Page 2 of Unravelled

Mira

The great hall stretched before Mira. A space so vast and elegant it seemed to hold echoes of the past within its stone floor.

It was her favorite room in the palace, a place where history and grandeur intertwined.

The ancestors had crafted the hall with intention.

Long and open, its sheer size lending itself equally to grand balls and solemn ceremonies.

At the far end, above the dais, five towering stone arches framed magnificent stained-glass windows.

As the summer sun spilled through the glass, the room bloomed into life. Ruby, gold, and sapphire dancing across the stone. Each window was a masterpiece in its own right, depicting the legendary navigators who had guided their ancestors to safety in ages long past.

There was Kharad and his silver sword, Drala with her hand outstretched, Lyren under the waves, Myrran with her frosted eyes. But in the center window stood Bharas, the kingdom of Bharalyn’s namesake, portrayed with a heart of flame in the dark.

Mira’s gaze lingered on Bharas. The dark and grey glass depicted him kneeling, hands outstretched, with a radiant red glow at the center of his chest. She had often visited this room to admire how the streams of sunlight made his heart seem alive, flickering and shifting, as if truly ablaze.

It was a moment frozen in time, showing him at his most distraught, burning with everything he had sacrificed and left behind for her ancestors. A testament to his ultimate duty.

A sharp cough interrupted her thoughts.

Mira blinked and looked over towards the sound. Cleric Perrin stood nearby, waiting. A woman in her mid-thirties, composed and steady, with the presence that quiets a room without asking.

Her white robes were simple but finely made, flowing in clean lines that spoke of ritual and reverence.

She measured each movement, as if bearing the weight of tradition and memory.

She hid her hair beneath a ceremonial headdress.

An ivory silk veil, sheer yet dignified, embroidered with silver threads in the shape of ancient sigils and soft celestial curves.

Tiny crystal beads lined the hem, catching the light with each breath she took.

Mira drew in a steadying breath and stepped forward, the black folds of her gown swirling softly at her feet. She came to stand beside Torvyn, their mirrored auburn hair a clear echo of their mother’s. His was slicked back with ceremonial precision, while hers fell in waves.

Torvyn wore deep crimson and silver robes, cut to reveal his broad chest and shoulders.

He was regal, imposing, a figure carved for command.

Yet Mira knew better. Beneath the sharp lines of his face lived a gentleness, a steady warmth he shared with everyone.

She met her brother’s gaze for a brief, grounding moment, before turning to face the crowd, the weight of tradition settling over her like a second cloak.

With a steady voice, she declared for all those gathered in the hall, “I have seen this pair and know they are as one.” Perrin nodded, her voice solemn as she addressed the couple.

“Torvyn and Branh, you are both past your twenty-seventh year, and so I ask this of you in earnest. You enter this bond knowing you cannot break it, you cannot escape it, it will be with you always. This bond will irrevocably link you as one. Not even in death will this bond break. In the eyes of the Navigators, you will be one soul, in two parts.”

Torvyn took Branh’s hands, his movements slow and measured, a calmness radiating from him that Mira had never seen before.

In this moment, standing with Branh, he seemed unshaken, at peace in a way that felt brand new.

Branh, shorter and stockier than Torvyn, stood solidly at his side.

His blonde hair caught the light, and his presence was a steady contrast to Torvyn’s imposing stature.

They had grown up together, first as companions, now as betrothed. Their bond, built on years of laughter and shared silence, showed in the way their voices rang out together. Clear and resolute.

“We do.”

Torvyn smiled softly, his gaze fixed on Branh as if nothing else existed. Slowly, he leaned forward and Branh met him halfway. Their kiss was tender, yet filled with the unspoken promise of their bond. Unshakable, eternal.

For a moment, the crowd seemed to hold its breath. Mira glanced at the empty seat the Queen would have occupied. She shifted her gaze to Caelric, the Crowned Betrothed. His head lulled down, just slightly. She wasn’t sure if it was a nod of acknowledgment, or a quiet slump of grief?

Perrin stepped forward with purpose, her voice a calm current guiding the moment back to the ceremony. “We are witness,” she said. “And the bond is sealed.”

A roar of celebration filled the hall. Voices echoed against the marble walls as the crowd cheered.

Torvyn pulled back and took Branh into the center of the great hall.

The hall’s edge held a feast, its tables laden with food and drink.

Somewhere above, music played, filling the air with a lilting melody.

As the crowd dispersed into merriment, Mira watched them dance and smiled.

They looked so in love, moving as though the rest of the world had melted away.

Mira lingered for a moment, watching them, then turned toward the feast.

“Mira!” a voice called from across the room. “Come sit with us!” She turned to see Lady Elendra waving her over to her small group.

A confection of glittering sheer fabric, more suggestion than substance, draped the plump, middle-aged woman.

The gown hugged her curves with bold confidence, its delicate silk strategically placed to maintain a semblance of modesty.

Jewels adorned her neck, wrists, and ears, catching the glow of the chandeliers with every subtle movement.

Beneath layers of silk and jewels, Elendra, known for her sharp wit and manipulative charm, was the court’s most cunning collector of secrets. She could disarmed even the most guarded, and by the time they realized how effortlessly she had drawn their confessions, it was already far too late.

Mira smiled and drifted towards her as she wove between twirling couples and the flutters of velvet and satin. Laughter mingled with the soft swell of string music, sunlight catching in the crystal chandeliers above.

She approached a velvet-cushioned alcove near the towering windows, where Lady Elendra lounged like a cat at ease. With a graceful dip, Mira settled beside her on a plush seat, the scent of rosewater and spiced wine lingering in the air between them.

"Poor thing," Elendra cooed, lightly patting Mira’s hand. “Is it strange, watching love bloom again when yours was so tragically pruned from your memory?”

Mira resisted the urge to sigh. She knew this game too well. Elendra’s velvet-tongued questions, dipped in honey and sharpened with intent.

Since her own bonding a year ago, she’d learned to deflect, to wear the mask the court expected. A scandal, they had called it. Whispers still clung to their names like perfume.

She had been just twenty-two, too young by tradition, and far too young to convince a cleric to perform the bonding. And yet, somehow, they had done it. Bound without a navigator's witness. She turned to Elendra with a polite smile, her voice calm but carefully measured .

“If you’re looking for another scandal from me, Lady Elendra, I’m afraid I’m retired.” Mira smiled as her gaze drifted across the room to where Torvyn and Branh stood, laughing together in the center of the hall.

They really looked like they belonged together, their bond natural and unshakable. A pang of grief tightened her chest, sharp and undeniable. “Besides, today is about them, not about what I can and can not remember.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Lady Elendra said with a feigned tone of reverence, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her goblet. “How could anyone do something so sacred without a sacred witness? No one’s quite figured it out.”

Her sharp eyes, however, glinted with curiosity. “And the late Queen, Navigators guide her home, hiding both of your memories of the ceremony ... harsh, even by her standards.”

She leaned forward then, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But you must remember something. Indulge us.” Her voice was velvet, but Mira felt every syllable like a needle.

Mira’s lips slipped into a sly smile. “Tharion and I have always been... resourceful. But if we shared our secrets, Cleric Perrin would be confined to her study, with nothing to do all day.”

Elendra laughed, and she continued, “But I will admit, Tharion has his way of keeping things... interesting.” Mira let the words hang, vague enough to tantalize, knowing full well how much Elendra enjoyed filling in the gaps.

But what they hadn’t shared, what they didn’t dare speak aloud, was that Queen Sarelle’s punishment had dulled more than just the memory of their bonding.

She had hidden pieces of them, too. Stolen the fragments of their love, their laughter, their quiet moments.

No warmth in the touch, no color in the scene.

Mira’s thoughts drifted back to the story of how they met.

In the palace's tree gardens. How they had crossed paths again over the following years, drawing together until they finally gave in. After that they couldn’t keep away from each other.

Courting in secret until they bonded to each other, heart and soul.

Just the hollow facts, stripped of feeling.

“Oh, Mira, you are wicked.” Lady Elendra turned to her group, “But I wouldn’t expect anything less from a former Royal Guard” Mira’s answer had satisfied the woman’s appetite, for now. It would be more than enough.

By morning, the court would be aflame with whispers of how she and Tharion had spent their first year as bonded betrothed. Wildfire had nothing on Elendra’s brand of rumor.