Page 129 of Unravelled
His breath was warm against her ear, his voice dark with amusement. "You will make the perfect assassin."
Mira stilled. The words hung between them, coiling in the air like smoke. She said nothing. She let her fingers tighten around the package, careful, measured. Then, without breaking his gaze, she tore the paper binding it. Her breath caught.
Inside lay a dagger. A Kharadorian blade, sleek, wickedly sharp, its black steel etched with intricate engravings, sigils of war and blood. It was beautiful. Deadly. A weapon meant to be used. But it wasn’t just the dagger that sent a chill down her spine.
Beneath it, nestled carefully, was a letter. Mira’s throat tightened as she reached in and unfolded the parchment. A map into the Crowned Betrothed’s chambers.
Royal wing passage. Second torch bracket marks the turn. Follow it to the servant stairs behind the tapestry. Guards rotate every 20 minutes. Avoid the main hall. Patrol sweeps there twice
The letter spelled out her task with chilling efficiency.But what gutted her wasn’t the instructions. It was the handwriting. Torvyn’s. The War King had known exactly who she was the moment she stepped into the hall. Solwynd. A name that once meant protection, now a weapon passed from dead hands.
She forced her fingers not to tremble as she folded the parchment, closing it in her palm. She looked up at the King. His eyes bore into her, waiting. Watching.She knew what he wanted. Submission. A sign of loyalty. A sign that she understood what was being asked of her. So Mira did the only thing she could. She smiled. Slow. Measured. Deceptively soft. She bowed her head, just slightly, just enough.
The words left her lips like a vow and a curse. “Long live the Crowned Betrothed”
???
She ran. The corridors of the palace blurred around her, lit only by flickering sconces and the cold kiss of moonlight spilling through the windows. She hadn't dared move until she was sure the King was gone.
Her feet hit the stone in sharp, quick beats. The package with the dagger and letter remained tight in her grip, burning against her skin. The halls were still. Silent. She didn’t stop. The moon broke fully above the palace, casting silver over the halls.
She just needed to get back to her quarters, there Tharion, Ren and her could make a plan. As she turned the final corner, reached for the door, and pushed inside.
Tharion andRen stood waiting. Mira’s breath caught, her body stilling as her eyes darted between them. Tharion stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone. But Ren, he was already looking at her. Not just looking, watching. His posture was too still, too controlled.
His gaze fell to the package in her grip. The air in the room tightened. Slowly she unwrapped it to reveal the blade. Ren’s eyes locked on it, and Tharion’s jaw tensed. is gaze flickered, not just at her, but at Ren. Something passed between them. Her mind raced. She had spent so long maneuvering through the politics of the council, navigating the shifting tides of rebellion, trying to keep her footing on a board where she was just another piece to be played.
Her fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt, the cool weight of it pressing into her palm. This wasn’t about the council. This wasn’t about the uprising. This was an assasination. The father of the man she loved. Ren. Her stomach lurched. Her fingers curled tighter. The man whose warmth she still carried in her skin. Whose arms she had woken up in just hours ago. The man she trusted. Who trusted her? And now she held a weapon meant for his bloodline.
She opened her mouth, but her voice caught, stumbling over the words she wasn’t sure how to say. “I...”
Ren crossed the room in three swift strides, his presence sudden and unwavering. His hands came up to cradle her face, warm and grounding, thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp with alarm, worry etched deep into every line of his face.
"What do they want, Mira?" he asked, voice low but urgent.
She swallowed, throat tight. “They want me to... ” She couldn’t finish. The words tasted like poison. Tharion exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Ren stepped back, hands slipping from her cheek but one resting firmly on her shoulder, anchoring her.
"It's a test of loyalty," he said.
Tharion’s expression didn’t change, but his hand extended. "Let me see the letter"
Mira hesitated, fingers clenching around the hilt like it was the only solid thing in the room. She handed the package over. He took the dagger first, turning it over in his palm. The craftsmanship was unmistakable. Then, he unfolded the letter. His eyes flickered over the words, reading in silence. His hands folded the parchment neatly, too carefully. "Asric will want to see this."
Mira’s stomach dropped. Ren didn’t answer right away. His eyes met Tharion’s across the space between them, No words. Ren turned back toward Mira.
His voice was quiet but resolute. "Take it to him."
Mira stiffened. The word left her lips before she could stop it. “Don't!” Mira swallowed.“I’ll take it.” The words came out sharp and final.
Ren studied her. Tension pulled tight across his shoulders, but instead of arguing, instead of pressing her with fear or frustration, his voice dropped, low, steady, certain.
“You owe me a favor,” he said quietly. “For that first night in the observatory.”
Mira blinked, confusion knitting across her brow. Her breath caught, chest tightening as a flash surfaced. Danlea, the golden threads, the vision.
He stepped closer “I’m asking you to come with me” His eyes searched hers, as if trying to weigh what she would give him, what she wouldn’t. “Please...” He held out his hand to her.
The word cut through her like glass, soft, simple, but threaded with everything between them. It wasn’t just a plea. It was a tether. A wave of longing crashed into her so fast it nearly knocked the breath from her. Because despite everything, despite the chaos around them, despite the weight of the dagger still clenched in her fist, despite the thousand reasons not to, she wanted to go to him.
