Page 50 of Unravelled
Tharion exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his face as he sat up. Mira didn’t move from the doorway. She let the silence stretch. He sat fully now, planting his feet on the cool stone floor, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t look at her. Just stared down.
“I needed some space,” Tharion said finally. It was barely a sentence.Mira’s sighed.
His gaze flicked toward her. “It wasn’t about you.”
She smiled sadly. “It never is.”
He winced, the sound hitting somewhere he hadn’t armored. She knew it wasn’t meant to be cruel. It was just the truth. That was the pattern, wasn’t it?
She took a step into the room, then stopped herself, hovering in the half-light.
“You didn’t even tell me,” she said, voice low, trembling at the edges. “I wouldn’t have minded... I just...” Her throat tightened. “I thought I would have been the first person you’d tell.”
Tharion didn’t flinch, but his silence was louder than anything he could’ve said. “I didn’t think it would matter,” he muttered.
That hurt more than any outburst. He hadn’t just hidden this from her, he hadn’t even considered her. Something hot flared beneath the sadness. Anger, sharp and sudden.
“You didn’t think it would matter?” she repeated, voice tighter now, cracking under the weight of restraint. “I come back to an empty room every night and I’m supposed to, what? Pretend you’re on patrol? That this...”
she gestured faintly to the bed, the tucked-away life, “That I don't matter?”
“Mira, that's not it...” he answered, the words clipped.
The hurt settled in her chest like stones in water. Mira drew a breath and steadied her voice. Mira stood still for a breath. Then stepped into the room. The door eased shut behind her with a soft click. Tharion still sat on the bed, head bowed, hands braced on his knees. She stopped just in front of him.
“Then why?” she asked, quietly. “I don't understand Tharion?” He didn’t look up. She hesitated, then knelt before him, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek, coaxing him to meet her gaze. When he didn’t pull away, she leaned in tentative, searching for a kiss. But his hand came up, firm against her shoulder, halting her just before their mouths could meet.
“Don’t,” he said, voice raw, barely audible.
He finally looked at her then, and the regret in his eyes was almost worse than anger. He released her and the space between them felt wider than ever.
A murmur of voices, hushed with purpose, drifted through the stone hall beyond. They both looked to the door.
“But they want assurance. They want something, someone, to stand behind.” Torvyn. She knew his voice. Steady. Measured. But there was something different in it now. Something careful.
Her brow furrowed. The second voice answered, smooth as silk, carrying a touch of amusement beneath something far colder.
“It's all planned for the Veiled Night,” said Lord Asric. Torvyn and Asric? She held her breath, straining.
“That’s too late,” Torvyn replied, still even, still composed. Then came Asric’s chuckle, soft, deliberate. A sound that didn’t belong in the back corridors.
“Patience,” he said. “A well-placed distraction at the right moment holds more weight than a blackmailed decision.”
The Veiled Night celebration was the darkest night of the year. No moon. Just masks, music, and revelry. A perfect place to vanish. Or strike. She stood and crept forward a step, heart pounding. Tharion’s hand closed around her wrist. Not rough. But firm. Deliberate. Mira looked down at him, startled.
“Don’t,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. Low. Calm. A warning.
Her mind raced. Torvyn had always been the careful one, deliberate, principled. A man who measured twice before daring to speak once. He believed in structure, in steady hands, in the quiet strength of doing what was right, even when it earned him nothing.
But now he was whispering with Asric. Asric, who wanted the regency? Asric, who wore power like perfume and wielded it like a blade. It made no sense. Not with the uprising already sneaking its way through the kingdom.
Their voices drifted down the corridor, low and urgent, until they disappeared further into the wing. Mira stood frozen, her stomach coiling tight. Her thoughts screamed at her that this was wrong, that she had to know what it meant.
Tharion moved, quick and sure, stepping in front of the doorway before she could reach it, planting himself there. “Mira don’t.”
She spoke firmly, her eyes sharp. “You can’t stop me.”
“You’re not thinking clearly. If Torvyn’s with Asric, this is far bigger than either of us thought.”
