Page 80 of Unravelled

Days passed in a blur, each one thick with tension Mira could feel beneath her skin. Council meetings stretched for hours, exhausting, careful games of veiled words and shifting alliances. Every sentence was a blade, every agreement a trap waiting to be sprung.

She had stepped into a political minefield, and Asric was always watching.

Always listening. His gaze followed her like a shadow, sharp and silent, as though waiting for her to slip.

She chose her words with precision, spoke less than she wanted.

The chamber held too many smiles that didn’t reach the eyes, too many glances that passed between lords with histories she wasn’t aware of.

And in every one of them, the question lingered, who was waiting for her to fail?

Grain caravans made it to the starving towns along the western roads.

Reinforcements reached outposts long forgotten by the palace.

Medical tents were raised in city squares, and wounded people finally received the care they needed.

The relief was far from complete, but still welcome.

For the first time in months, the outlying towns had hope.

But here, in the marble halls of power, every victory tasted faintly of ash.

During the council sessions Ren led with confidence, with purpose. He carried the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders and did not falter, did not flinch under pressure. He moved through the room, a king in waiting, unshaken by opposition.

Danlea, her calm, sharp presence held the room together. Where others attempted to indulge their own interests, Danlea listened. Considered. Yet, even with them at the helm, the council was an endless battle.

Every session followed the same path. Mira sat through yet another round of nobles bickering over how much aid to divert from the palace.

The same arguments circled endlessly, loud but aimless.

As always, the meeting dragged until Ren finally called it to an end with small compromises.

The council would disperse in familiar clusters, murmuring to one another.

Already laying the groundwork for their next round of posturing and quiet scheming.

And every night, without fail, Ren came to her.

Long after the palace had quieted and the halls emptied of attendants and guards, Mira would hear the soft click of her window opening.

The sound of his boots on the stone, the gentle creak of the sill, had become a ritual for them both.

He would slip through the darkness, silent and certain, and Mira would already be waiting, half-sitting in bed, the covers pooled around her legs and the candlelight casting shadows across the room.

He would sit beside her, sometimes taking her hand, sometimes just watching her. They spoke in whispers, voices barely audible above the soft crackle of the hearth. Words passed between them like confessions, slow and careful and wrapped in the hush of late hours.

But the space between them pulsed with unspoken grief and longing. Ren never pushed, never asked for more than she could give. He would lean in slowly, his hand brushing her jaw, his breath warm against her skin, waiting for her to meet him halfway.

When their lips met, it was never simple. Their kisses turned desperate, urgent, as if trying to outrun everything they couldn’t fix. Ren held her like she was breakable, like even in his hunger he knew where the lines were.

Mira clung to him not to invite more, but to feel safe, to feel wanted, to feel that she wasn’t alone. His mouth moved against hers like he was starving, but he never let it become more than that.

He would always leave before dawn. His warmth would linger in the bed, in the imprint of his body on the bed beside her. Every morning, he left just as the sun rose.

???

Ren’s exhale was soft, drawn from somewhere deep as Mira’s fingers traced idle lines across his bare shoulder.

His skin was warm against hers, their bodies tangled beneath the rumpled sheets, the early morning light seeping in through the narrow window and painting gold across the stone floor.

His head tilted slightly into her touch, as if drawn to her without thought.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The weight of everything, last night’s council session, the looming arrival of Kharador’s king, the endless demands of duty, lay between them like a third body.

Mira shifted closer, the slide of her thigh against his slow and deliberate.

She let her hand drift upward, threading through the dark strands of his hair.

He exhaled softly, eyes closing for a moment before he spoke. “I need to go soon. I have an early meeting with Lady Brenna to negotiate the release of more food supplies.”

Mira's brow furrowed. “Why won’t you announce your lineage?” she murmured, her fingers pausing at the base of his neck. “If you were the heir you we wouldn't need to negotiate.”

He was quiet for a moment, his hand absently curling around her hip under the blanket, grounding himself in her presence. “Because the moment I do, the questions will never stop.” His voice was rough with sleep, but steady. “Why now? Why not before? What changed?”

He turned slightly, just enough for her to see the tension behind his eyes. “And once they start asking, they’ll keep digging. And the court, would turn on me in a heartbeat. Anyone who is on our side will feel betrayed and we would have more enemies than friends.”

She frowned. “But wouldn’t it give us an opportunity to do good?”

Ren hummed quietly. The sound vibrated against herwhere their skin touched. “The crown won’t fix this,” he said, turning his face into the pillow for a moment before looking at her again. "Being king doesn’t mean they’ll trust me. I have to prove I’m worth following first."

Mira studied him, seeing past the casual tone, past the smirk that never quite reached his eyes. She saw the truth there, the fear, the exhaustion. The years of weight he carried in silence.

Slowly, she nodded. Ren’s gaze softened.

He pulled her towards him. The kiss was slow, deep, steady.

A touch that said everything he couldn’t.

She melted into him, her hand sliding across his back, her body arching instinctively closer.

The warmth between them was more than flesh, it was tethered trust.

When they broke apart, Ren rested his forehead against hers.

His voice was low, reluctant. “We need to be in the observatory soon. The King of Kharador arrives tonight.” Mira’s eyes opened slowly.

Reality crept in, cold and inevitable. She drew in a breath, steadying herself as her fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw.

“I wish you could stand with me,” he murmured. She touched his face again, brushing a thumb along his cheek.

They both knew better, the implication if she did.In the stillness, in the morning hush, they stayed there just a little longer, the only place left where they were allowed to simply be.

“I’ll be with Tharion though” Ren’s breath hitched softly at her words, and his hand, already resting against her hip beneath the blankets, curled just a little tighter.

“I know and trust him,” he said at last, voice low, threading through the hush of the morning. “I trust you.”

He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze grew steadier, the storm behind his eyes quieted by something deeper. “If it has to be anyone, I’m glad it’s him beside you.” A pause, then something half-smile, half-sigh .

Over the course of the past few days, Mira and Tharion had found a quiet friendship. They ate meals together, sometimes laughing, sometimes just passing the time. And though the loss lingered like a shadow behind them both, there was something in Tharion that had begun to return.

A little more life in the way he carried himself.

A little more light in his eyes. There was no pretense, no edges of what she had thought had once been something more.

What remained between them now was something real.

Grounded. Comforting. A new, fragile companionship not shaped by need or expectation.

Ren moved quietly, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound as he slipped from beneath the sheets.

The early light washed over the room, pale and cool, stretching long across the floor.

Mira lay still, watching him dress, memorizing the lines of his back as he fastened his belt and stepped toward the window.

Then he froze, half-cloaked in shadow and early morning mist. His shirt hung open, and his hand still rested on the windowsill, body tensed for movement.

A sound split the quiet. A slow, deliberate clap. Mira sat upright in the bed, the sheets gathering at her waist, heart thudding. The sound rose again, measured and mocking. Then a voice, smooth as oil and twice as slick.

“Well,” it drawled from the garden below, “if I’d known how early you take meetings, I might’ve made an earlier appointment.” Ren's jaw clenched.

Mira was already out of bed, yanking her robe around her shoulders as she moved to the window. Below, half-shrouded in the creeping vines and dappled morning light, was Lord Asric. He didn’t smile, not really, but the glint in his eye was worse.

“I was merely out for a morning stroll,” Asric continued, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw our Regent taking his leave through a chamber window.”

He bowed, more performance than politeness, flashing a grin that never reached his eyes. "Still clinging to old habits, are we, heartbreaker?"

Mira’s skin prickled. Her pulse thundered. Not just from fury or fear, but from the sheer brazenness of Asric.

Asric grinned, "I do belive that is Lady Solwynd's I can see. What would her bonded say, I wonder?"

Ren remained still, unmoving. Asric held up his hands in mock surrender, his smirk widening. “Do not fear young regeant. Your secret is safe with me.” His voice was smooth, almost amused, but his eyes glinted with calculation. Dangerous. “Although I do have to ask a simple favor.”

He stepped forward into the soft spill of dawn light, his gaze flicking between Mira and Ren before landing on the prince with feigned ease. “A rather small request, really.”

Ren’s jaw tightened. The air around him seemed to tighten too. Asric took another slow step as he continued casually. “I only ask that when the King of Kharador arrives, that the Mira borrows something from him.”

Mira’s brows drew together. Asric sighed, as if explaining to a dim student. “A letter. A package. He will have both, likely tucked in the inner lining of his armor. Something meant for a different set of eyes.” He smiled. “And you, my dear, have always had such quick, delicate fingers.”

Ren shifted, blocking Mira from Asric’s sight. His voice dropped, a blade drawn in the hush. “You want her to steal from a hostile king?”

Asric’s smirk never faltered. "You think The War King of the West arrives without contingencies? He’s not just here to talk. There will be something, proof of a second alliance, a threat to us. I want to see it.”

Asric’s gaze lingered on her, then slid to Ren. “Her work would be a gift from both of you” he said lightly. “For my continued silence.”

He took his time with the next words. “You and I both know that Mira is the only one who can do this without suspicion.”

“If we refuse...” Ren growled, his voice low.

Asric's smile dropped. “Secrets tend to come out when left alone too long.”

The silence that followed was taut as wire. Ren’s fists curled at his sides, his breath held in check by fury he didn’t dare unleash.

Mira spoke first. “I’ll do it,” she said, her voice low and steady.

Controlled fury simmered beneath every syllable.

Because what choice did she have? If she refused, Asric would not hesitate to act.

He wouldn’t shout her secret from the palace walls, not at first. He would whisper.

Plant doubt where it hurts the most. Let it fester.

Let it spread. To Danlea. To the council.

To the people. She would become a liability.

A traitor in the eyes of those already looking for someone to blame. And Ren, he would fall with her.

Mira’s pulse throbbed beneath her skin, her body still braced, even though she stood perfectly still. This wasn’t a choice. It was a trap disguised as diplomacy. She knew that. So did he. But better her hands than Ren’s name.

Better to give Asric what he wanted than risk the avalanche he’d already begun to loosen.

Asric’s grin widened, full of triumph. “Good.”

He turned, bowed with mock grace, and began to stroll through the garden. But just before he disappeared behind the hedge, he glanced back. “Oh, and Mira?” he called softly. “Try not to get caught.”