Page 132 of Unravelled
Suddenly a pulse. A shift in the air, so strong it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. It wasn’t physical, wasn’t something he could name, but he felt it, deep in his chest, reverberating through him like an undeniable truth.
His body hesitated. His grip faltered. And that was all Tharion needed. With a sudden twist, Tharion swept Ren’s legs out from under him. The impact of his back hitting the sand sent dust rising into the air.
“Yield?” Tharion asked, extending a hand.
Ren barely heard him. His head turned instinctively, his eyes searching, pulled toward something, toward someone.
She sat in the Queen’s viewing box, golden sunlight spilling over her bare shoulders. Her hair, twisted back, left her neck exposed. She was laughing, leaning into a conversation with the young man beside her. Some young noble boy, he remembered vaguely. But Ren didn’t care about that. He only cared about her.
It had been years since he had seen her, but recognition hit him hard and fast. The tahla tree. The girl perched in the branches, grinning down at him as if she had been waiting for him to arrive. The one who had dared him to climb, who had cursed him with chaos, who had smirked as if she had already seen the rest of his life unfold before him.
???
Ren had never been nervous sneaking into the palace before. But tonight wasn’t just sneaking out. Tonight involved more than rule-breaking, evading guards, and sneaking around undetected. Tonight was different. Tonight was for her.
He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders against the stone wall outside her door, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his sleeve. He was too aware of the quiet. Too aware of the way his heartbeat wasn’t steady, the way his palms weren’t dry, the way anticipation curled like something sharp beneath his ribs.
He planned the picnic, stolen the wine, set the blanket beneath the Tahla tree. The door cracked open. Light spilled across the stone floor, casting soft gold across bare feet, the edge of a cloak, and Mira, breathless, eyes sharp.
The fabric of her light lilac dress shimmered faintly beneath the glow, soft and weightless, like it had been spun from dusk itself. It clung delicately at the shoulders before flowing in gentle folds down her frame. The color shifting witheach movement, pale violet in the dim light, almost silver where the candlelight kissed it.
Ren swallowed hard. He shouldn’t have noticed. Shouldn’t have been so damn aware of the way the fabric brushed against her as she hesitated in the doorway, the way it swayed with her shallow breaths. But he did. And that pull, that damn pull, snapped tight inside his chest.
"How do you know where I live?" she whispered. Ren smirked, the moonlight catching in his eyes.
"Did you really think I'd let you get caught sneaking out?" His voice came out lower than he intended, but he didn’t move away.
Did she really think he would wait at the tree? That he would let her slip through the halls alone. Never.
Mira exhaled sharply, glancing down the corridor before narrowing her gaze at him. "You’re not supposed to be here." Her gaze locked onto his, and for a breath, one single, stupid breath, he forgot how to move.
"Come with me" He offered his hand, not grabbing, just waiting.
She stared at it too long, his heart dropped. Then, finally, she took it.
???
Four years before
The corridors were silent. Not just quiet, but eerily empty. Beyond the palace walls, the city prepared for the festival, candles and ribbons strung between the streets, the scent of roasted almonds and warm cider carried on the crisp winter air.
But here, deep in the heart of the palace, there was no music, no laughter, no nobles whispering behind gloved hands. Just him and Mira. And the truth waiting in oil and paint. Ren led her forward, his steps deliberate, his pulse steady, but beneath it, something simmered. A quiet anticipation.
She hadn’t asked where they were going. Hadn’t questioned him when he took her hand and guided her through the deserted halls, avoiding watchful eyes of the royal guards, despite the risk of being seen.
Maybe she could feel it. The tension wound tight inside him, pressing against his ribs like a cage. Maybe she already knew that this, this moment, was different.
The outer chamber of the Great Hall loomed before them, its walls lined with portraits. Massive, gilded things, immortalized in gold and history. A dynasty captured in oil and pigment.
Mira slowed beside him, her gaze flicking across the faces, the ruling bloodline, their legacies etched into eternity. The weight of it pressed against them, heavy and inescapable.
Ren exhaled slowly, stopping before the one that mattered most. The royal portrait of King Caelric and Queen Sarelle. The perfect illusion.
Caelric stood tall, regal in dark blue and gold, his presence commanding even in stillness. His expression was composed, noble and just, a king wise beyond his years.
Beside him, Sarelle, a vision in crimson silk, her delicate features shadowed with quiet strength, her brown hair woven with gold streaks. The woman the world believed to be his stepmother.
Ren stared at the painting, taking in the familiar lines of Caelric’s jaw, the proud tilt of his chin. At Sarelle’s unreadable gaze, the one that had never wavered, never betrayed her truth. He had looked at this painting a hundred times before. But tonight, he wanted her to really see it.
