Page 64 of Unravelled
She was carried through the palace corridors, his steps steady, unhurried. She drifted in and out, slipping between the waking world and the remnants of her dream, whispers of steam, the press of lips against skin, the taste of something forbidden lingering on her lips. A door opened. Cool air touched her skin.
Her bed met her body, sheets soft beneath her, and she exhaled a slow breath. A weight lingered beside her for a moment. A hand brushed her hair back from her face.
Then, warmth receded. She sank deeper into sleep, the echoes of a dream calling her in.
???
Mira shifted in her bed, the sheet tangled around her legs. She could swear she heard something, stone against glass. She sat up, blinking against the dim glow of moonlight.
Then another sound. Just a soft clink. She crossed to the window, heart already rising in her throat before she even saw him. There he was. Standing beneath her balcony, hood pushed back, a stone in his hand, his eyes already locked on hers. Warmth bloomed behind her ribs.
“You’re early,” she whispered, barely able to breathe. He grinned up at her, crooked, boyish, reckless.
“The convoy arrives tomorrow,” he said, his voice like gravel and starlight. “I couldn’t wait.”
She pressed her hand to the railing, leaning out, moonlight catching on her nightgown, on her hair, on the quick rise and fall of her chest. Navigators, she had missed him.
“You’re reckless,” she whispered, eyes shining. “You climbed the walls for me?”
His grin deepened. “Would you rather I knocked?”
“No,” she said without thinking, her smile tipping into mischief. “I’d rather something more dramatic.”
She saw the shift in his eyes, sudden and dangerous and beautiful. And then he was climbing. Her breath caught. He moved fast, fingers gripping the ivy, boots scraping the stone. She could feel it, his need, his thrill, his longing threading into hers like a second heartbeat. She stepped back just as he crested the ledge, and the second his boots hit the balcony, she threw herself into his arms.
He caught her easily. Like he always did. Her arms wrapped around his neck, face pressed into his shoulder, the scent of him familiar and wild and safe, stealing the air from her lungs.
“You’re real,” she breathed, the words trembling. “You’re really here.”
“I’m real,” he murmured, his mouth brushing her temple. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her tighter.
She leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers grazing the stubble on his jaw, needing contact. Needing to prove to herself he wasn’t something her heart had conjured in sleep. “I thought I was dreaming you again.” Her voice cracked. And then she smiled. Slow. Devastating.
He kissed her. Heat spilled through her like lightning, slow and sharp and impossible to contain. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body pressing closer, melting into him as if the space between them had never existed. The kiss was messy, aching, desperate, everything she hadn’t said, everything she’d needed. She whimpered against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like it was sacred.
“Come with me,” he said against her lips.
She hesitated, but only for a breath. Her hands slid to his chest, the heat of him soaking through her fingers.
“I don’t know…” she teased, her voice in faux fear.
A dark laugh rumbled in his chest. “Cruel,” he said, kissing her again, slower this time, deeper. “Come with me.”
She exhaled, nodding without realising.
Before she could pull away, before she could grab a cloak or remember the how far down the world below was, he lifted her. Mira gasped, laughter spilling out of her as her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.
“What are you…?”
“Stealing you,” he whispered, his grin wicked and full of promise. Her arms locked around his shoulders as he stepped onto the ledge, the wind tugging at her hair, the scent of spring thick in her lungs.
16
The room was dim, washed in the muted grey of an autumn morning. Shadows stretched softly across the floor. The kind that blurred at the edges, like half-forgotten memories. Mira blinked slowly, the weight of sleep still clinging to her lashes. Her dream was already slipping away. The warmth of a hand. The brush of lips. Laughter echoing through the moonlight. A promise, maybe. Or a memory.
She reached for it, but it dissolved between blinks. Her fingers curled into the bedding, still faintly warm where her body had been curled through the night. The dress she’d fallen asleep in was wrinkled, the fabric creased and familiar. Mira exhaled, sitting up with a quiet groan, the soft stretch of her spine grounding her in the waking world. She remembered the way the carriage rocked, the cool weight of the evening air.
She remembered Tharion's arms. He’d carried her back. She was sure of it. She could still feel the ghost, the way her body had leaned into his without thought, her head against his shoulder, his steady breath close. But when she had woken in the early hours, the room was empty. He hadn’t stayed. That was okay. It had to be. What was broken didn’t mend overnight. They would need time.She wanted to give him that time. Still… she had missed his presence beside her like the night before.
