blood in some capacity. Sun, moon, nymph, mortal, you name it. What some purists might call filth. ”

Just like that damn woman at the state dinner.

Her finger drifted to the pile on the right. “The two merchants, and that poor priestess and midwife. All moon-fae, but they were just knee-deep in filth . Business dealings, providing refuge, delivering babies, and the like.”

Visible tension pulled through Mikael’s body, his knuckles blanching as he gripped the edge of his desk, though he obviously was making some effort to conceal it in his face.

“So all these people suffered and died just because Reyna got sick? Because her people thought some imaginary fucking balance was thrown off?” The words rolled off of Mikael’s tongue like they tasted foul.

Cyril just nodded, her lips drawn into a tight line.

That was the simplest way to put it.

He pinched his brow. “I need a drink.”

“That makes two of us.” Cyril stood up and stepped into Mikael’s space. His arms were around her before she’d even settled her cheek against his chest, drawing her flush to him. “We need to make sure someone answers for all of it, however long it takes. I don’t think I’ll be leaving Reykr anytime soon, or, well…ever really.”

Mikael stilled.

“Wait. Did you…” His words were just a breath of disbelief as leaned back, but Cyril moved with him. The damn prince loved eye contact, but she just wanted him to hold her right now. “Did you accept my parents’ offer?”

“Not yet. But I will, once things have quieted down a bit.” She grinned against the soft fabric of the fitted base layers he wore beneath his uniform. “I don’t want to leave.”

Mikael. Reykr. The palace. His parents. The guards. All the staff.

She didn’t want to leave any of it, and something about the utter mayhem of the last few days had solidified that for her. Even with their newest revelation, Reykr felt like home in a way she wasn’t sure Helia ever could again.

A quiet noise left him that sounded remarkably emotional, and it tugged on her heart like all fucking hell. Tension slipped from his body, his fingers skimming her nape, and she felt his lips brush the top of her head.

“You don’t know how happy that makes me, wrath.” His voice was thick, and Cyril blinked.

“Mika, are—” She tried to ease away from him, but Mikael held her firm. “Are you crying ?”

“Absolutely not.” A chuckle rumbled through him, but she heard him sniffle too. The fucking softie . “I’ve never done such a thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. Prince of Darkness. I get it.” Cyril smoothed her hand over his chest, lingering over the steady thrum of his heart—something that had become one of her favorite things in the world to feel and listen to.

Mikael let her step back from him this time, his hands settling loosely at her hips. There may, possibly , have been a hint of sheen in his glacial eyes. Some sort of relief tinged with happiness tugged at the rest of his features though, and that was a welcome distraction.

“I’m exhausted.” He reached to tuck a chunk of hair behind her ear. Sometime in the last few hours, her braid had come to pieces. His hand lingered, fingers skimming her cheek, and Cyril leaned into it. “Can we go to bed?”

She groaned, “I still have uniforms to fold.”

And gods, bed sounded like the best damn thing he’d ever suggested. Sleep had become a scarce resource these last few days, and she knew today’s developments would only make it worse.

At this rate, she was going to have to drag a blanket and some pillows down to the barracks.

“Tomorrow, wrath. Rest first.” Mikael straightened up and gave the piles of folders another glance. “You’re done with these for now?”

Regrettably, she was. There was nothing else to glean from any file or report that they didn’t already know now.

Cyril nodded, and Mikael started to stack everything into a neat pile.

“I meant to ask you though…Did they not consider Bron to be—” Nope. She couldn’t say it. The words just caught in her throat. “I noticed there wasn’t a file for him.”

Mikael cast her a cautious glance. He set the folders to the side of his desk.

“He has a file. Same as the others, I…” He sighed. Softly, he said, “It has details of everything, Cyr. The…condition he was in, what Wren thinks happened to him. I didn’t think you’d want to see that.”

Cyril shook her head.

She didn’t need to read any of that. Not now. Maybe never.

“No, that’s okay.” The lump in her throat fucking hurt to swallow.

A handwritten description of the condition of his body was the last thing she needed when she could still see it so vividly in her mind. The gaping wound in his throat, that mottled bruising on his face, the—

Cyril took a slow breath.

“I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t forgotten about, because…”

Because that was when everything fell apart.

That was when Cyril lost track of herself, and she stopped asking questions.

That was when the days blended into weeks, and months just slipped by.

Mikael clasped her face in his hands, his smile a soft and sad thing. She reached up and tucked a piece of his own wavy, auburn hair behind his ear.

“Never. He was treated like one of our own.” Cyril could accept that.

She murmured a quiet “ Thank you ” as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Let’s go get some rest, yeah? And maybe…” There was that trace of that heady little glint in his eyes as he pulled back, that she’d barely seen in days. “Maybe we take a bath?”

Cyril knew precisely what that meant because it happened every damn time he convinced her to join him—which was often—and it certainly wasn't bathing .

She stared at him.

“Everything that’s happened today, and you’re thinking about sex?” she said, and a wry smile tugged at his face.

“A happy end to a fucking awful day? Absolutely I am.” Mikael chuckled as he leaned in, ghosting his lips across hers. “I think we could both use a little distraction. A few, maybe.”

“I’m so tired, Mika,” she sighed.

Cyril wasn’t entirely confident in her abilities to even make it back to their room, let alone any other sort of activity .

“I know you are.” His hands splayed over her shoulders with that firm and guiding touch she struggled not to go slack under, and Mikael steered her towards the door. A step from the threshold he leaned down, lips skimming her ear, and he said, “Which is why I will do all the work, Lady Cyril. You can just lie back and enjoy yourself.”

Cyril snorted. “Lie back in the bath ?”

“Something like that.” He grinned, those damn double canines gleaming.