Page 47 of Unravelled

She ate with Tharion most nights, just the two of them, tucked away in quiet corners of the palace.

The conversation was soft. Comfortable, even.

He laughed sometimes, and so did she. There was warmth there.

Familiarity. A rebuilding, slow but real.

But when the meal was done, when the tea cooled in their cups and her eyes grew heavy, Tharion would thank her, and leave.

He never stayed. He hadn’t since the night in Seacliffe.

She told herself it was okay. That space was what they needed.

That healing wasn’t supposed to feel perfect.

But some nights, she didn’t sleep. A quiet war plagued her, between the safety she found with Tharion and the wildfire memory of Ren.

When she was with Tharion, she felt themmending. But with Ren, she had burned.

She didn't see Ren. He was buried behind doors now, council rooms thick with maps and murmuring voices. War tables scattered with parchment and ink, always surrounded, always busy. The weight of his Regency clung to him.

She had turned a corner and there he was, mid-conversation with an advisor.

So achingly reminiscent of that moment in the hall.

His hair was pulled back, slightly tousled from a long morning.

The scent of him hit her before he even reached her.

A warm, familiar blend of cedar and clean linen, touched with the faintest trace of ink and smoke.

Navigators, it made her heart clench. With Ren, it wasn’t echo's of almost memories. It wasn’t imagined. It unmistakably him.

And then he passed her. He didn't even glance in her direction. His eyes moved across the hallway as though she weren’t there. As if she were part of the stone. Mira stood still, the breath tight in her chest, the sunlight warming her face but not her skin.

She told herself it was for the best. That rebuilding with Tharion was her choice. She had made this choice. But Mira felt her heart and chest burst into flame in that moment.

This was what the court meant when they called him a heartbreaker.

The way he could walk by her with that same quiet intensity, like she no longer reached him at all.

As he disappeared down the corridor, swallowed by gold light and the rustle of robes, the fire bloomed wide in her chest. Even though she had made her choice.

somehow, it still felt like she was the one being left behind.

???

The evening of the Queen’s arrival settled heavily over the palace, the last light of the sun fading to a deep wash of indigo across the sky.

Lanterns had been lit in every corridor, their glow flickering softly against the stone walls.

Outside, the wind was cool, the kind that whispered of omens and turning tides.

Everyone had gathered in the great hall, pressed close beneath the vaulted ceiling.

A sense of anticipation thick in the air.

Mira stood at the front, Tharion beside her, his steady presence anchoring her in place. His hand brushed hers only briefly, a silent reassurance.

At the dais, Ren stood next to the seated Caelric, framed in the golden light of sconces.

He slumped in his throne. A silhouette carved in stillness, but beside the Betrothed’s hollow form, Ren radiated life.

He wore the formal attire of a blood-borne prince.

Deep navy regalia, almost black, with silver thread tracing the lapels and cuffs in patterns that curled like rivers or smoke.

His hair was combed back in that familiar wave, softening the stern lines of his face, though the short stubble across his jaw defied the court’s expectation of polished tradition.

Mira’s gaze lingered, helpless to look away. There was no smile on his face, only stillness and a tension she recognized as apprehension. The tower bell rang. A deep and resonant, echoing through the hall. Mira felt it in her bones. The great doors at the end of the hall creaked open.

She appeared in the threshold, bathed in the lantern light.

The Queen of Myrdathis. Tall and lithe, she moved with a grace that defied age or time.

Her hair spilled down her back in a sheet of white silk, catching the glow of the torches shimmering like starlight.

She wore a gown of silver and soft blue, translucent veils drifting around her like mist edged with silver so fine it looked like frost. With every step, her robes whispered against the polished floor.

Behind her came only a handful of attendants.

No grand entourage, no gilded procession.

Just three footmen cloaked in dusk-grey, and one silent woman in a veil of pale blue.

That was all. The hall seemed to bend around her as if a thousand had entered.

Her presence filled every space, every breath.

Like gravity or prophecy. A circlet of silver vines, set with pale stones that didn’t simply reflect light sat atop her head.

Mira watched as she approached. The queen's eyes were what silenced the breath in Mira’s throat.

Milky white. Unfocused and yet all-seeing.

And in the center of each one, a pinprick of glimmering light, like the last star before dawn.

A ripple moved through the crowd. Awe and fear.

The Queen passed down the aisle between the lines of attendants and guards, her gaze never faltering, though she looked at no one directly.

As she passed the line of clerics, Mira caught the slight dip of Cleric Perrin’s head in a gesture of reverent greeting. Behind her, the acolytes mirrored the motion, bowing in practiced unison. Not a word passed between them, but the gesture spoke volumes. Recognition. Respect.

At the dais, the Queen paused. Ren stepped forward, and Mira noted the subtle shift in him. The way he bowed low, every movement precise and reverent. Only the Crowned Betrothed stayed motionless, his eyes vacant, his body unmoving. A figurehead on a throne, alive in flesh, but hollow in soul.

Ren straightened and offered his hand. The Queen took it.

Her pale fingers slipped into his without hesitation, and Mira’s chest tightened.

A flicker of heat. Irrational. Immediate.

A spike of jealousy was so sharp it surprised her.

Because of the way Ren’s head bowed slightly when their fingers met, the care in the gesture, the quiet gravity of it.

Mira forced her shoulders still, her breath steady.

Jealousy bloomed low and mean behind her ribs.

as she watched Ren guide the Queen forward into the firelight.

For a heartbeat, her eyes met his, just over the Queen’s shoulder.

It hit her like lightning. Sharp and blinding, curling beneath her ribs and stealing the air from her lungs.

Her heart stuttered, and in the flickering hush of the firelight, she watched as a smallest smile flashed across his face.

Just as quickly, it vanished. He steeled himself, gaze shuttering, expression returning to its practiced calm.

Queen Danlea released him, then stepped into the center alone. Her gaze moved across the crowd, not skimming but seeing. As if every soul stood bare before her. When her eyes swept past Mira, it felt like being seen by something ancient.

“I am rarely among you,” she said, her voice a soft thread woven with stillness.

It was not loud. It didn’t need to be. “My place has long been with the seers, with the threads of fate that guide all kingdoms. I have stood apart, offering wisdom when asked, but rarely stepping beyond the borders of Myrdathis. But now, that must change.”

A murmur swept through the room, but it didn’t last long. Her voice carried over it, a winter wind.

“Kharador has tested you. They have cast a shadow upon Bharalyn, upon all the kingdoms.. their ambitions are a threat too great, a slight too large to be ignored.” Her tone deepened.

“Myrdathis Seers are visionaries and advisors. Our sight is not only for far-off dreams of men but also for the future of all our kingdoms. We will not stand idle while this darkness spreads. We will lend our wisdom and guidance to Bharalyn.” The words didn’t echo. They settled. Heavy. Permanent.

Ren stepped forward again, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Your words are a beacon in the shadows,” he said, his tone rich and steady.

“We are grateful for your wisdom and support. Our kingdoms have long stood as allies, but today, you have shown us that our friendship is rooted in more than tradition.” Mira watched him speak, pride blooming quietly in her chest. He turned to the gathered crowd, his voice still strong.

“Her Majesty, Queen Danela will meet with the advisory council to deliberate on our path forward.

There is much to consider, and we must ensure every step is measured and true.

In one week's time, we will continue with the veiled night celebrations, not as two kingdoms shrouded in darkness, but as allies who embrace the dawn.”

A ripple of anticipation swept through the masses.

Murmurs of excitement interwoven with nods of agreement.

Though uncertainty lingered at the edges, the promise of celebration and unity cast a warm, undeniable glow over the gathering.

And yet, beneath it all, a quiet knot tightened in Mira's chest.

What if it wasn’t enough?