Page 31 of Unravelled

They swept onto the dance floor, the crowd parting around them in a graceful ripple.

The music shifted, slow, rich with strings, as if cued for something theatrical.

Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony.

Mira allowed herself to be led, but only just, every step calculated, every glance a weapon.

Her gown whispered against his legs with each turn, a flirtation in the fabric.

His hand settled at her waist, firm but respectful, though the heat beneath his touch was unmistakable.

She let her fingertips rest lightly on his shoulder, tracing the subtle seam of his jacket, sending a thrill through her own nerves as much as his.

The dance became more than movement, it became a narrative, one crafted from rhythm and restraint, flirtation and fire.

Their eyes locked as they turned, and in his gaze, Mira saw understanding.

They were both players. Both predators. Asric dipped her low, his breath ghosting against her ear.

“My former lover is certainly watching us now,” he said, amusement woven through his voice. “But tell me, is it our Undergaurd Steward, whom you’re trying to make jealous?”

Mira’s breath caught. She let the thrill of the moment dance in her eyes, let the intimacy of his question settle like a secret between them.

She was performing now, not just for the crowd, but for him.

Feeding his ego. Letting him believe he’d peeled back a layer that he’d seen through her.

That he’d figured her out. Asric swept her into a turn, their bodies brushing.

The music curled around them like smoke.

Mira tilted her head, lips curling. “Never mind who I’m trying to impress,” she whispered. “Let’s give him something to watch.”

Asric chuckled, low and rich, but leaned in, playing his part to perfection.

Her fingers traced along his shoulder and down his chest as he spun her again, her touch graceful, effortless.

But beneath the folds of his jacket, a subtle shift of fabric.

Apiece of parchment. There. The order.

Her fingers drifted into his jacket, closing around the letter.

Smooth. Folded tight. She moved closer to Asric, letting the moment stretch, their bodies nearly flush.

The music peaking, as she slid the letter into the folds of her gown with practiced ease.

He never noticed. Their last turn was slow, deliberate, a punctuation mark at the end of their shared sentence.

The music faded. Applause rose like mist around them.

They bowed to one another, the tension between them still humming.

Lord Asric smiled, pleased, smug, unaware.

But Mira’s heart thundered in her chest. The letter was hers now.

Mira stepped away, collecting a goblet of wine from a passing tray.

The weight of the letter tucked safely into her gown anchored her more than the drink in her hand.

She scanned the crowd with practiced ease, the soft hum of courtly chatter washing over.

She lifted the goblet to her lips, savoring the sweet, floral notes of the wine.

The warmth of the night pressed gently around her, and for the first time in what felt like hours, she let herself breathe.

Because she’d done something that mattered.

She’d helped him. Tharion might never know the cost, or the risk, but it didn’t matter. The letter was theirs now.

She felt the eyes on her still, the soft stir of whispers trailing after her and Lord Asric’s performance. But none of them mattered.

A hand closed around her wrist. Not harsh.

Not cruel. But firm enough to send a message.

Tharion. He didn’t speak. Just pulled her from the edge of the crowd with practiced precision, his grip steady, his pace sure.

Her glass slipped from her hand, hitting the marble floor with a sharp crack, shattering into silence-breaking pieces. Heads turned. Conversation faltered.

Mira stumbled once, startled by the suddenness of it, but she didn’t resist. Eyes followed them as he led her past the dancers, past the musicians, past the stares that clung to their backs like static.

He didn’t stop until they were past the marble archway.

He led her into the shadowed alcove of the garden, quiet, cool, and away from the stage the court had made of them.

The air shifted. Lanterns flickered behind the hedges.

“Are you out of your mind?” Tharion’s voice was low, not harsh, but tight with concern. A raw edge threaded through his usual calm, like a blade dulled from restraint. His expression, typically unreadable, was etched with more fear than fury.

Mira didn’t speak right away. Instead, with slow, deliberate movements, she reached into the folds of her gown. Tharion’s breath caught as her fingers withdrew the parchment. Smooth, warm from her skin, sealed with the sigil of the court. She held it out to him, eyes never leaving him.

His brows drew together, disbelief flickering across his features as he took it. His fingers brushed hers, and for a moment, he didn’t look at the letter. He looked at her. Really looked. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Mira,” he breathed, low and sharp. “You don’t know what kind of risk you took.”

She arched her brow, calm, unflinching. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

He shook his head once, the letter clenched in his hand, as though it might vanish if he loosened his grip. “He could’ve caught you. Anyone could have. You could've…”

Her gaze sharpened. “I had one chance, Tharion. One. Before they forced your hand, before you were cornered into something you couldn’t come back from.” She paused, the weight of her next words falling between them like a stone. “And I took it. For you.”

Tharion looked down at the letter again. Then at her. “You don’t have to fight my battles,” he said, the words strained, almost hollow.

“No,” Mira replied, voice quiet but unshaken, “but I will.” She let the silence hang for a moment, then added, “Asric was going to use it. To blackmail you.”

Tharion’s eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

“He wants your support at the next council meeting. He’s ready to use this as leverage.”

Tharion swore under his breath, already half-turning before stopping himself. “They’ve just called a session,” he said. “An emergency meeting. Tonight.”

Mira’s breath caught. “Tonight?”

He nodded once, sharply, already calculating. He looked at the letter again, as if it might scorch him. “I have to go,” he said, voice tightening with urgency. “I need to prepare these, send word. If I move fast, I can get ahead of whatever Asric’s planning.”

He turned, but then paused, just long enough to look back at her, his gaze softening once more. “Mira...”

She tilted her head, waiting. But he only shook his head, as if there weren’t words for what he wanted to say. Then he was gone, his cloak catching the breeze as he vanished into the shadows, the letter clutched tightly in his hand.

Mira stood motionless, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and fury. The tension in her chest twisted tighter by the second. She turned sharply, pacing the flagstones beneath her feet. The cool garden air did nothing to soothe the fire rising in her throat.

He’d take the risk, face the council, face Asric... but not with her at his side. It didn’t matter that she had the letter. That she had made this possible. The moment it was done, he took it from her hands. Again.

Her gaze lifted to the shadowed windows above.

Somewhere behind them, the council was already assembling, preparing to plot and posture behind their heavy doors and titles.

She should be in that room. She needed to be in that room.

Surely there would be something, a whisper, a name, a plan, to prove to the resistance that not all hope was lost. That someone within these walls hadn’t forgotten them.

She clenched her fists. If they wouldn’t let her, she would find another way.

A rustle stirred the hedges. Mira turned, already tensing, but the flicker of motion resolved into a familiar lean silhouette, half-cast in moonlight.

Ren stepped from the shadows like he’d always belonged to them, a lazy smile curving his lips. “Well,” he said, voice low and teasing, “that was quite the performance.”

Mira narrowed her eyes. “How long were you watching?”

“Long enough,” he drawled, stepping closer.

“You really shouldn’t be lurking in bushes,” she said.

He tilted his head, mock-injured. “Lurking? I was strategically positioned. Watching your back, in case you needed rescuing.”

“I didn’t,” she said, but her voice was softer. He caught that softness. A step closer, his tone dipping just slightly more sincere.

“I know you don't” he paused, “but still, sometimes it's good to know someone is at your back.”

Mira folded her arms, trying to steady herself. “Did you follow me just to offer commentary?”

“No,” Ren said, eyes gleaming, “I followed you because I have something you want" Mira rolled her eyes."I can get you into the council meeting.”

She blinked. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”

The grin returned, slow and sure. “I know the palace better than most. I know who’s guarding which hall, which stair creaks, and which council doors are never truly locked.”

She narrowed her eyes. "That's not what I asked"

Ren crossed his arms over his chest. "No... It's not "

“Why would you help me?” Mira asked, her voice low, edged with distrust. "What do you get out of this?"

He shrugged, every inch the image of practiced indifference. “You need to hear what they’re saying. What they’re planning.”

“And?” she asked, hearing the edge tucked behind his casual tone.

Ren looked down, just briefly, like he was choosing his words, then met her eyes again, his smile flickering, half-shadow and half dare. “And… after I get you in, you’ll owe me a debt. I won’t call it in tonight or tomorrow. But when I do, you'll do as I ask"

Her instincts bristled, but so did her curiosity. “That’s a dangerous promise to make.”

He leaned in slightly, not quite touching her, but close enough that her pulse quickened. “Not a promise,” he said softly. “A bargain.”

She studied him, every angle of that maddening, half-smiling face.

There was a catch, she was sure of it. There always was.

But something in his eyes, steady and unreadable, told her what her gut had already begun to accept: he wouldn’t harm her, not really.

Not physically. Not intentionally. There was danger in playing his game, but there was also a strange kind of safety in the rules of playing with Ren.

She didn't have time to negotiate. She needed access. And he was the only one offering it.

She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Deal.”

He extended his hand, palm open. Mira hesitated only a heartbeat before placing hers in his. His fingers curled around hers, warm and certain.

He lifted her hand slowly, deliberately, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t performative. His lips lingered just long enough for her pulse to spike, for heat to ripple up her arm and settle low in her belly.

She felt his promise in his kiss.