Page 3 of Unravelled
“Mira!” a voice called from across the room. “Come sit with us!” She turned to see Lady Elendra waving her over to her small group.
A confection of glittering sheer fabric, more suggestion than substance, draped the plump, middle-aged woman. The gown hugged her curves with bold confidence, its delicate silk strategically placed to maintain a semblance of modesty. Jewels adorned her neck, wrists, and ears, catching the glow of the chandeliers with every subtle movement.
Beneath layers of silk and jewels, Elendra, known for her sharp wit and manipulative charm, was the court’s most cunning collector of secrets. She could disarmed even the most guarded, and by the time they realized how effortlessly she had drawn their confessions, it was already far too late.
Mira smiled and drifted towards her as she wove between twirling couples and the flutters of velvet and satin. Laughter mingled with the soft swell of string music, sunlight catching in the crystal chandeliers above.
She approached a velvet-cushioned alcove near the towering windows, where Lady Elendra lounged like a cat at ease. With a graceful dip, Mira settled beside her on a plush seat, the scent of rosewater and spiced wine lingering in the air between them.
"Poor thing," Elendra cooed, lightly patting Mira’s hand. “Is it strange, watching love bloom again when yours was so tragically pruned from your memory?”
Mira resisted the urge to sigh. She knew this game too well. Elendra’s velvet-tongued questions, dipped in honey and sharpened with intent.
Since her own bonding a year ago, she’d learned to deflect, to wear the mask the court expected. A scandal, they had called it. Whispers still clung to their names like perfume.
She had been just twenty-two, too young by tradition, and far too young to convince a cleric to perform the bonding. And yet, somehow, they had done it. Bound without a navigator's witness. She turned to Elendra with a polite smile, her voice calm but carefully measured.
“If you’re looking for another scandal from me, Lady Elendra, I’m afraid I’m retired.” Mira smiled as her gaze drifted across the room to where Torvyn and Branh stood, laughing together in the center of the hall.
They really looked like they belonged together, their bond natural and unshakable. A pang of grief tightened her chest, sharp and undeniable. “Besides, today is about them, not about what I can and can not remember.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Lady Elendra said with a feigned tone of reverence, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her goblet. “How could anyone do something so sacred without a sacred witness? No one’s quite figured it out.”
Her sharp eyes, however, glinted with curiosity. “And the late Queen, Navigators guide her home, hiding both of your memories of the ceremony ... harsh, even by her standards.”
She leaned forward then, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But you must remember something. Indulge us.” Her voice was velvet, but Mira felt every syllable like a needle.
Mira’s lips slipped into a sly smile. “Tharion and I have always been... resourceful. But if we shared our secrets, Cleric Perrin would be confined to her study, with nothing to do all day.”
Elendra laughed, and she continued, “But I will admit, Tharion has his way of keeping things... interesting.” Mira let the words hang, vague enough to tantalize, knowing full well how much Elendra enjoyed filling in the gaps.
But what they hadn’t shared, what they didn’t dare speak aloud, was that Queen Sarelle’s punishment had dulled more than just the memory of their bonding. She had hidden pieces of them, too. Stolen the fragments of their love, their laughter, their quiet moments. No warmth in the touch, no color in the scene. Mira’s thoughts drifted back to the story of how they met. In the palace's tree gardens. How they had crossed paths again over the following years, drawing together until they finally gave in. After that they couldn’t keep away from each other. Courting in secret until they bonded to each other, heart and soul. Just the hollow facts, stripped of feeling.
“Oh, Mira, you are wicked.” Lady Elendra turned to her group, “But I wouldn’t expect anything less from a former Royal Guard” Mira’s answer had satisfied the woman’s appetite, for now. It would be more than enough.
By morning, the court would be aflame with whispers of how she and Tharion had spent their first year as bonded betrothed. Wildfire had nothing on Elendra’s brand of rumor.
Since their punishment, Tharion had felt so distant, like a stranger wearing a face she used to know. They still shared living quarters in the palace, but it was like living with the ghost of a man she could almost remember.
She hadn’t seen him in days. He was assisting the townships surrounding the palace, his duties pulling him further away.
Elendra’s hushed tone drew from her thoughts Mira “And it’s good the Crowned Betrothed held this celebration. Nobody has since him since the queen passed. This kind of weak leadership hurts the people.”
He hadn’t moved since he had entered at the start of the ceremony. His chair, though carved with care, was noticeably smaller, less ornate than the one beside it. The empty throne next to him, crowned in dark iron and etched with the sigil of the bloodright line, remained untouched.
It was Queen Sarelle’s by legacy, and no one had dared occupy it since her death. They had no children. No heir. And so, by law and absence, ruling had fallen to him. A title passed not by blood, but by grief.
He looked pale beneath the sunlight, his posture rigid, his eyes glassy and distant. It was the look of a man who wasn’t truly seated in the hall, but somewhere far away, searching the caverns of memory for a voice, a touch, an echo of her that refused to answer.
“Exactly. He needs to put plans in place for succession. The kingdom is in peril if nothing is done. I refuse to let the Khardradorian’s swallow us whole just because Caelric is grieving.” Mira whipped her head towards her brother's voice. Torvyn met her gaze, his eyebrows raised in challenge. The smirk tugging at his lips made it clear. Mira’s jaw tightened as she resisted the urge to rise to Torvyn’s bait.
His smirk was all too familiar, just like when they were children and when he'd dared her to steal an extra honey roll from the kitchen without getting caught. She drew a slow breath, then turned her words to the others.
“Has anyone actually thought about what he’s going through? He lost his bonded. Six months might seem like enough, but grief doesn’t work on a timeline.”
“Ah, there she goes again, passionate as ever,” Torvyn chuckled, nudging Mira like she’d just made some harmless joke.
Mira rolled her eyes and nudged him right back. “Don’t mind him. He’s always been the dramatic one.”
