Page 84 of Unravelled

But this was different. This was fury. A fury barely held in check by protocol and presence.

He stood still, not because he lacked the will to move, but because the room itself held its breath around him.

Because he knew one wrong step now would be taken as provocation.

As a challenge. And still, his hands curled at his sides, and his gaze never left the throne.

Never left the War King. Never left Nerra.

The music resumed, the court scrambling to feign normalcy. Some nobles took to the floor, their movements a practiced distraction, though their gazes flickered toward the dais, toward the girl in the warlord’s grasp.

Another presence loomed beside her. “A pity, isn’t it?”

She didn’t startle. She had expected him coming.

Asric stood at her side, his signature smile firmly in place, but his eyes were sharp, gleaming with a slight tinge of fear.

He had seen everything, the King’s choice, the way the court had shifted, the silent battle of power that had played out before them.

And he was already making his next move.

“Dance with me.” It was not a request.

Tharion reacted instantly. “Not happening.” His voice was a low growl, his chair scraping against the floor as he turned toward Asric, shoulders tense.

Mira moved before he could finish. She placed a steadying hand on Tharion’s shoulder, feeling the tight coil of tension beneath her palm. Tharion’s head snapped toward her, his expression a storm of betrayal and warning.

Mira squeezed his shoulder gently, a silent reassurance.

This wasn’t about trust. This was about strategy.

She turned to Asric. His smirk was already waiting for her, victory flickering in his gaze.

He extended his hand, palm up, a courtly invitation wrapped in a demand.

Mira hesitated for only a heartbeat. The moment Asric pulled her onto the floor, the dance began, a slow, deliberate waltz.

“You need to find another way.” His voice was low, smooth, but the command beneath it was unmistakable.

Mira’s steps faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before she forced herself back into rhythm. “Excuse me?”

Asric twirled her effortlessly, keeping them moving in time with the music. “The plan has changed.”

She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Convenient, considering I was never given a choice in the first place.”

Asric’s fingers tightened around hers, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn.

“We are the same, you know,” he murmured, voice smooth but laced a sharpness. “Both of us are playing this game from both sides. I’m simply trying to ensure we all survive this.”

Mira held his gaze, searching for the lie in his words, for the manipulation woven between them. She let out a slow, measured breath, keeping her expression unreadable. “And yet, somehow, I seem to be the only one at risk.”

Asric’s smirk didn’t falter, but something in his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like a martyr, Mira.” He guided her into another turn, the movement precise, seamless, the illusion of an effortless courtly dance. “You chose this path the moment you chose Ren over your bonded.”

Mira shot Asric a sharp glare. He met it without flinching

“The King of Kharador is not an easy man to steal from,” Asric continued, his voice lilting, casual, as if they were discussing nothing more than the wine selection at dinner.

“His instincts are sharp. His trust is nonexistent. You were meant to distract him, like you did me, but now” Asric’s smirk was sharp, knowing.

“You’re clever, Mira. You’ll figure it out. ”

The final notes of the music faded into silence, the court offering polite applause.

Mira released his hand, stepping back, her pulse steady even as her mind raced.

She turned on her heel and walked back toward her seat.

But even as she sat, even as she reached for her glass, her mind was already working.

She needed to get close to the King of Kharador.

She needed a way in. But how did one get close to a man who trusted no one?

She glanced up at the dais, watching the War King as he lounged on his throne, his presence commanding even in stillness.

His hands were everywhere. Fingers skimming the curve of Nerra’s waist, palm resting against her thigh, his grip firm, possessive.

Nerra was scared. It was clear in the way she held herself, in the tightness of her shoulders, the stiffness of her posture.

And no one, not a single person in this damned hall was stopping it.

Her heart broke for Nerra. She set down her glass with more force than necessary, pushing to her feet before she had fully decided what she was doing.

Tharion tensed beside her. “Mira, ”

She ignored him. Her steps carried her forward, each one steady, deliberate, even as her pulse hammered against her ribs. Toward the dais.

Mira slowed her steps as she approached, taking in the careful game playing out before her. Danlea, ever poised, sat tall in her throne, her milky eyes fixed on the King, her voice cool and measured as she spoke.

"Kharador and Bharalyn have much to gain from true collaboration," Danlea said smoothly, her voice carrying through the hum of the hall.

"It would be beneficial to both of our people if we found common ground before the battlefield.

" She was trying to pull him into conversation, trying to draw his attention away from the girl on his lap.

The King barely spared her a glance. "Would it?" His tone was bored, dismissive.

Danlea’s fingers curled against the armrest of her throne. If she was irritated, she did not show it. "Trade routes could be expanded," she continued, unfazed. "You came here seeking negotiation, did you not?"

The King’s fingers idly traced the back of Nerra’s neck. "Did I?"

Ren's voice cut in, "You did, Your Majesty."

Finally, the King looked at Ren. And smirked. "Ah, the bastard prince become Regent" His voice dripped with something close to mockery. "Do you feel threatened? That I do not offer you my full attention?"

Ren’s hands curled into tight fists behind his back. "I feel nothing of the sort," he said smoothly. "Only that an ally is a valuable thing. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity before you."

The King chuckled, shaking his head. "So polite. You step mother taught you well."

Mira’s heart pounded as she stepped closer. Finally, the King’s gaze flickered toward her. And held. His expression shifted, curiosity flashing in those dark, calculating eyes.

"The lonely little Solwynd." His lips curled, something dangerously close to amusement crossing his face. "Tell me, are you here to beg for your kingdom as well?"

Mira tilted her head slightly, her voice light, casual, a sharp contrast to the tension that filled the hall. "I was under the impression this was a diplomatic affair, Your Majesty." She glanced at Nerra, and back to him."Besides, I've never begged for anything."

Danlea’s gaze snapped to her. Ren’s posture stiffened beside the dais, but it was more than tension, it was a sudden, visceral ripple of something Mira hadn’t felt from him just before. Jealousy. It rolled off him like heat, quick and unbidden. A beat of silence.

A sharp flicker of something crossed the King’s expression, a warning. Then, he laughed. A deep, rolling sound that made the room hold its breath. "You have teeth, little Solwynd," he mused. "I did wonder if I had chosen you, would you have bitten me?”

Mira tilted her head slightly, feigning consideration, before letting a slow, teasing smile curl on her lips. “Only if you had asked.”

A flicker of something dangerous crossed his face, not anger.

Interest. She held the warlord’s gaze, letting the challenge settle between them.

Mira kept her gaze steady on the King, hiding the revulsion coiling in her stomach.

The words tasted bitter on her tongue. This wasn’t flirtation. It was a strategy.

Her disgust wasn’t for herself, it was for Nerra, still perched like a trophy in the King’s lap, her spine stiff, her silence loud.

Mira’s words had been a lure, bait cast into dangerous waters.

Anything to pull his attention elsewhere.

Anything to get him to let go. She smiled again, sharper this time.

Let him look at her. Let him focus on the girl with teeth, not the one who was breaking beneath his touch.

“You would do well in my court little Solwynd, but not in my bed.” Mira refused to break eye contact, refused to be the one to look away first. He knew it. And it amused him. With a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned back against his throne, exhaling as if the evening had begun to bore him.

Without ceremony, he lifted his arm from around Nerra’s waist and pushed her to her feet. She blinked, startled for only a moment, before she scrambled away with careful poise. Mira’s breath eased ever so slightly. The warlord-king watched Nerra go, then turned his gaze back to Mira.

“I am not a monster,” he said simply, his voice devoid of its earlier mockery. “I do not make a habit of forcing women into my bed.” A pause. Then, a slow smirk. “But I do enjoy watching them panic.”

The King stood, his massive frame casting a shadow over the dais.

The hall fell silent. “I have no interest in your courtly games tonight,” the King of Kharador announced, his tone casual, almost lazy.

The words echoed in the vast hall, dismissive, unconcerned.

Then, as if diplomacy were nothing more than a tedious obligation, he continued, “We will begin your diplomacy tomorrow.”

He turned, stepping down from the dais, his movements calm, unhurried.

A ripple of unease moved through the gathered nobles, though no one spoke.

The room held its breath, waiting for the doors to close behind him.

But just before he disappeared, just before he left them to stew in their own uncertainty, He glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes drifted between Ren, Danlea and Caelric. And grinned. A slow smile, one that carried no warmth, only promise.

He walked out the doors with a slam, but his army remained.