Page 134 of Labyrinthine
“I’ll manage.”
She stares for a beat too long and then flees, her footsteps echoing down the hall like she knows I could curse the floor just by walking it.
I undress slowly, shedding layers of sweat and dust. The bath scalds my skin, but I sink into it anyway, welcoming the pain. My legs ache, my shoulders burn, and the heat seeps into the cracks I didn’t know had formed. I scrub the battlefield from my skin. I comb the knots from my hair. I float, weightless, just for a moment.
And then the air changes.
“You know better than to drop your guard,” Mallen growls.
I don’t startle. Just open my eyes to find him standing at the foot of the tub, shirtless and furious.
Bruises ink across his chest in shades no sky has ever held—a map of my undoing etched into him like myth. The wound on his arm gapes slightly, red and raw.
“You look like hell,” I say, voice quiet.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t flinch.
He’s showing me what I did. He wants me to look. To remember.
“Does it hurt?”
“Only when I move,” he replies. “It was worth it.”
The words drop between us, heavy with everything he isn’t saying.
His eyes flick lower, trailing across the surface of the water, over every visible inch of me. He sways slightly, bracing his hands on the edge of the tub. His breath is unsteady. Controlled.
“What did you discuss?”
“The future of Starsfall.” He doesn’t look away. “Your father and what to do about him. I’ve spent five years planning for this moment. We march at dawn.”
My fingers drift through the water. “You’re seizing Threnos?”
He nods. “It’s time. He has few soldiers left. He won’t expect a night assault.”
“And after?”
“You take what’s yours,” he says simply. “Your crown. Your kingdom. I’ll make certain no one takes it from you.”
There’s no hesitation. No pause for doubt. Just the fierce promise in his voice and the quiet, implacable rage behind it. He doesn’t speak of vengeance, but it lives in him, buried deep. And this time, it’s not for himself.
I should be afraid. He could shatter nations, and yet he kneels to no one but me. But the fear that lingers isn’t his fury—it’s how easily I ache to be chosen by it. To fold into the promises he carries like prayers clenched in his teeth.
Starsfall. A crown. A throne.
“What if I don’t want it?” I whisper, mostly to the bathwater.
He moves across the room and pours a glass of wine with one hand, never looking away.
“You can decide whether you want the throne once your father’s gone,” he says. “You can shape it how you want. We will rule as equals, Azhara. Not because of what you’ve done. Or the magic you carry. Because of who you are.”
I want to believe him.
I want it not to terrify me.
He sets the wine aside and begins removing what’s left of his clothing. There’s nothing seductive in the gesture—just quiet purpose. His back is marked by battle, not desire. His skin is darkened with blood, ash, and sweat.
He doesn’t ask if he can join me.
