Page 7 of Unravelled
Mira tilted her head. A ward of the queen. No wonder he looked familiar. There were only so many children in the palace that they must have run into each other at some point. She studied his effortless precision. His muscles contracted smoothly as he deflected an especially aggressive blow.
“Impressive,” she murmured, more to herself than to Torvyn. “What’s his name?”
But something diverted Torvyn’s attention. Another contender was approaching the Queens box, a young man, smaller and stockier than the Queen's Champion. His blond hair caught the sunlight as he adjusted his grip on his sword.
“Brahn,” Torvyn said, standing to get a better view.
Brahn tilted his head up. “Torvyn,” his voice carrying easily over the noise of the crowd, “would you care to bestow upon me a royal favor?” Torvyn beamed, leaning over the railing.
“I’ve seen you fight, Brahn. You’re going to need it.” With a flick of his wrist, Torvyn tossed a blue flower tied with a golden ribbon down to the young man.
Brahn caught it effortlessly, his grin widening as he tucked it securely into the waist of his pants. Mira observed the exchange. She saw the way Brahn’s confidence softened slightly under Torvyn’s smile.
She’d been watching the two of them for a while now, and their connection ran deeper than just friendship, and yet, they still danced at the edges, like naming it might break the spell.
“Lady Solwynd,” a deep, smooth voice interrupted, “would you care to give me a royal favor?”
She turned to see the Queen’s Champion himself, standing just below the royal box. His eyes locked with hers. His stance was confident and calm. Mira rose to her feet, meeting his gaze with a smile.
“Do you really need my favor, Champion? From what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine without it.” He smiled back,
“True,” he said smoothly, “but even the most practised champions need luck.”
“Wait!” The shout rang out from the sparring field, sharp and commanding enough to turn heads. Mira looked toward the source of the voice. A young man standing tall amidst the other contenders. His clothes were simple yet well-tailored. A simpletunic and pants paired with polished boots. But it wasn’t his attire that held her attention. It was his eyes, bright green and burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce straight through her.
She hadn’t seen him since that day in the tree. He was no longer the boy Mira remembered. His frame carried a strength and confidence. Sweat beaded on his brow, matting his dark hair to his forehead as he advanced toward the Queen’s box. The glint of steel from his sword caught the light with every deliberate stride, his presence commanding silence. He called up to her again, his voice clear and laced with daring confidence.
“Lady Solwynd, grant me your favor?” The boldness of his words sent a ripple of murmurs through the crowd, but Mira remained composed, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. His challenge piqued her curiosity.
“Be careful what you ask for, champion. Are you sure it wouldn’t curse you instead?” His green eyes sparked in challenge.
“Grant me the disadvantage, then.” Mira’s heart skipped. She leaned back, her fingers brushing against the blue flower tied with a golden ribbon in her hand. Her mind raced. Should she do as she was expected and offer the favor to the Queen’s Champion, or defy expectations and choose the newcomer?
She glanced at Torvyn, his wide eyes silently urging her to make the smart choice. Her gaze shifted to the Queen’s Champion. He stood poised and calm, his expression unreadable as he awaited her choice.
“If this is truly a curse,” she said, her voice carrying over the crowd, “then I’ll be helping you by bestowing it on another champion.” The Queen’s champion gave a slight bow, graceful and polite, before stepping back without protest. Mira’s attention turned to the newcomer as her decision settled in her chest. “I will bestow my curse on you, champion.” She declared, holding the flower aloft.
As she prepared to throw it, the young man suddenly scaled the side of the royal box with surprising ease, his boots landing softly on the edge. Gasps and whispers rippled through the onlookers as he leaned over the railing to be face-to-face with her. Mira held the blue tahla tree flower between them, her fingers brushing his as he took it. The crowd moved on, their energy shifting to the next spectacle, oblivious to the moment.
For a moment, he lingered his hand against hers, and then, in a swift movement, he dipped his head close to hers. His lips brushed lightly against the edge of her jaw. Mira’s breath caught, her heart racing as he pulled back slightly. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like nothing more than a whispered exchange.
“I am sure this won’t be the last time you curse me”, he murmured, his voice below, tucking the flower securely into his belt.
???
Mira stirred as the soft glow of dawn filtered through the window, coaxing her from sleep. Blinking slowly, she tried to cling to the remnants of her dream, a memory of the first time she met Tharion. A smile tugged at her lips as she closed her eyes, hoping to recapture the fleeting moment. But the persistent knocking at her door shattered the peace.
Sighing, she slipped out of bed and hurriedly pulled on her robes. Tharion hadn’t stayed here in months. His side of the bed remained untouched, made up with careful precision. When she opened the door, she found Nerra standing there, her youthful energy barely restrained.
The girl, just eighteen, had dark hair and bright brown eyes that always seemed to hold a spark of mischief.“Cleric Perrin sent me to fetch you. Ready to start the day, Mira?”
Mira sighed, still caught between sleep and the demands of reality. “As ready as one can be at such an hour,” she said, her voice smooth, wryly composed. “Let me change”. With practiced efficiency, Nerra helped Mira into a plain brown dress and tied the apron snugly around her waist.
Mira spent her days with the dwindling number of attendants. Many had returned to their villages over the past months. Working alongside them gave her a chance to hear their concerns and quietly pass them along to Cleric Perrin, circumventing the usual fears of reduced earnings or retribution. “What’s on the agenda for today?” Mira asked as Nerra tied the last knot of her apron. Cleric Perrin had granted her a reprieve from her usual responsibilities over the last few days, assigning her instead to assist with Torvyn and Brahn’s ceremony preparations.
“Well, we’ve all the meals to prepare, naturally,” Nerra began, her tone bright and animated as she opened the door and stepped aside for Mira to follow.
They exited her quarters and began their walk down the long stone corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly beneath the vaulted ceilings.
