Page 147 of Unravelled
“I love her like a sister Ren,” he said, his throat bobbing. “and I will protect her. I give you my word.”
Ren broke. His fingers tangled in Mira’s hair, mapping the curve of her cheek with aching tenderness. His forehead dropped against hers, his body shaking. Tears slipped, landing against her skin. He had spent years reaching for her. Fighting for her. Now he had to let her go.
Tharion turned to Sarelle, his voice steady despite the storm lingering behind his eyes. “Do it.”
Sarelle hesitated. Her gaze flickered back to Ren. Ren didn’t look up. He simplypressing his lips to her forehead before,finally, he nodded.
44
Ren
6 Months After
Ren had learned the contours of distance in a way he never wanted to. The aching space between them. Between what was, and what was no longer theirs. Six months of watching from afar. Mira and Tharion.
He had begged. Bargained. Raged. But no matter how many desperate prayers he whispered into the dark, nothing loosened Caelric’s hold on her. Nothing severed the chains of the illusion woven into her mind. The bond remained buried beneath the weight of his father’s will.
Ren became a shadow in the palace halls. A ghost in the corners of courtly gatherings. He memorized every moment he could steal, every glimpse of her. The way she tilted her head when she laughed. The curve of her fingers as she reached for a glass. The hush of her voice when she murmured something to Tharion.
He knew his friend did not touch her more than necessary. Knew Tharion played his part with careful distance. Knew he would never intentionally betray him. But it didn’t matter. Because to her, it was real. And that truth destroyed Ren every single night.
???
The bells tolled. Deep. Sonorous. Rolling through the palace like a coming storm. Ren froze. His pulse roared in his ears. The bells did not toll for time. Not for council members, or high priests. They tolled for rulers. Only rulers.
He ran. Through the corridors, past the startled guards who did not stop him. His feet barely touched the floor. Only one hope, impossible and wild, drove him forward. He turned the final corner, heart slamming against his ribs. The doors were open.
And inside… It was not Caelric on his deathbed. Ren’s breath left him in a broken exhale. His mother lay pale against the sheets, golden-threaded robes darkened with sweat, her chest rising and falling in erratic, failing gasps. Her lips tinged blue. Her body trembling. Ren staggered forward.
His gaze snapped to his father, standing at the foot of the bed, fists clenched, body rigid. Ren saw the flames. Not from torchlight. Not from the hearth. From him. Fire curled around Caelric’s hands. Licked up his arms. Wreathed his shoulders like a burning crown. The heat distorted the air, made it shimmer.
Ren had seen his father wield fury. Had felt the weight of his command. But this was different. This wasn’t power given. This was power unleashed. Ren stepped forward, breath ragged. “Father...”
Caelric didn’t move. The flames roared brighter, licking the ceiling. Tapestries curled and blackened. The windows shuddered in their frames. Sarelle let out a soft, broken breath. Her eyes fluttered. Just barely. Her lips parted like she might speak.
Caelric inhaled sharply. His hands trembled. One final, burning kiss. The fire surged. It exploded outward in a wave of heat and light, cracking the walls, bursting the windows into glittering shards. The torches were snuffed out. Ren threw up his arm to shield himself, staggering back. The heat was unbearable. Suffocating.
Silence. The fire did not fade. It vanished. Caelric still stood. Back straight. Shoulders square. But something was wrong. His face. His eyes. Blank. Gone.
Ren swallowed hard, stepping forward. “Father?” No answer. No movement. He was breathing, but just barely. Shallow. Catatonic. Sarelle was still.
His mother was gone. A sob rose in his throat. He forced it down. Swallowed against the grief tearing through his chest. Caelric did not move. Did not blink. Did not see.
The fire had taken something of him when it vanished. Whatever had held Caelric tethered to this world had loosened, like a long, fraying leash, and now he drifted, half here, half somewhere else. Not dead. Not alive. Suspended in the space between.
Ren looked at him, his grief is a storm just beneath his skin. And still, Caelric stood. A king, unseeing. A man, undone. A part of Ren wanted to shake him. To force him to look. To feel. But another part, the part that knew loss, understood.
Part of Caelric had already followed Sarelle somewhere Ren could not reach.
???
Through the halls. Through the whispering dark. Past the faces that turned and reached and called out. Ren ran. Until he reached the doors. Until he slammed them open, the sound echoing through the chamber like thunder.
His chest heaved. His vision blurred. He scanned the space. No sign of her. He took a step forward. She stepped out from the bathing chamber.
He gasped, a broken, reverent sound as his eyes drank her in. Damp hair curling over her shoulders. Her robe tied at the waist, skin flushed from the heat of the bathing chamber. For a moment, everything in him hoped. With Caelric lost to fire and grief, with his hold on the world loosened, maybe, just maybe, the grip he held on her had loosened too. Maybe the illusion had frayed. Maybe she had come back to him.
Ren’s body moved on instinct, pulled forward by that fragile, desperate hope. His breath caught. His heart soared and ached all at once.
