Page 130 of Labyrinthine
My horse shifts and lets out a nervous breath.
“Did my father send you?”
His eyes narrow. “He did not. I came anyway.”
The wind shifts and carries the distant clatter of hooves and armor, the heavy press of a hundred gazes. Neither of us looks away. Not yet. Not while this last distance remains.
A hawk shrieks overhead. The silence deepens.
Mallen doesn’t move. Neither do I.
It becomes a standoff, not of weapons but will. A contest of pride, of pain.
And then he speaks.
“Get down off that damn horse, Azhara.”
“Ask me as the woman with a crown and a choice, Mallen. Then I will come to you.”
His gaze flicks down my body like a blade meant to draw blood, and he’s too careful, too far away. What halts him isn’t fury—it’s distance, honed and hollow. The kind of pain that foldsinward like frostbitten fingers: too numb to feel and too far gone to scream.
“You wanted me to stand; now I’m standing. You taught me to choose. I chose to come more than halfway for you, now choose for me.”
His throat works like it’s trying to swallow words that might splinter him from the inside. He steps close—closer—and the air between us strains, fragile as spun glass.
“Fine,” he says, low. “Please.”
It’s not polite. It’s not tender. But it costs him to say it. That’s what matters.
I slide from the saddle, landing lightly, dust curling around my boots.
Mallen watches, eyes unreadable. The silence stretches again.
I drop my shoulders. “Are you angry with me?”
It sounds like a plea. The answer’s already written in the way he looks at me.
“Yes.”
My gaze drops.
“Did he hurt you?” Mallen asks.
I glance up.
Mallen’s eyes are storms of pain barely held back, clouded with rage and fear he won’t name. He cares. Too much. Enough to burn the world down if I say yes.
“No,” I say, my voice carrying. “He’s gone back to Larksbind. He’ll tell his men he abandoned me. That way, your involvement stays buried.”
Mallen’s jaw twitches. He grips the bit, helping me dismount. I feel the fury rolling off him.
“Did he? Abandon you?”
“No. I let him go. I gave up my name to protect yours.”
His roar fractures the air. His hand clenches, unclenches. “I never cared about mine. Yours—gods, Azhara?—”
“I made my choice. You’re all that matters to me.”
