Page 101 of Labyrinthine
“Yes. To keep you safe.”
“How’s that working out?”
He looks at me—really looks. “Considerably less well than I would like.”
My breath hitches. “Just tell me.”
He reaches for my hand. Doesn’t take it. Instead, he waits.
“Things are moving beneath this court that would tear you apart if you even guessed at them. Your father is one of them. Darian is another. And yes—there are things I haven’t told you. Because once I do, you’ll be part of it. All the way in. No escape.”
My hand trembles.
“And you want to be Starsfall’s king,” I whisper.
Not a question.
“Yes,” he says. “But not because of power. Because of what I’ll protect. Because of what that changes. Because of you.”
I stare at him.
I’m not sure if I believe him. I want to. But that isn’t the same as trust.
I turn away first. He doesn’t stop me.
We lie on opposite sides of the bed, backs to each other, both lying still as if quiet could undo the damage. I don’t sleep. I drift in and out, floating in a half-conscious mire of memories and fear, every heartbeat too loud, curled on the edge of the bed with my back to him. The silence between us hums with everything we’re not saying.
I want him to reach for me.
I want him to stay away.
I want the truth, even if it destroys me.
When dawn smudges the windows with pale light, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My body aches. Bruises purple my arms like reminders of choices I can’t undo. I don’t look at Mallen. I know he’s awake. He always is when I am.
“Will you let me explain?” he asks hoarsely.
I stare at my hands. “I don’t know if you want to tell me the truth.”
He doesn’t stop me as I walk tentatively to the basin and wash myself with the cool, clean water. Evie appears, and Mallen retreats to the further corner of the room. She helps me wash. She dresses me slowly. She braids my hair. When I’m done, he’s sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands steepled in front of his mouth. He looks like he hasn’t slept either.
Last night sits between us like glass. The night has carved him thinner; stubble shadows his face, a bruise blooms beneathhis jaw, and a strip of linen disappears under his cuff. He looks older this morning. Haunted.
I press my palms to the table to keep from crossing the space. He watches the basin still, then me, then the distance between. His fingers lift as if to reach, then fall open, empty. He does not try to touch me. And I won’t comfort him. Not when I’m still bleeding inside.
He rises but stays where he is, shoulders squared, careful as if one step might startle me. He stands at the far edge of the rug, eyes searching mine.
“I lied once. You asked if I knew more than I was letting on. About your father. About what he was planning. I said no.“ He looks at me, and it hurts. “I was trying to shield you. But it was still a lie.”
The moment holds like glass. Too fragile. Too clear.
“So you don’t deny what Darian said,” I whisper. “That you’ve been following my father’s orders. That you have your own ambitions. That this—us—was never just ours.”
He swallows hard. “Please?—”
“You don’t get to say that to me.” My voice is colder than I mean it to be. Truer than I want it to be.
“Azhara…”
