Page 87 of Unravelled
But amid the slow descent of decorum, Mira felt the oddity of her own senses. Yes, she felt the Emberbane’s pull, the way it smudged the lines of her desire, but it wasn’t an all-consuming fog. Her thoughts still had edges, and beneath the heat, she felt the solidity of self-control. It was as if the candle's magic could bend her but not break her.
Her eyes snagged on Danlea. The Queen was rising from her seat with an elegance that cut through the haze. Her expression remained cool, composed, untouched by the smoke. Danlea met Mira’s gaze, a spark of recognition passing between them. With a subtle nod towards the door, Danlea began to weave her way to the exit. Her movement deliberate and unhurried, as if to avoid drawing attention.
Ren’s arm around her waist tightened, drawing her back into him. His lips skimmed her temple, a whisper of warmth.
“Mira...” he murmured, and there was something wounded in his voice, a crack beneath the desire. She spun sharply in his arms. His pupils, wide and ravenous, locked onto her.
The realization struck her. This wasn’t just about indulgence. Nobles would speak too freely, revealing alliances and ambitions they would normally guard. Jealousy, hunger for power, whispered manipulations. Tonight, under the haze of these candles, restraint would crumble.This night of indulgence wasn’t just chance, wasn’t just theatrics, this was carefully crafted, designed to make people lose themselves.
She heard Lord Asric’s voice rise again, splintering the moment. “Enjoy, my friends. Tonight, I want to see nothing but desire and truth.”
Mira brought her hands up pressing against his chest.
“Ren...” she said, meant it as a warning, a call back to sense, but his name came out low, fragile. Aching like a confession she hadn’t meant to make.
Ren’s hands hadn’t moved, but the space between them had grown dangerous. Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin. She should step back. She should say something sharp and sobering.
Mira could almost feel him. The desire and unguarded need. They way his arms curled around her like he didn’t trust the world to keep her safe, like letting go might break something in both of them. And beneath that heat, beneath the hunger, there was regret as if he already knew what this would cost them.
Her body leaned closer caught in the current of the moment she didn’t want to resist. He lowered his head, gently, reverently, his nose grazing hers. A silent plea. Mira closed the distance.
It was a desperate kiss, fierce and unsteady. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as if he could fuse them together. His touch was heat and urgency, sand each brush of his mouth against hers was a promise. Raw and unguarded, the unspoken words he couldn’t find the voice to say.
The weight of the room, the tangle of bodies and secrets, melted away until there was only Ren, the warmth of his breath, the solid press of his chest, the steady, frantic beat of his heart beneath her palms. Her senses sharpened, each detail etching itself into her memory. The way his fingers tightened in her hair, not enough to hurt but enough to hold her still, to ground her in this moment.
The taste of him, familiar, like the first sip of dark wine, heady and lingering. Time seemed to stutter, and the world moved in slow, molten drips. His hands slid down, fingers grazing her neck, tracing the line of her jaw as if discovering her skin. Each touch left sparks in its wake, tiny embers that smoldered beneath her surface.
She gasped into his mouth, and the sound seemed to encourage him. Her fingers found their way into his hair, winding through the strands, tugging just enough to draw a breathless sound from him. His lips left hers, trailing the delicate skin beneath her ear. Each brush of his mouth was a flame against her, melting through layers of caution and restraint.
He pulled back, and pressed his forehead against her temple, his breath ragged, and Mira felt the shape of his words in her before he spoke them.
“Mira…” His voice was rough, a whisper ground against stone. “Don’t leave me again. I can’t survive it ”
She shivered, the ache in his voice a mirror of her own. But even as he spoke, reality crept back in, a cold wind against the heat of their embrace.
She could feel the room around them, the slow, insidious unraveling of decorum. The Emberbane twisted through the air, a reminder that this moment, no matter what real emotions it was based on, was laced with magic, with manipulation. The court whispered and moved, secrets spilled between kisses, ambitions laid bare between touches. Mira pulled back, she still caught the flicker of confusion and hurt in his expression.
Her eyes shifted to Caelric, the Crowned Betrothed, seated upon the throne. His expression was still distant, as if he were not fully present, his mind drifting. Asric leaned close to him, every inch of his posture a serpentine coil of satisfaction. His lips moved quickly, words flowing into Caelric's ear, but his expression told the story, eager, victorious, dangerous.
Her heart twisted. She turned sharply, searching for familiar faces. Someone to help her. Tharion stood in an alcove, his hands gesturing sharply as he argued with Torvyn and Brahn. Torvyn’s face was flushed, his jaw tight with fury, and their exchange crackled with the threat of violence. Whatever they were saying was drowned out by the noise, but the tension between them was obvious.
Mira reached for Ren's hand, threading her fingers through his. She couldn't walk away, not after the way he’d looked at her, not after his silent plea. Without a word, she pulled him with her, slipping between bodies and into the crowd.
Mira pushed forward, between bodies. She ignored the hands that grasped, the lips that brushed against her as she moved. She felt Ren behind her, his hand a steady presence in hers, grounding her as they wove through the crowd. His touch never left her, not for a heartbeat. His fingers flexed, occasionally gripping her tighter.
Each step felt like wading through honey, the Emberbane’s smoke dragging at her senses, pulling her into the warmth, into the want. Hands grazed her skin, seeking warmth and connection. Lips brushed against her shoulder, strangers drawn by thecandle's call. She bit down on the urge to recoil, swallowing the rising tide of unease.
Ren shifted closer to her, his arm slipping around her again, drawing her against him, his body a barrier between her and the hungry touch of the crowd.
His breath was hot against her ear, his voice a raw edge. “Mine...”
The single word rippled through her, a shiver of possession and protection. It threaded through the fog of the Emberbane. His arm tightened around her waist, and she let herself lean into him, their bodies moving as one as he carved a path through the crowd.
They reached Tharion and Torvyn amd Mira’s voice rose, sharp and clear, cutting through the room’s fog.
“Tharion!” Neither of them turned.
Tharion’s eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide. His movements had lost their precision, his usually controlled gestures now wild arcs, reckless and unmoored.
