Page 4 of Unravelled
Torvyn clutched his chest in mock offense. “Wounded! And after I’ve been nothing but charming.”
He turned to the group with a grin, then extended his hand to Mira with a flourish. “My sister and I will now put all those dance lessons to good use.”
“Oh, but Torvyn,” Elandra said with a smile, her fingers lingering on his sleeve, “just a moment longer? I was hoping you’d share the latest from the council, unless you can’t, of course?” Her voice dripped with charm, each word honeyed.
Torvyn only laughed, gently freeing his sleeve from her fingers. “Sorry, Lady Elandra,” he said easily. “I gave Mira my word.” He caught his sister’s eye, still teasing, and took her hand. “Come on.”
The waltz was effortless, a rhythm they had perfected in countless lessons. Their steps glided seamlessly across the room, as if no time had passed at all. Mira felt the corners of her mouth lift, warmth rising in her chest. For all his teasing and bravado, this was her brother. Steady, familiar.
She glanced up at him, her voice sincere. “Congratulations, Torvyn. Anyone could have witnessed your ceremony. I’m honored you chose me.”
He smiled down at her. “I still can’t believe this. The bond is different than I expected.” His eyes grew distant. “It’s like he’s always with me, like I’m whole in a way I never was before. Never alone.”
Mira’s gaze fell to the floor, her smile dropping for the briefest moment. Her bond with Tharion was dim. She felt it in moments, like a warmth, then a strange emptiness. Like a moment withdrawn before it ever landed. Another consequence of Queen Sarelle’s punishment.
Torvyn paused, his gaze dropping to her face, and then softly said, “Mira, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up… you and Tharion…”
She cut him off with a quick, practiced smile. “Today isn’t about me. It’s about you.” Her tone shifted, nudging him toward lighter thoughts. “Where is Brahn?” He looked above her and searched the crowd behind.
Mira forced a laugh. “Don’t look for him. Listen for him. Find the pull of him with the bond.”
Torvyn looked at Mira with worry, but closed his eyes and turned. Directly in front of him, the crowd parted, clean and deliberate, until Brahn appeared, deep in conversation with Lord Edric. And just like that, Mira no longer existed. Torvyn dropped her hands without a word. She let him drift back to his bond, drawn not just by love, but by something deeper, ancient and unshakeable. The pull Mira used to feel.
She stood alone, the music still swirling around her. The dance floor shifted around her like a tide, couples sweeping past in pairs. A flicker. Regret and longing.
A voice rang out across the room. “Mira Solwynd! You can’t be on the dance floor alone! It will cause a scandal!” She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the source. That voice could only belong to one person.
Her eyes landed on Ren, the bastard son of the Crowned Betrothed. The court’s infamous heartbreaker, all charm and flirt, with a laugh that promised nothing real.
Ren was the mirror image of Caelric. Tall, lean, with dark hair that curled just enough to soften the sharpness of his features. The stubble of an unshaved beard shadowed his jaw, a constant reminder of his indifference to courtly expectations. It sent whispers fluttering through the court, faux disapproving glances filled with heat trailing in his wake.
He had the playful arrogance to match his reputation, sharp-tongued, self-assured, and always carrying himself with the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was capable of. A presence that demanded attention, whether or not people welcomed it. He was a man who wielded charm like a weapon, cutting down judgment with a grin and a well-placed jest. Courtly gossip had never bothered him. He had remained Tharion’s closest friend throughout their scandal. He thrived on the court’s discomfort. Everyone knew the truth about his origins.
Caelric had fathered him outside his bond to Queen Sarelle, a product of what many assumed to be a moment of desperation for an heir. The bond between the Queen and the Crowned Betrothed was said to be unshakable. A bond not born of treaty or bloodline, but of the navigators’ will and heartfire. Yet even their bond could not prevent Caelric from straying.
When Queen Sarelle learned of Caelric's indiscretion, she had reportedly shattered several priceless artifacts in her private chambers. The announcement of Ren’s impending birth escalated the scandal and shocked the court. Sarelle, once the unshakable figure of grace and composure, refused to hold court for months. Leaving the realm to be governed by her advisors and Caelric himself.
The court murmured that she had contemplated banishing Caelric’s illegitimate son altogether. But in the end, she allowed Ren to remain, though not without making it abundantly clear that he would never inherit the throne. His very presence became a reminder that no matter how eternal a bond claimed to be, fallible hands still carried it.
Her eyes moved beyond Ren to where Tharion stood, a sentinel in worn leather and shadow. Mira stepped off the edge of the dance floor and began weaving between the dancers, her dress catching on the occasional breeze as music continued around her as she kept her eyes on him.
Tharion’s armor, dark as aged bark and at his side, the hilt of his sword shone dully, an extension of the man who had become a shield for them both. He had neatlycropped brown hair, framing a hardened face. His steady, watchful eyes, which seemed to take in everything without betraying emotion, offset his sharp jawline and strong features. Tharion was a man who radiated quiet strength, a guardian whose very presence promised both protection and loyalty.
She stopped in front of him, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. He towered over her, a wall of quiet strength and unreadable calm.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, the words gentle. Tharion nodded, taking her hand. He lifted it to his lips in a gesture so formal it almost made her laugh. But this was Tharion since they bonded. Steadfast and reserved, even in moments like this.
She missed the Tharion who once wore his heart so openly. The one climbed the viewing seats to kiss her. The one who would pull her into the dark recesses of the library, where his restraint melted, and every moment felt like a secret just for them. Now, it was as if the bond had refined him into stone. Polished, cold, and just out of reach.
“Great Navigators above Tharion. Are you going to just stand there? She clearly wants you to ask her to dance.” Ren rolled his eyes. Tharion shot him a glare, a sharp warning. Ren only grinned, utterly unbothered. For a moment, Mira thought Tharion might ignore him. His jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked to her like he was bracing for something.
He relented, stepped forward, every movement deliberate, measured. His hand reached for hers, steady and sure, and she placed hers into it without hesitation despite the stiffness that lingered between their fingers. He said nothing, but the air around them shifted as he led her onto the dance floor.
The music wrapped around them. To anyone watching, it looked effortless. Seamless. Like nothing had ever fractured between them. But Mira could feel the distance in every perfectly placed step. Tharion moved with the grace of an accomplished dancer, his steps confident as he guided her effortlessly across the room. Mira followed with ease, yet something about him felt different. His movements were deliberate. Unlike balls they’d attended before, he maintained a careful distance between their bodies.
“How were the villages?” Mira asked gently, her gaze lifting to meet his. “Which ones did you visit?”
Tharion’s jaw tightened, not in anger, but weariness. “Three along the border,” he replied after a moment. “Anyerit, Emreth, and Hallen’s Reach.” Their steps glided in time with the music, elegant and practiced, even as his voice dropped. “They’re struggling, Mira.” Mira nodded, her brows drawing together as she let him lead her through a graceful twirl, skirts sweeping around her legs.
