Page 108 of Unravelled
She had scowled. "You’re not my teacher."
“No,” he had agreed. "I’m your brother. And I refuse to let you embarrass me at court."
She had smacked his shoulder. He sighed and took her hand. They danced. No tutors, no expectations. Just him leading, and adjusting to her mistakes. Both of them moving with the music, the way they were supposed to.
By the time they had stopped, her feet ached, but she had been smiling.
“So you’re not a lost cause,” Torvyn had told her, grinning.
She had shoved him. But after that, she didn't dread dancing again.
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Eleven Years Ago
She had called it. Fair and clear. Everyone knew calling it first meant it was yours. So when Mira walked into their rooms and saw Torvyn lounging in her chair, legskicked out, book open, looking completely smug, she nearly choked on her own breath.
"That's my chair," she said, glaring.
Torvyn didn’t even glance up from the page. "Doesn’t have your name on it."
“I called it, Torvyn.” He hummed, casually turning a page.
“I don’t think calling it counts if no one else agrees to the rules.”
Mira scowled. “Everyone agrees to the rules. That’s why they’re the rules.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even pretend to care. She did the only reasonable thing. She marched across the room, grabbed the back of the chair, and tipped it.
Torvyn yelped as he tumbled to the floor, limbs and book flying in every direction.
Mira stepped over the mess, flopped into the chair, and opened her book with great satisfaction. “Called it.”
Torvyn groaned from the floor, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re a menace.”
She didn’t even look up. “And you’re in my spot.”
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Eighteen Years Ago
Mira didn't understand. She had stood in the grand hall, small and confused, as the murmurs of courtiers swelled around her.
Someone had whispered, Lady Solwynd is gone. Torvyn had stood beside her, rigid and silent.
She had tugged at his sleeve, searching his face, searching for answers. "Torvyn...?"
He had looked wrong. Too still. Too quiet. When he finally turned toward her, his eyes were red, like he was holding something inside his chest that he refused to let spill. But his hands shook. And when he stood in front of her, grasping her shoulders, his fingers trembled against her skin.
"Don't cry," he had whispered. "They’ll watch if you cry."
Mira hadn’t cried. Not then. Not until much later. Not until the hall was empty. Until Torvyn had taken her hand and led them back to their quarters, closed the door, and let himself crumble.
She had held his hand. Tight.
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