Page 20 of Unravelled
For a heartbeat, she let herself believe he might meet her there, might remember something, feel something. The world held its breath around them.
But there was nothing in return. The touch was only skin-to-skin. She felt no weight, tug, or sensation. He didn’t pull away. His mouth was warm but unmoving, his body still as carved stone.
Mira pulled back slightly, blinking. Confusion swept through her like ice. She’d expected something. Anything. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. The silence between them stretched.
Frustration swelled inside her, pressing against her ribs, curling hot in her chest. Her throat ached with the sting of embarrassment.
It felt like a rejection. Worse, like erasure.
Like she'd reached for something she thought was there and found only emptiness.
Mira whipped around to face the front, her hands clenched in her lap.
Silence dragged between them. Heavy. Suffocating.
She turned, sharp and sudden, hoping to distract them both.“Are your memories returning?” she asked. Tharion blinked once.
His expression didn’t change. “It’s not that simple.”
“That’s not an answer.” His jaw tightened. Just slightly.
“It’s the only one I have, Mira.” Something in his tone, flat, steady, weary, made her anger roar back to life. She swung her leg over the saddle and slid down, her boots landing softly on the packed earth.
He called out, “Mira…”
“I can walk, carry someone who can’t,” she snapped, the words quick and hard.
She didn’t look at him. Instead, she stepped forward and raised a hand toward a rider near them.
Within moments, someone else had taken her place on Tharion’s horse without question or fuss.
She didn’t look back. Not when she heard the subtle shift of his weight in the saddle.
Not when she felt the heat of his gaze press between her shoulder blades like a question left unspoken.
She kept walking, despite the pain in her side.
?? ?
The road stretched before her throughout the day of travel.
Winding through fields that should have been bursting with life.
Past villages that should have been filled with voices, with laughter, with people.
But Mira walked in silence, her boots kicking up dust from a path that had seen too many leave and too few return.
The land had not been burned. No scars of war marked the soil, no remnants of battle lingered in the air.
And yet, the damage was there, etched into the wilted crops, the cracked earth, the abandoned homes with shattered windows and doors left hanging open like silent screams. The once-rich soil had turned brittle, the fields now nothing more than skeletons of what they were.
In the distance, the palace and surrounding city remained untouched.
The towering spires gleamed in the light of the setting sun, banners of gold and ivory catching the wind like delicate things that had never known hardship.
Even from afar, she could see the intricate embroidery shimmering along their edges.
Each thread woven with wealth, with indulgence.
The palace walls, carved from pale stone and inlaid with veins of lapis and quartz, glowed as if they had captured the last remnants of daylight.
Pristine, whole, unscathed by the suffering that occurred just beyond their reach.
Mira did not see any of it the way she once had. Not after what she had seen. The villages of hollow-eyed children, the fields that yielded nothing. A resistance that fought not for victory, but for change. And yet, here, the palace stood, unmoving, unwavering, wasteful.
Perfumed air curled from the city gates as they approached.
Thick with jasmine, honeyed wine, and incense.
She could hear the fountains before she saw them, their crystalline waters spilling endlessly into sculpted basins adorned with images and statues of Navigators.
Symbols of wisdom. Of peace. A laugh almost slipped from her lips.
Footsteps sounded beside her, slow and careful. Tharion moved to her side.
"Not everyone believes a ruler should live in luxury while their people suffer.
" Mira didn’t respond. The anger in her chest hadn't left, it just found a new target, coiling beneath her ribs like a blade half-drawn.
Her gaze swept the palace walls, the glittering halls, the lavish banners fluttering in the warm breeze.
All of it built on the backs of people who had nothing.
All of it flaunted without thought, without shame.
Her rage burned hotter now, cleaner. It wasn't just the secrets, the betrayals. It was the sheer waste. The carelessness. The way the nobility treated survival like a game they had already won.
“Then let’s give the ruler a reason to pay attention.” Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.
She turned her head, watching him through the haze of incense and evening light.
Tharion held her gaze for a breath longer, then nodded, just once.
Quiet. Certain. He turned and moved ahead, weaving through the slow-moving column of riders and wagons, his stride purposeful as he made his way toward the stables beyond the gates.
Mira watched him go, the distance growing between them again, not out of anger this time, but necessity.
Mira’s steps were slow as she moved through the grand halls of the palace, exhaustion creeping into her bones.
The polished floors gleamed under the soft glow of candlelight, the distant hum of stringed instruments practised.
Her fingers brushed against the stone as she walked, grounding herself against the reality of it all, the stark contrast between her and what lay beyond the gates.
A memory surged forward, unbidden, sharp and searing, cutting through the exhaustion that clung to her limbs.
It struck her like the lingering warmth of a dying fire, familiar, intoxicating, dangerous.
???
One year ago
The scent of spiced mead and salt filled the air, mingling with bursts of laughter and the steady hum of conversation.
Lanterns flickered against the walls, casting everything in a golden haze, though maybe that was just the drink settling in.
Their corner booth, half-hidden from the chaos of the main room, had seen countless nights like this. Debate and drink.
“The way Dralis treats its fishing towns, the way the wealth from their catch never seems to make it back to the people hauling the nets, is a disaster waiting to happen.” Mira leaned forward, tapping her fingers against the table for emphasis, conviction slurring slightly with drink.
“If we keep pretending, this isn’t a problem, refusing to negotiate fair trade, the harbors will fall apart. And when that happens, guess what? Everyone loses. Trade benefits everyone.”
Across the table, a cup tilted, mead sloshing dangerously close to the rim, nearly spilling onto an already drunk companion.
“Maybe,” came the lazy response, voice smooth, amused. “Still doesn’t mean it has to be our problem.”
A pause, then a slow, tease, “Bharalyn thrives because it doesn’t get tangled in other kingdoms’ affairs.”
Mira scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You cannot seriously believe that.” Her hand swept in a grand gesture, too grand, sending a half-finished drink dangerously close to toppling.
“These people, our ancestors’ people, deserve better! They should be able to sell their fish for a fair price! FAIR. PRICE.”
Another wide sweep of her arm, nearly knocking over a candle this time. “Not get scraps while some fancy bastards swim, swim, in their profits like smug little fish kings!” She paused, frowning. “Wait. Do fish have kings?”
A loud thunk as a cup slammed onto the table. A slow, wicked grin followed. “You know what I care about?” A hand clapped to a chest, fingers splayed dramatically. “Getting more mead before you convince me to overthrow the fish monarchy.”
“I would never. For I Am a Fish King Loyalist!”
With great drunken conviction, a fist was raised. “Fish King! Fish King! Fish King!” A sudden tilt, a hushed, conspiratorial whisper breathed against Mira’s ear. “But… are there fish kings?”
Another gaze flicked to her, full of mischief, urging her on, daring her to take it further. Mira smirked, locking eyes.
“If so…” she mused, leaning in, voice heavy with conspiracy. “They must be stopped.” A spark of inspiration flared, eyes widening, the fire of a grand mission taking hold. A finger jabbed toward nothing in particular.
“That’s it. I’ll find him. I will find the Fish King… and I will steal his mead.” A pause, a slow, knowing nod. “Because you know he’s hoarding the good stuff.”
And then, with all the conviction of a drunken hero, one of them pushed to his feet, swaying slightly before straightening and marching toward the bar, half-shouting, “Fish King! Show yourself, you fishy coward!” Laughter, low and warm, curled around her.
A shift. A change in the air. The firelight flickered, shadows stretching, twisting as something unspoken crept between them. A voice, low, edged with need.
“You get this fire in your eyes when you argue.” A pause, a breath, hot and deliberate. “It's addictive.” A beat. A glance, closer now. “Navigators, I need to touch you.”
A slow drag of lips against her neck. A sharp inhale.
Fingertips tracing over the fabric, up her thigh, teasing, unhurried.
The scandalous slit of her black dress, the one they loved, had already ridden up around her legs, granting easy access.
A soft, breathy sound escaped her as she shifted, hips pressing instinctively into the touch .
Another hand, warm, curved around her back, pulling her closer, fingers skimming over the bare skin.
Hot breath at her ear, voice thick with hunger.
“I adore you, Mira… particularly with you in my lap.” She felt his fingers slide inside her as she gasped.
She couldn't help clamping down, nails digging into his arms. Her gaze flicked toward the crowd, toward the oblivious revelers just feet away.
“We’re not alone,” she whispered, breathless, a warning laced in her voice. A quiet chuckle, sinful, unrepentant.
“They can’t see us,” came the response, low, teasing, hungry. Hands tightened at her hips, holding her in place. “But if they could?” A slow thrust, a deliberate drag of sensation. “Let them watch.”
Heat shot through her, spiraling, unrelenting. She let her head fall back against a shoulder, breath catching in a soft, helpless sound. A mouth ghosted against her throat. A deep, knowing chuckle. The words purred against her skin.
“Do you need more?” Her answer was a shuddering gasp, fingers grasping at the fabric of someone’s tunic. Desperate, needy. The hand on her back shifted and she was pulled fully into a lap, as his fingers leisurely pumped into her.
Lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Beg Mira....” came the demand, dark and dangerous. Pleasure was building rapidly. “I'll give you want you want, if you beg me...”
Her pleasure peaked through her like a storm, leaving her shaking, her body arching into him as the world blurred around her. She collapsed back against a broad chest, breath unsteady, still reeling.
A slow exhale. She felt his fingers withdrawing with deliberate care. A low, indulgent hum. Then, lips parting around slick fingers, sucking them clean with slow, sinful reverence.
???
Mira jolted, the memory clinging to her skin like a phantom touch. The warmth of her memory with Tharion vanished too quickly, leaving only the echo of their last kiss. The stillness, the unmoving weight of his lips against hers.
Tharion had wanted her once. She knew that.
Felt it in every memory, but now? Beneath the sting of rejection bloomed a deeper fear.
What if he doesn’t remember? What if the version of him she’d loved was gone?
What if the man she was seeing in fragments had been buried beneath fractured memories and the wreckage Sarelle left behind?
What if all that remained now was this silent stranger, this echo, who barely looked at her, who didn’t kiss her .
She exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her face as she finally reached their quarters. The moment she stepped inside, exhaustion crashed over her, her body aching, her mind still tangled in the web of past and present. She collapsed onto the bed, boots still on, the sheets too soft beneath her.
As she closed her eyes, Mira tried, tried, to summon a memory of Tharion.
When he had looked at her like she was the only person that mattered.
When his touch had made her feel wanted, known, loved.
But nothing came. No warmth. No clarity.
Only shadows. Ren flashed through her mind.
Unbidden. Unshakable. The ghost of him lingered in the library, where golden light spilled across ancient stone and dust danced in silence.
Where his voice had wrapped around her name.
No matter how hard she tried to force the memory she wanted, all she could see was Ren.