Page 72 of Unravelled
Mira gave her a small, grateful nod, then slipped from the room, the heavy door closing with a quiet click behind her. For a moment, the hush of the garden still clung to her, like the last breath of a dream not yet gone. The velvet warmth of the Queen’s cloak still ghosted her shoulders. As she turned toward the corridor, she felt her bare feet felt the cold stone. The damp fabric clinging to her calves. She froze, heart stuttering.
The hallway ahead was empty, but sunlight was creeping in through the tall windows, gilding the stone floor in pale gold. Light enough to reveal her. Light enough that if anyone came around the corner now... embarrassment rushed to her face, a flush rising from her neck to her cheeks. Navigators. She’d left her chambers like this.
Wandered the palace halls in nothing but her nightdress, barefoot. She wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders hunching slightly as she turned down a quieter passage, keeping close to the wall. Each footstep felt like a shout now. The silence didn’t feel gentle anymore, it felt watchful.
Tharion’s rooms were closer. Her feet moved before she thought, her hand rising to knock against the carved wood. The sound was soft, but the door opened almost immediately.
He stood, bleary-eyed, shirt half-laced, dark hair still tousled from sleep. Whatever greeting he’d meant to offer died the moment his gaze dropped, then jerked away just as fast. He turned his head sharply, jaw tightening, the tips of his ears flushing dark.
“Mira,” his voice caught. He cleared his throat, staring hard at the door frame. “What... what are you doing out like that?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again. He avoided looking at her. Disappointment flared low in her chest.
“I didn’t mean to,” she muttered, arms folding tighter around herself. “I woke up outside. Near the garden. It... it wasn’t on purpose.”
Tharion nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “It’s early. Most of the halls will be empty. Just hold on.”
He stepped back inside, returning with a thick robe draped over one arm. Soft wool, lined in dark velvet. He held it out to her without looking, keeping his gaze turned. She slipped it on quickly, grateful for the warmth, though it didn’t soften the embarrassment fully.
“Thank you.” At that, he finally looked at her. Just a glance, quick and cautious.
“Come on,” he said, stepping into the hall. “I’ll walk you back.” They walked in silence. His steps were careful beside hers, protective in the way she remembered from Anyerit and Seacliffe. He didn’t ask what had woken her. And she didn’t offer.
As they rounded the final corridor toward her wing, Mira heard the low murmur of voices ahead. Footsteps, measured and deliberate, the scrape of boots on polished stone. She stiffened before she even saw them. Tharion sensed it too, because he shifted subtly, stepping just half a pace in front of her. Protective. Not possessive. But enough to shield.
A group of advisors turned the corner. Ren walked at the center. A scroll half-unfurled in his hand, his voice calm and clipped as he spoke. He was dressed for court, for duty. He stopped walking the moment he saw her. The words died in histhroat. His gaze flicked over her, Tharion's robe around her, the mess of her hair, the faint smudge of dreaming still lingering across her face.
Mira felt the flush rise, hot and immediate. She didn’t need a mirror to know what she looked like. Tharion didn’t break stride. He simply moved a fraction faster than her, his shoulder angling to block Ren’s view as if by accident. But it was too late. Ren was already looking. Not with judgment. Not even with surprise. Just that unbearable, unmistakable heartbreak. Like gravity had decided she was the center of his orbit after all, but she was already gone.
Longing twisted in her stomach, but something else stirred beneath it. an almost irresistible pull, old and sharp and terribly familiar. Sunlight streamed through a high, colored window, casting fractured golds and reds across the floor. The warmth wrapped around her like a balm, brushing against the chill still clinging to her skin, and Mira straightened without meaning to. She didn’t look back. Didn’t give Ren the satisfaction of another glance. Instead, she walked the rest of the way to her door beside Tharion, chin lifted. Inside her chest, her heart thundered like a secret. And behind her, she felt Ren’s stare linger like a touch.
???
As they reached her door, Tharion paused beside her, his eyes sweeping the corridor out of habit, ever watchful. The morning sun caught the edge of his profile, gilding the soft edges of his tired expression. She turned toward him, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, voice just above a whisper.
Tharion gave a small shrug, one corner of his mouth tipping up. “You’d do the same for me.”
“I am sure that I have, even if we can’t remember,” she teased, the hint of a smile breaking through the lingering haze of her dream. That a smile and nod.
For a moment, they just stood there. Not in silence exactly, but in a kind of calm. The kind only shared by people who had faced worse things together and walked through it still standing. He looked down at her, his gaze steady, not searching, not asking for anything more. Just… seeing her. For what she was in that moment. Rumpled, shaken, barefoot.
“Sleepwalking?” he said, voice lighter now. “That’s a new one.... you’re okay now?” he said. Not quite a question. Not quite a statement.
Mira nodded, fingers resting lightly over the robe’s lapels. “I’m alright.” His expression softened. He gave a small nod, then stepped back into the hallway.
As she slipped inside and closed the door, she let her forehead rest against the cool wood for a heartbeat longer. The quiet of her chambers folded around her like a blanket, dim and still, the morning light just beginning to warm the stone floors. She leaned against the door, the robe still wrapped around her, fingers curled in the thick wool as if it could anchor her there at this moment. In this choice. If it was a choice.
Tharion had come when she needed him. He always did. He was steady, kind, patient in ways that soothed the frayed edges of her. A calm she hadn’t known she was starved for. It made sense to be with him. She could picture a future. A safe one. But as she stood there, the warmth of his presence already fading, a quiet tug crept back into her chest.
She peeled away the robe and nightdress, folding them neatly despite her distraction. Her bare feet padded across the stone to the warm bathing pool, steam curling up in soft tendrils beckoning her in. She slipped beneath the surface slowly, the heat enveloping her like a second skin. It eased the tightness in her muscles, smoothed the raw edges of the night. She sank lower until only her face remained above the surface, eyes staring up at the carved stone ceiling. Her heart beat steadily beneath the water, but her mind wouldn’t quiet.
Tharion offered her something safe, something dependable. But Ren was fire. She didn’t want him to be but even when she turned away, the spark of him never quite went out. She hated herself for it. How her thoughts still lingered on the sound of his voice, the weight of his gaze, the way her pulse leapt when they had locked eyes in the great hall.
She dried off, dressed quickly. A simple dark green dress. Her hands moved with quiet purpose. By the time she stepped out into the hall, the palace hummed with activity. The day was already moving. Mira walked forward, but her heart remained behind, caught somewhere between the comfort of what could be, and the fire of what still might.
Hallways echoed with the sound of moving feet and low conversations, banners catching the wind from open windows. Mira made her way toward the altar, weaving through the growing rhythm of the day. She found Cleric Perrin at her worktable, surrounded by scrolls, half-used ink pots, and several open books. Her sleeves were rolled, her hair tied back in a loose knot, and she looked up through her veil only briefly when Mira approached.
