68. Chapter 68

Chapter 68

O ne by devastating one, the three funeral pyres laid along the rocky lakeshore became engulfed in unyielding blue flame. A beautiful and brutal contrast to the dark waters beyond.

Blue flame, Cyril was told, to wash the souls of the departed anew and cleanse them for safe passage into the otherworld. A last rite, given to every moon-fae without question. The people of Reykr cared for their country folk so unconditionally that, no matter your life’s transgressions, they would see you granted safe passage into whatever lay beyond.

She would have found the tradition admirable, but the lingering reminder of the last time she stood on this backshore left little room in her mind for much else.

Instead of admiration, Cyril’s heart only ached in a profound, unsettling way.

Not for a lack of familiarity with death, either.

Hells, she came into this world delivered on the grim, black wings of it. And growing up at the guild, submersed in the periphery of that sort of work, loss of life was always a factor.

It just never felt so merciless.

The Rogues of Helia made calculated decisions in every contract they took. Decisions that were made by seasoned, well-traveled people who knew the explicit risks they faced in pursuit of their riches. Most made it back, if only a bit battered and bruised.

But for the few who didn’t, retribution came as a swift and ruthless act, and their lives were celebrated, thoroughly. Rowdy and bawdy always, and full of good food and drink.

These last few months were nothing like that.

Bron’s nearly hundred years of vibrant life never saw its celebration.

He was wiped clean out of existence, with no trace left behind.

No parties or toasts, or teary-eyed reminiscing about his antics.

And the three men’s bodies being immolated right before her eyes? Nothing but good, honest men who met horrific and unjust ends. Maimed in a way that still made her stomach turn over in knots.

Not a single one of them asked for this.

Cyril blew out a shaky breath to still her spiraling thoughts.

A side-long glance came from her right, narrowed with concern.

She offered Dion her best reassurance with a tight smile and squeezed the broad hand he rested atop her shoulder.

There was still so much left unaddressed between them.

So many things Cyril wasn’t sure she could ever come to terms with.

So many things Cyril wasn’t sure their relationship would ever overcome.

Or ever should overcome, truthfully.

But now, on this clouded and cool night of mourning, Cyril needed an anchor above all else. Above all sense of right or wrong. Someone to keep her tethered and grounded, when the reality of why they stood here felt a little too fucking heavy.

Dion knew that too, when he showed up at her door just after dinner and found her alone and teary-eyed. He understood, with no exchange of words, that she couldn’t be a burden to Mikael. Not today.

And as the midnight wind swept across the lake, bringing with it the crackling heat from the pyres, her uncle offered just what she needed—his stalwart presence and nothing more.

The breeze should have been refreshing, but it did little to quell the sickly feeling that ebbed and flowed through her ever since their descent down the winding path to the lakefront. The rich, cloying scent of incense and other offerings left to be consumed by the flames didn’t help either.

Pungent sandalwood laced with lavender burned her eyes and lungs.

Cyril wasn’t confident she would last until the first light of dawn ushered in the vigil’s end, but the alternative was not something she allowed herself to consider. She owed it to the grieving families, dotted in groups across the backshore, to ride out her discomforts. Such minute, insignificant things by comparison.

But even for all her determination, it took tremendous effort to hold back a sob of relief when the cool, clean scent of rain wove itself through the air.

Not from the sky, Cyril knew now. She had known since that morning, when she woke utterly bathed in the scent, wrapped in the arms of its bearer. It was a revelation that presented a possibility she wasn’t ready to face.

Dion’s steadying grip left her shoulder, only to be replaced by another’s hand, splayed across the small of her back. She looked up to her left, but Mikael’s attention sat ahead, the three pyres a violent flicker of blue in his eyes.

His men. His comrades. His friends .

Cyril’s heart ached a bit more.

When he finally spoke, some immeasurable amount of time later, his voice was as uneasy as she’d ever heard it. That sometimes exhausting, cocky bravado was nowhere to be found.

“Will you walk with me?”

Mikael led Cyril far enough from the shore that the smell of incense dissipated on the wind, taking the sound of the crackling pyres with it. They found a bench leading up the path back to the palace, quiet and private.

Mikael’s exhaustion was palpable as he sat down.

He let out a slow breath and, without an ounce of preamble, said, “Astor wants to abdicate his position as crown prince.”

“He what ?” Cyril froze, blinking.

Mikael nodded slowly, his gaze vacant.

“My brother no longer feels fit to one day fill our father’s shoes with all of this .” He waved vaguely back towards the lake. “And I mean…I understand the sentiment, but…”

Cyril stared at him. “Would that mean…?”

“Me. And I’m not —” Mikael shook his head. “I think my parents have talked him off that ledge for now. They want him to focus on his well-being and worry about his duties later. But…”

He leveled his gaze with hers, and Cyril’s stomach sank at his hesitation.

“Mika.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me, Cyr. I…I don’t know what’s going to happen. How my life might change, how your life would change. And I just—”

He sighed, and Cyril’s heart didn’t just plummet. It vacated her entire fucking body. She trusted her legs so little that she took a seat beside him on the bench.

Quietly, she said, “You want me to go?”

Mikael bristled. “No! Gods, no, of course I don't. But I think you should—”

Cyril pressed her finger to his lips and shook her head.

“I don’t care what you think I should do. I care about what you want .” She cupped his face in her hands, brushing back errant auburn waves and leveling their gazes. Those brilliant blues were so dark—so tired. “So, Mikael. What do you want?”

He closed his eyes and nuzzled her palm.

“I’m selfish, wrath. Of course I want you to stay here, with me,” Mika murmured, losing a ragged breath. Cyril made a soft noise as Mikael took her hands in his own and pulled them away from his face, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles. “All I want to do is mark you and make you part of my life forever. But choice is something I’ve always had the luxury of, and you haven’t, ever. So, what do you want?”

Cyril had never been more sure of anything.

She didn’t have to pause, or think, or even consider before she said, “You. This. Whatever happens, whatever that means, I—” A shaky breath left her, and a smile peeled across her lips. “I feel at home here, with you. And you…you took care of me when everything fell apart. I want to be able to do that for you, and not because I owe you, but because I love you.”

Those were definitely tears that had the moonlight glimmering in his eyes. Mirrors to her own, she was sure.

“Wrath,” Mikael said quietly, his voice thick.

He reached for Cyril, pulling her into his lap, where he wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled his face in the crook of her neck. His contented sigh felt like it reached out and soothed her damn soul.

This felt like home, in a way that home never did.

“You’re making a soft man out of me.”

She knew he couldn’t see her face, but Cyril grinned.

“Soft isn’t high on the list of words I would use to describe any part of you.”

Mikael wheezed a laugh that reverberated right through her.

“What did you call me once…a rake ?” He drew back enough to level a look of mirth with her. “I think you’re worse than I am, Lady Cyril, and I”—he notched his fingers under Cyril’s chin, grazing his lips over hers—“love you so much for that.”

The kiss that he sealed that statement with? Cyril never wanted it to end. There was no spark of heat that so often sidelined tender moments. This was soft and affectionate, and more than Cyril ever could have dreamed of such a simple gesture.

But it did end, with Mikael resting his forehead against hers.

Quietly, he said, “You know, I always used to think all the preaching my mother does about fates and destinies was a bunch of bullshit. But I think I understand her now.”

“You do?” Cyril shifted back in his lap and tipped her head.

A boyish smile pulled across Mikael’s lips as he nodded, baring those damn teeth, and completely betrayed the unease his eyes scoured her face with.

And he… Gods, it was dark out, but was he blushing ?

Cyril’s heart started beating a bit faster.

“I do. And what I think, wrath”—he smoothed a hand over her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake—“is that I was meant to have my ass kicked by an infuriating woman from Helia. That I was meant to be here, at your side, every time things fell apart. And what I don’t think is that it was just a coincidence I felt so drawn to you the moment you showed up on our doorstep, armed for war, that it nearly drove me out of my fucking mind.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and, for a moment, Cyril had no more words for Mikael.

Just the small proclamation she made, of feeling at home with him and wanting to take care of him, on the heels of their conversation that morning… It drained the shallow reserves of her emotional expression entirely.

And she hated that.

Hated that she felt paralyzed too, staring into Mikael’s glacial eyes as he looked back at her with a sort of eagerness that made her blood run hot and cold at the same damn time.

Cyril was bad at this. Bad at feelings. Bad at talking about feelings. Bad at expressing much else than anger and pent-up frustrations.

And that…it wouldn’t change overnight.

Even for how much she knew she loved Mikael, for how all she wanted to do was touch him and be in his arms, and breathe the same damn air as him.

She needed time for some things.

So, slowly, Cyril took his face in her hands, slipping her fingers around to cradle his nape.

“Are you implying that we ended up here because of fate , and not just because you like the sight of me strapped with weapons?” she asked, all feigned disbelief.

Mikael’s eyes flickered with amusement.

“I’m implying that for whatever reason we ended up here, I’m grateful, because I couldn’t imagine dealing with all of this bullshit with anyone else.”

Cyril grinned. “The feeling is mutual.”

“Good.” Mikael tucked her hair behind the point of her ear and let his knuckles trail down the side of her neck. The smile he fixed her with made her heart feel like it was about to burst. “And let’s not pretend I haven’t seen how you look at me in my uniform, wrath.”

Cyril laughed .

“You should wear it more—”

Mikael silenced her with a kiss. Longer, this time, but it still had Cyril sighing when he pulled away from her.

“We should head back,” Mikael said with resignation. “You’re alright to keep standing?”

Her leg ached already from the few hours she had spent standing so far. But she didn’t want Mikael to worry about that. Not now. Not with everything else he had on his shoulders.

“I’m fine still.” Cyril gave Mikael as reassuring of a smile as she could as he helped her up.

If the prince actually bought it, she didn’t know. But he threaded his fingers through hers and led Cyril back down the dark path to the shore to wait out the hours until dawn deigned to grant them her mercy.