Page 88 of Unravelled

Mira tilted her head, her focus sharpening.

Ren felt it, the flicker of her mind piecing something together.

The way her amusement faded into something more thoughtful, more searching.

Her gaze flicked between the two men, the same dark hair, the same strong jawline.

Then her eyes trailed lower, settling on Caelric’s eyes. Deep brown.

Ren didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He felt her confusion spike. A pause. A hesitation. Then, she turned to him.She inhaled sharply, her brows knitting together.

"Your eyes," she murmured.

Ren said nothing. Waiting. Her breath came shallower now. Ren felt the first hints of uncertainty stir through her. She wasn’t afraid. Not yet. But something inside her was beginning to shift. "You must have gotten them from your mother."

Ren nodded once, slowly. "I did."

Mira’s brows drew together, her gaze snapping back to the painting. To Sarelle. To her eyes. Ren felt it before she gasped. The sharp, splintering crack of understanding breaking open inside her.

Her entire body went still. Didn’t move.

Shock slammed into her. Ren felt it hit him like a punch to the ribs.

A sharp inhale, a staggered heartbeat. A tidal wave of realization, crashing all at once.

Her hand gripped her own wrist too tightly, as if she needed something to anchor her.

Something real. She turned to him, lips parting, but no words came.

Ren only held her gaze. Steady. Unwavering.

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

Ren let her sit with it. Let her feel it, all of it. Because he knew what came next. The questions. The doubt. The why. Finally, Mira exhaled shakily.

"Who else knows?" she asked, voice careful.

Ren’s jaw flexed. He had never spoken this aloud. Not like this. Not to anyone outside the family.

"Aside from my parents," he said, voice even. "And Tharion?" His green eyes locked onto hers. "Nobody."

Mira stilled. A fresh wave of emotion surged through her, shock, still. Disbelief. But beneath it, something else. Something deeper. Her breath hitched.

"Why?" she whispered.

Ren’s throat tightened. The truth sat heavy on his tongue. He looked back at the portrait, the careful deception painted for the court. At the woman who had risked everything to keep him safe.

"Because if the kingdoms knew who I really was, " His gaze flicked back to Mira, to the way she watched him now, eyes searching, wide.

"It would mean my life forfeited, and the kingdom’s alliances would never recover."

Mira’s lips parted slightly. "What do you mean?"

Ren exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders against the cold stone. "My mother was never meant to marry my father," he began.

Mira said nothing, her expression tight. Waiting. Bracing.

"She was second in line for the throne," Ren continued. "A princess meant for a political alliance. From the moment she was born, she was promised to another, a prince from another kingdom. One who would strengthen our trade, secure our borders, and ensure peace between our people."

Mira’s fingers curled slightly. "But she didn’t marry him."

Ren shook his head. "No. Because she loved someone else." Mira inhaled sharply.

"She was sent to his kingdom every year," Ren said. "Almost three months at a time, starting when she was fifteen. The prince was kind. Patient. He tried, Mira. He tried to make her happy.”

Mira’s breath hitched, just slightly. "but she fell in love with someone else..." Mira swallowed.

"Not the prince," Ren said, voice softer now. "An acolyte apprentice."

Mira stiffened. "He wasn’t meant for the crown. He wasn’t meant for anything more than a priest’s fate. But she saw him, and he saw her. And that was it."

Ren watched as realization flickered in Mira’s expression, as she began to understand. "They ran," he whispered. "For weeks. Searching for someone who would perform the bond. But no one would." Mira’s fingers trembled.

"And then her brother died," Ren said. "And she had no choice but to return."

"The neighbouring kingdom had been outraged. Humiliated that their prince had been rejected for a nameless acolyte." Ren’s voice darkened. "So she bargained."

Mira’s posture tightened. "With her intended." Ren nodded.

"It was the only way to save the kingdom’s honor. But if a new price is named and accepted..."

"The contract remains intact," Mira whispered.

Ren’s jaw tightened. A long pause. Then, Mira asked, already knowing the answer. "What was the price?"

Ren hesitated only for a moment before speaking. "Their firstborn son."

???

The great hall was bathed in opulence. Golden chandeliers hung high above the marble floors, their candlelight flickering across rich, silken banners draped along the towering columns.

The scent of honeyed wine and spiced meats filled the air, mingling with the soft, breathy hum of courtly whispers.

Ren stood at the base of the throne, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of expectation.

Tonight, Ren was the subject of those whispers.

The bastard prince. Unworthy. Illegitimate.

Not a ruler. Hundreds of courtiers, nobles, and dignitaries filled the ballroom, their attention pinned on the dais. To him.

The lie had been whispered for years, woven carefully into the fabric of the kingdom’s politics. And if the court knew the truth? Alliances would fracture. So they kept him hidden in plain sight. Raised in shadows, kept just close enough to be useful, just far enough to be ignored.

Sarelle sat upon the dais, her crown glinting under the glow of the chandeliers, her expression calm, poised, but her eyes watched everything. Beside her, King Caelric sat forward, his expression calm, composed.

Her voice rang clear. "Tonight, before the eyes of the court, we present our Prince."

Not an heir. Not the future king. Simply prince.

Ren kept his face impassive. Sarelle’s eyes swept the gathered nobles, commanding absolute attention.

This was her declaration. Not that Ren was her son.

Not that he was the future. But he was a piece on the board.

And tonight, she would decide how he played.

But the moment the herald’s voice rang out, the moment Ren’s name was announced before the entire court, he felt the weight of it.

Excited murmurs rose, whispers darting through the ranks of noble families, daughters straightening, mothers exchanging eager glances.

A public display. A performance for the court.

Ren’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into fists behind his back. But before he could even swallow his irritation, he felt her. A sharp, unexpected pull beneath his ribs. It wasn’t the usual tether he had, the steady ache of knowing Mira was near.

This was sharper. Hotter. Jealousy. Not his. Hers. He didn’t dare turn his head to find her. Didn’t have to. He could feel her watching. His pulse pounded against his throat. A small, dark thrill unfurled in his chest. Good. She was just as obsessed as he was.

He took a step forward, bowing towards Sarelle just enough to acknowledge the order. "As you command, Your Majesty."

Sarelle’s smile sharpened. The music began. A noblewoman stepped forward. Lady Evelyne. Golden-haired, meticulously trained in poise and charm.

She curtsied, a perfectly measured tilt of her head. "Your Highness."

Ren offered his hand, forcing himself to keep his movements controlled, unhurried. "Lady Evelyne."

Their hands barely brushed before she set her other against his shoulder, and they began to move. She smelled of roses and something overly sweet, and her tone was carefully light.

"I heard you were raised with warriors."

"You heard correctly."

"How thrilling. A prince with a sword."

Ren bit back the urge to snap back with a sarcastic comment. Instead, he spun her precisely, politely.

"Do you enjoy dancing, my lord?"

"Not particularly." Her perfectly rehearsed laugh grated on his nerves.

"Then I shall consider myself honored that you suffer through it for me."

She shouldn’t. Because across the room, he felt it again.

A flare of heat. Mira. Her emotions lashed against his own, an unspoken protest buried beneath the fury.

He risked a glance. She stood on the far side of the ballroom, dressed in soft blue, the fabric shifting like water with every movement.

Her dark hair was swept back, exposing the delicate line of her throat.

She was stunning. And worse, untouchable for now.

Ren’s stomach twisted. Tonight, he was meant to be on display, a prize to be won. The song ended. He bowed, dismissing Evelyne with effortless ease before another woman replaced her. Another noble. Another performance.

"Prince Ren," the young women greeted with a smile, her father lingering near the dais, watching intently.

"Lady Sienna." He held his hand, despite the wave of jealousy. She took it.

"You’re much more graceful than I expected," she mused.

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" he asked.

"It is meant to be an observation." she quipped back.

"Noted," he murmured.

Her fingers brushed his shoulder, her smile dipping into something bold, suggestive. The touch was light, meant to entice, to tempt. But Ren felt nothing. Mira’s emotions crashing into his own through the bond, held his attention. Wild, hot and furious.

Ren barely resisted the urge to smirk, but he felt her simmering from across the ballroom. Her emotions stirred something in him, fierce and electric, as if the storm had seeded itself in his own chest. He relished it, even if she didn’t know he could.

His dance partner said something else, something flirtatious, something he didn’t care to hear. He didn’t answer.