Page 121 of Unravelled
“No,” she said, then paused. “Not in the way he meant it. He thinks he’s fighting to save them.”
Ren leaned back on his hands, exhaling through his nose. “That’s what makes him dangerous.”
“I know,” Her voice cracked.
Ren was silent again. Then, gently, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. His palm was warm. They sat like that for a time. Just breath and silence, the kind that didn’t press but settled like a blanket.
Eventually, Ren stood and shrugged off his cloak, the damp fabric hitting the floor with a soft thud. He unlaced his shirt, his movements slow and tired. He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to. He lifted the covers and waited for her.
Mira slid beneath them, letting the cold be chased away by the heat of him. Ren joined her, curling around her back, one arm sliding under her waist. His other hand found hers again beneath the blankets.Slowly, Mira’s eyes drifted closed.
36
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.
