Page 15 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Runa is lovely,” he continued. “She fusses endlessly over everyone. Warmer, and more free-spirited than you’d expect from her position. I just never wish to be on the receiving end of her ire.”

Dion blew out a breath, and it took effort to school the surprise in Cyril’s face. She was certain her uncle had never said so many complementary things about a single person in one go.

“And Lars, well…” Dion sighed in a foreign, wistful sort of way. “His duties don’t allow him to be as casual day-to-day, but he still detests unnecessary displays of decorum. And the man has one hells of a bawdy sense of humor once you get him liquored.”

Cyril cast him a wary, side-long glance before closing her eyes.

Dion liked these people. Truly, it seemed, and she wasn’t sure why it made her feel so uneasy.

“I’m not entirely convinced that you aren’t making this all up,” she said, and she did not need her vision to know Dion rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m flattered you think I’m that creative, kiddo, but you know as well as I do I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to. Lars and Runa are good people, and you’ll see that when you meet them and their boys.”

Cyril blinked and looked over at Dion.

“Boys? As in, more than one?”

He nodded. “Two. Both men now, I suppose. Not boys.”

For a fae couple to have even one child? A blessing. But two? Exceptionally rare, and just one of the many prices they paid for their lengthy life spans.

“And let me guess.” Cyril forced an unimpressed sigh. “They are two of the most outstanding men you’ve ever met?”

Dion laughed dryly.

“Funny, Cyr. I know it may come as a shock, but children raised by loving, level-headed parents often turn out alright.”

Of course her uncle would find a way to turn someone else's praise into a backhanded comment about her. Gods forbid they manage more than a day or two without a sharp stab of a reminder of the loving, level-headed parents she was robbed of. She was regretting this conversation already.

“Like I’d know,” Cyril muttered.

Dion ignored that.

“Astor is their oldest. Quiet, academic, well-mannered. Everything you could want in a crown prince, really. And his wife, Reyna, is much the same as…”

King. Queen. Crown prince. This all felt fucking weird.

“…and then they had Mikael. He’s a bit older than you, but I haven’t seen him since he was maybe ten or twelve. Complete opposite of Astor, though. Poor Runa couldn’t get him to sit down with a book to save her life. He was nothing but brute force…”

To hear Dion speak with such fondness for people she didn’t even know made her chest tight. And she couldn't be certain if it was that or the fact that Dion never spoke of her in such a way that made it hard to breathe.

“…Cyril, are you listening?”

Shit.

Cyril picked at her nails. “I’m just tired.”

That much was true. Heaviness tugged on every fiber of her being, but it was an excuse Dion would have no patience for. He opened his mouth—to scold her, no doubt—but Cyril cut in before he had a chance.

“You stopped going to see them all because of me?”

Dion sighed through his nose, and tension flickered in his jaw. She was treading dangerous water now, but that pull was too strong to resist.

“What are you getting at?” he asked slowly.

Bron and Ren watched them with caution from across the fire, where they had just settled onto their own bedrolls.

Just in time.