Page 45 of Unravelled
The grin returned, slow and sure. “I know the palace better than most. I know who’s guarding which hall, which stair creaks, and which council doors are never truly locked.”
She narrowed her eyes. "That's not what I asked"
Ren crossed his arms over his chest. "No... It's not"
“Why would you help me?” Mira asked, her voice low, edged with distrust. "What do you get out of this?"
He shrugged, every inch the image of practiced indifference. “You need to hear what they’re saying. What they’re planning.”
“And?” she asked, hearing the edge tucked behind his casual tone.
Ren looked down, just briefly, like he was choosing his words, then met her eyes again, his smile flickering, half-shadow and half dare. “And… after I get you in, you’ll owe me a debt. I won’t call it in tonight or tomorrow. But when I do, you'll do as I ask"
Her instincts bristled, but so did her curiosity. “That’s a dangerous promise to make.”
He leaned in slightly, not quite touching her, but close enough that her pulse quickened. “Not a promise,” he said softly. “A bargain.”
She studied him, every angle of that maddening, half-smiling face. There was a catch, she was sure of it. There always was. But something in his eyes, steady and unreadable, told her what her gut had already begun to accept: he wouldn’t harm her, not really. Not physically. Not intentionally. There was danger in playing his game, but there was also a strange kind of safety in the rules of playing with Ren. She didn't have time to negotiate. She needed access. And he was the only one offering it.
She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Deal.”
He extended his hand, palm open. Mira hesitated only a heartbeat before placing hers in his. His fingers curled around hers, warm and certain.
He lifted her hand slowly, deliberately, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t performative. His lips lingered just long enough for her pulse to spike, for heat to ripple up her arm and settle low in her belly.
She felt his promise in his kiss.
11
Mira moved like a shadow through the upper halls of the celestial observatory, her breath tight in her chest. The vast stained-glass windows shimmered in the moonlight, casting fractured constellations across the polished marble floor. Each pane told stories of old skies, celestial beasts, and the Navigators’ journey.
Above her, the domed ceiling stretched like the heavens themselves, the painted stars glinting with specks of silver leaf. The slow tick and whirl of the grand golden orrery echoed in the stillness, its rings rotating with patient precision at the observatory’s center.
Shadows danced over the mosaic floor below, where the realm’s five zodiac signs circled in eternal orbit. The scent of parchment, aged wood, and melted candle wax filled the air, adding to the sense of ancient wisdom steeped within these walls.
Mira didn't know this place well. She’d helped Harwen place the ceremonial candles here once. But tonight, the candles were gone, replaced by voices. Urgent, low, and echoing from below. She edged closer to the marble railing, her eyes dropping to the long table that stretched beneath the dome. The royal advisors and Crowned Betrothed, were already seated, their faces lined with stress and sleeplessness. One chair remained conspicuously empty. Torvyn’s. At the far end of the table, Tharion sat, his expression hard, shoulders tight. Tonight only, he sat as more than a Steward, an invited representative of the people, at the council’s behest.
And beside her, stepping silently into the alcove from the opposite side, was Ren.
“You missed that guard by seconds,” he whispered near her ear, his breath warm and maddening. “You need to be careful, I'd hate to have smuggled you this far only for you to get caught leaning into a moonbeam.”
Mira rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. His timing, as always, was infuriatingly perfect. “I could’ve handled it,” she muttered.
Ren smirked. “Of course. But why be careful when you can be dazzlingly reckless?”
She ignored him, focusing on the scene below. The council was already deep in discussion.
“We can’t delay this conversation any longer,” Lord Edric said, his voice sharp, cutting through the hum of tension. “It’s been a year. His Majesty’s episodes have worsened with every passing moon. We no longer have a king, we have a relic.”
Lady Brenna’s fingers twisted the ring on her hand, her jaw tight. “He was lucid briefly, two months ago.”
“Lucid enough to mistake his steward for his father,” Lord Asric said dryly. “He hasn’t spoken since the last solstice. He has looked no one in the eye. That is not a ruler.” Silence fell, heavy and cold.
Edric’s voice was low, but it carried across the room. “We all knew this was coming. His decline was gradual. We kept hoping for recovery. But hope is not a strategy.”
“And what would you have us do?” Brenna asked. “Declare the throne vacant?”
Asric didn’t flinch. “We need leadership. Now.”
