8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

M ikael was three-quarters of the way to freedom when his mother’s all too familiar lilt reached his ears.

The woman had the most uncanny ability to come out of fucking nowhere.

He stopped a few feet from the side doors leading out to the covered walkways and outbuildings beyond. Not even a gods damned arm’s length away.

“Mika,” she chided, “did you think you could just slip away to the barracks without me noticing?”

Truthfully? He had.

Once his father cracked opened a bottle of spirits, and the fleeting remnants of their dinner party filtered into the lounge, Mikael took that as his opportunity to get the fuck out.

After three grueling weeks overseeing alpine training in the Stygias, he was desperate to unwind on his own terms, to get even an ounce of normalcy back in his veins. The barracks were his sanctuary. The one place he could fucking breathe without the refined bullshit of the palace proper. Plus, by this time of day, they were bound to have women and booze in no short supply.

And after that piss-poor excuse of a dinner? He’d take either.

Both, preferably.

But as his mother looped her arm with his and guided him back into the palace, that budding hope withered.

She looked up at him with feigned sadness gleaming in her eyes and said, “Come and have a drink with your poor mother. I haven’t seen you in weeks .”

Mikael sighed and followed his mother back through the halls and corridors, up the main staircase and to the residential wing—right past the door that he hoped the miserable Rhodea woman was having an awful time behind—and into his parents’ suite.

His mother was quick to pour them each a generous glass of red wine and drag him straight onto the sprawling terrace. Even though the rain had stopped some few hours ago, dampness clung to the cool night air, and Mikael was grateful all the braziers were lit.

But before his damn ass even made full contact with the chair his mother led him to, she had questions. For being a woman who usually had little concern with day-to-day military operations, she had a sudden vested interest in how the training exercise went.

How did the guards perform at their drills?

Who was promising? Who wasn’t?

Did they have any injuries?

How was the weather?

Even though she went on and on , her questions were simple enough to field after the three damn weeks cooped up at their mountain base. He knew, though, that an interest in his duties as commander was not why she guilted him into coming here.

His mother had taken a healthy sip of her wine and soaked in a moment of silence before she turned to him and asked, “What happened with Cyril at dinner?”

And just like that, there it was—her ulterior motive.

“What do you mean?”

He settled back in his chair, the picture of casual ease.

Runa raised her brow at him.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice she looked upset, and I know Reyna certainly wasn’t responsible for it. So I’ll ask you again, my prickly son, what happened with Cyril?”

Mikael had two options here.

He could give his mother the runaround and feign ignorance in hopes she would eventually fold, but that could take hours. Or he could endure her wrath now and get it all over with.

He didn’t feel like waiting.

“She refused to be cordial and thought it was appropriate to insinuate something was lacking about our military intelligence.”

Runa’s eyes flared as she bit out, “ Mikael , what did you say to her?”

“I told her what Ezra’s briefing said about her.”

Mikael shrugged. Simple, really.

“Which was…”

“That her parents are dead and that she is an unremarkable person.”

“ Mikael ,” his mother hissed. Her chair scraped on the stone tile as she pushed it back and started pacing. “What in the hells compelled you to do that?!”

“The woman is abrasive and rude.”

“ Good gods , so are you!” She set a hand on her hip and pinched her brow. A groan of exasperation left her. “Gods forbid a woman doesn’t throw herself at you the moment she meets you…”

Now it was Mikael's turn to stand.

He gripped the back of his chair with one hand and pointed the other back inside. “So that miserable woman gets to show up and be rude in our home, but I’m the one—”

Runa set her hand over his and lowered it.

“Be patient with her, Mika,” she said in a soft, near pleading tone, that biting edge nowhere to be found. “Cyril is far from home and has had an…unusual upbringing. I…I think she could use a friend.”

Mikael barked a laugh.

“You cannot be serious…”

“I am.” The look she leveled at him spoke volumes to the truth of that. “In fact, the training of the new guard starts soon, doesn’t it? Invite her to join you for some of it.”

This had to be a joke.

“My last statement stands. She”—he gestured vaguely inside again—“does not belong anywhere near the training grounds.”

“An entire guild of rogues raised her, Mikael. There is nowhere better for her to be than there. And I don’t care if Ezra’s briefing said she was unremarkable. I think you’ll find she is anything but.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. Arguing with his mother was always so fucking fruitless.

“Would you prefer I run it by your father first, get his thoughts on the matter?”

Not a question, but a threat under a thin veil.

Lars rarely gave two shits about what Mikael did, or about his existence at all, unless word made it back to his father that he had done something unfavorable. Then there was some sort of fresh hell to pay.

“No, gods , please do not,” Mikael groaned.

He walked over towards the terrace’s edge, running his hands on the polished moonstone cap of the railing. He just needed a second to think, and the cool night air was settling.

His mother followed a few moments behind him. “Well?”

He eyed her reluctantly.

“It’s not like I have a choice, do I?”

Her silence served as confirmation.

“Against my better judgment, I’ll invite her. But if you expect me to go knocking on her door now...” Mikael did not need a repeat of tonight anytime soon.

“No, no. Give her a few days to settle in and find her feet here.” Runa smiled up at him, rubbing his arm. “Thank you, my boy.”

“…Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can.”

Mikael hesitated—he had to tread lightly here. Careful words.

“Why are you so fond of her?”

It gnawed at him ever since he saw their interaction on the palace steps that afternoon, but even more so now. Not that his mother wasn’t a warm person, but this was the sort of overbearing protectiveness she usually reserved for family and not her first day meeting someone.

She opened her mouth but sighed. A sad sort of smile crept onto her lips. “A story for another day, Mika. Go to the barracks, have your fun.”

Despite the precisely nothing his mother did to quell his unease, Mikael did not need to be told twice. He drained his glass, kissed his mother on the cheek, and he was gone .