Page 76 of Unravelled
A gentle touch brushed against her shoulder. Mira stirred, sleep clinging to her like mist, thick and unrelenting. The warmth of it wrapped around her, heavy, pulling her back down.
But the fingers against her arm were patient, careful, coaxing her toward waking.
“Mira.” Ren’s voice, low, quiet.
She blinked, the golden light of morning filtering through her lashes. The space behind her was empty. The warmth of the night had long since faded, leaving only the cool imprint of where Ren had been.
Her fingers brushed over the sheets, finding them cold, untouched. He sat at the edge of the bed, already dressed. The deep green of his shirt caught the morning light as he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense, his posture weighted with something unspoken.
Mira sat up slowly, her body aching in places she hadn’t noticed before, exhaustion still dragging at her limbs.
She hadn’t seen the room last night, had barely noticed anything beyond the grief and weariness that had swallowed her whole. But now, with the morning sun filtering through the heavy velvet drapes, she took it in.
The room enveloped her in deep greens and muted golds, warm and rich, like the rest of Ren’s quarters.
The walls were carved dark wood, etched with twisting vines and delicate leaves, a reflection of the palace’s grandeur, but softened by his own touch.
The tall, arched windows framed the light in long golden beams, casting a quiet glow over the heavy drapes, green velvet woven with bronze threads that shimmered with the movement of the breeze.
Nature touched everything. The fixtures above, shaped like winding branches, cast shifting shadows across the ceiling, swaying gently with the morning light. But beneath the beauty, there was something still. Untouched. She exhaled slowly, dragging her gaze back to Ren.
Mira looked at Ren's face. A tiredness she knew hadn’t come from sleep alone was all over him.
“Did you sleep more than a few hours last night?” Mira asked.
Ren gave a small, sad smile but didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted slightly. His fingers brushed gently along her temple, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear with absent care.
Then his hand lingered for a breath longer than it should have. His gaze held hers.
“I’m so sorry, Mira,” he said, voice low and raw.
The words undid something in her. The tears came again, fresh and silent. Ren pulled her into him without hesitation, his arms wrapping around her as though trying to hold the pieces together himself. She buried her face into his shoulder.
He said nothing. Just held her. One hand moved slowly along her back, his touch steady, anchoring. He didn’t speak, didn’t rush her. He simply stayed, silent and solid, until her breathing slowed and the storm inside her began to quiet.
Only then did he speak softly, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm. “The council is meeting this morning.They’re gathering to discuss the attack.”
Mira nodded slowly, the words settling in her mind like stones sinking into water. “Of course, I’ll be okay on my own.” Ren paused before grimacing.
“You’re required to attend.” He said it quietly, but the weight of those words landed like a blow.
Mira froze. She turned to him, brows furrowing. Ren’s gaze had dropped. But the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders squared as if bracing for impact, told her this wasn’t just some formality.
“We need a Solwynd on the council.” he said softly, his gaze lifting to meet hers with quiet weight.
There was no pressure in the words.The only surviving representative.
She hadn’t noticed the ring in his palm until now, a simple silver ring darkened with age, engraved into the surface like a quiet vow, guiding stars.
Their points stretching outward, reaching, searching.
A solemn reminder of the family that had represented before her.
Slowly, he took her right hand, his fingers steady as he slid the ring onto her fourth finger. She swallowed hard, her chest tightening, her thoughts dragging her back, to the blood-soaked ground, to the weight of Torvyn’s body in her arms, to the moment everything had shattered.
Ren must have seen the shift in her expression because his voice softened. “Mira... ”
But she didn’t let him finish. “I’ll meet you there,” she said, the words distant. " I just...I need some time alone..." She turned away before he could say anything else, before he had to see the pain that flickered behind his eyes.
Ren nodded, “I collected some of your dresses from your quarters,” he said quietly. “They’re in the closet.”
Mira hesitated for only a second before nodding. She didn’t move as Ren stepped closer. He paused beside her, then bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She closed her eyes as he stepped into the hall.
The room was silent. She crawled beneath the blankets, pulling the covers over her head as if they could shield her from the weight of the world.
And there, in the stillness, she let it come. The sobs hit her in waves. Quiet at first, then shaking her shoulders as the pain broke free. For Torvyn. Her brother. Gone. She buried her face into the pillow and wept.
???
Mira stepped into the celestial observatory, her head high, her shoulders squared despite the weight pressing against her ribs. The vast stained-glass windows shimmered with the morning light, casting shifting patterns of color across the polished marble floor.
The last time she had been here, she had stood on the upper landing, concealed in the darkness, listening as the council debated war. That night, Torvyn’s chair had also sat empty. Now, it belonged to her.
Mira barely had time to steel herself before she felt Ren’s presence beside her. He met her just inside, his gaze sweeping over her as if ensuring she was whole, steady. Saying nothing, he extended his arm to her in quiet solidarity.
She hesitated for only a breath before placing her hand in the crook of his elbow.
The moment they stepped forward, the hum of voices quieted.
Eyes turned to her, watching, measuring.
Some were blank, impassive. Others held the weight of expectation.
A few, skepticism. She didn’t waver. Ren walked her to her seat.
To her right sat Lady Brenna Helmard. Her silver hair was twisted into a sleek coil at the nape of her neck, her deep emerald gown embroidered with the silver falcon of her house. She regarded Mira with quiet kindness.
To her left sat Lord Varian, an older man draped in deep blue robes, his red hair neatly combed back.
There was a weight to his presence, not unkind, but patient, as if waiting to see whether Mira would rise to the role now set before her.
His ringed fingers tapped idly against the polished wood, his gaze steady beneath bushy brows .
Ren pulled her chair out for her, his movements fluid, practiced, as if the act had been ingrained in him since childhood. Mira hesitated for only a fraction of a second before lowering herself into the seat, her spine straight.
She folded her hands in her lap, pressing them lightly against the fabric of her dress, forcing herself to remain composed. Ren took his place on the throne. A bell chimed. A single, resounding note that echoed through the observatory, scattering silence like shattered glass.
All rose in unison. Mira followed suit, her movements controlled, careful. The weight of tradition pressed against the room as the great doors at the far end opened, their gilded frames catching the early light.
The Crowned Betrothed entered. At his side, Danlea supported him, her presence a stark contrast to the hollow shell she guided forward.
He moved slowly, his steps dragging, his expression void of recognition. His gaze drifted across the room but landed on nothing, his eyes unfocused, seeing but not seeing. Mira felt the air in the room shift.
No one spoke. No one dared to move. Queen Danlea led him to the throne beside Ren with a grace that was both deliberate and delicate, as if the very act of guiding him was something sacred.
She was gentle, her hand firm but warm as she helped him settle into the seat that had once been meant for a ruler, now occupied by a man who barely seemed to exist. There was no resistance, no sign of acknowledgment from the Crowned Betrothed as he sat. Only emptiness.
Once he was placed, Queen Danlea lowered herself into the chair on the other side of Ren, her posture poised, composed.
A heavy silence filled the observatory, She did not rush to speak.
Instead, she took a measured breath, her silver eyes sweeping over the gathered councilors, lingering just a fraction longer on Mira.
“Last night’s attack was no mere skirmish.” Danlea’s tone was even, but there was a steel edge beneath the words. “It was calculated. Coordinated. Our enemies struck in unison, and they did so with the knowledge of our defenses.”
A murmur rippled through the room, uneasy and weighted. Lord Asric,leaned forward.
“Then the question is, who was the true orchestrator?” His voice was clipped, eyes sharp as he scanned the council. “Was it Kharador? Or was it the rebels?”
The debate ignited at once.
“The resistance does not have the skill for an attack of this scale,” Lord Varian interjected, his deep voice level despite the tension. “The force that breached the palace was trained, disciplined. That is not the hallmark of an unorganized rebellion. ”
“Then explain the uniforms” Brenna said coolly. “The insurgents bore no insignia, no unified colors. That does not scream Kharador to me.”
“Perhaps because they did not need to,” another countered. “Perhaps Kharador sought to disguise their involvement by scattering their men among the rebellion.”
A storm of voices filled the air, each councilor offering their own interpretation, each suggestion growing more urgent, more cutting.