Page 76 of Unravelled
And yet, Ren’s voice still echoed in her head. That quiet, cracked confession. It hadn’t sounded like manipulation. It had sounded like a man trying not to shatter. That sliver of doubt, of something softer, dug in like a thorn.
Mira drew a breath, the cold air slicing through her like a blade. There would be no answers here in the shadows. She knocked on the heavy double doors, the sound sharp in the quiet corridor.She did not wait for a response. Her hand found the cool metal of the latch, and she pushed it open, the door swinging inward with a soft groan of old hinges.
20
Ren's rooms enveloped her. It was a world of deep greens and muted golds. An echo of the palace's grandeur, but shaped by his own hand.
The walls were a dark wood, carved with motifs of twisted vines and delicate leaves. Heavy drapes of green velvet framed tall, arched windows, the fabric woven with bronze threads that caught the dim light.
Nature touched everything. Delicate glass terrariums sat on the mantle, each a miniature world of moss and ferns, their glass panes fogged with condensation. The rug underfoot was a tapestry of roots and leaves, soft beneath her boots. Light filtered through fixtures shaped like winding branches, their metal leaves casting gentle, swaying shadows over the ceiling.
As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she saw what lay beneath, something still, untouched as if frozen in time. A vanity stood against the far wall, its mirror clouded with dust. The delicate glass bottles of perfume were lined up in perfect rows, neatly arranged, untouched. A brush the bristles stiff with age.
Mira moved further into the room, her fingers trailing over the vanity’s edge. Dustmotes floated up, a soft gray film stained her fingertips.
She glanced into the bedroom beyond, where the bed lay half-shadowed. The deep green coverlet was neatly arranged, but only on one side. The other side showed clear signs of use. Blankets rumpled, a pillow slightly dented, the sheets creased and pulled back. The second pillow remained untouched, its surface smooth, undented.
Two of everything, but only one life being lived here. She felt the room close in around her, the stillness pressing against her skin. Whoever had once shared this room was gone, absent for longer than dust alone could explain.
“Is there something you needed, Mira?”
She spun, heart slamming against her ribs. Ren stood in the doorway to the adjoining study, his silhouette outlined in the amber glow of low-burning sconces behind him. He looked taller there, broader somehow, the light casting sharp anglesacross his face. His face was unreadable, controlled, the flicker of emotion held behind the glint of eyes that didn’t soften when they met hers.
Behind him, Tharion. Arms crossed, posture guarded, his eyes were ice. Watchful. Calculated.
“I…” Mira’s voice faltered. She’d meant to demand answers, to confront them about the things they were keeping from her—but now, standing in front of them, the certainty drained from her. Her mouth went dry. She swallowed hard and forced the words out, thin and brittle “I needed to speak with you. Both of you.”
She steadied herself, brushing the dust from her palms as though it could rid her of the weight pressing into her chest. The stillness in the room felt unnatural, stretched too tightly around them. Mira drew in a slow breath, quieting the tremor in her hands.
“There’s been a raid,” she said, her voice finally steady, though soft. She stepped deeper into the room and lifted her gaze to meet Ren’s again.
But the man she found staring back wasn’t the one she remembered from moonlit corridors and whispered laughter. This wasn't the Ren who had stolen a moment in the garden. This was Bharalyn's Regent. Sharp, measured, with his focus was entirely on her.
And it struck her harder than she cared to admit. It wasn’t fear. It was desire. It hit her like a flush of heat, a treacherous, undeniable pulse that slid low and sudden through her stomach. Longing curled quiet and hot beneath the composure she fought to keep in place.
“Hallen is gone." She whispered "The Kharadors struck without warning. It was too clean. Too targeted. Someone led them there.”
Ren didn’t react. No shock. No outburst. Just a subtle darkening behind his eyes. He stepped into the room. Tharion followed, his body tense, every movement coiled with alertness.
“Mira....who told you that?” Ren asked. His voice was low, laced with iron. Her name clung to the edge of it, quiet but deliberate. Mira. He said it like she meant something to him. She swallowed, pulse thrumming in her ears.
“The attendants. Whispers in the gardens. Some of the survivors are here I think."
Ren didn’t speak. His eyes stayed locked on hers, sharp and unblinking, as if trying to read more in her words than she was saying. The weight of his attention pressed against her, fierce and undivided.
She forced herself to keep going. “Garrick said whatever they came for, they either took or burned.”
Tharion’s gaze flicked toward Ren. His jaw worked once before he spoke. “And you think someone inside pointed the Kharadors to it?”
“I know someone did.” Mira said.
She crossed her arms, not in retreat but in defiance, her fingers tightening around the coarse fabric of her sleeves like a tether. Anything to keep her focus, to anchor herself against the heat that rose under Ren’s gaze.
“There were moment at the Summer Solstice Ball.Names. I thought it was just court gossip but now…” She hesitated, her voice lowering. “With the Veiled Night Celebrations tomorrow, and the conversations we overheard ... it feels coordinated. Like someone’s setting the stage.”
Ren’s jaw flexed. His face remained still, but tension rolled off him like smoke. His hands stayed at his sides, but his fingers twitched, once, then again, before curling into restrained fists.
“What conversations?” Ren asked, his voice low and directed at Tharion, but his eyes never left Mira. His focus stayed fixed on her, as if watching for the truth beneath her silence.
