Page 15 of Labyrinthine
“Always,” he replies, easing onto the cushions. “Especially about you.”
“I don’t need protecting.”
“Your father said you’re not to be alone. Not when you eat. Or sleep. Not even when you bathe. Always watched, always guarded.”
He settles into a chair across from the bed and keeps his gaze on the ceiling, like one more word might be the drop that causes the dam to break. As if he’ll say too much if he looks at me, and his collapse will lead to ruin.
“And I’ll be damned if I let another man into your chambers.”
I lie back down and pull the covers over my chest, staring up at the ceiling and asking the gods what I’ve done to deserve this. They don’t reply, and all I hear is a sound dangerously close to a low laugh rolling off Mallen’s chest as I shut my eyes and try to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Evie adjusts my dress.A tug at the shoulder, a sweep at the waist. She adjusts the final fold of chiffon draped across me, her hands practiced, impersonal. The gown is pale gold, a soft shimmer that catches the firelight like bursts of starlight. The slit up my leg reveals just enough to keep the old men salivating. The fabric is too delicate for evening, too easily torn—a garment made for display, not battle—and the ornate belt that clinches my waist is more of a shackle than an accessory. My arms remain stiff, and I don’t offer her so much as a glance.
I’m trying not to snap.
It’s taken hours.
At least I know her name now.
My hair is braided, threaded with pearls. My skin perfumed. Lashes darkened. Gems pressed against my collarbones as if I’m some glass trinket made to glitter.
I watch the girl in the mirror with calculation.
She’s pretty, I suppose. Too pale, too soft, too still. Her heart-shaped face makes her seem younger than she is, and her hazel eyes—my eyes—are wary even when they’re lined with gold. This girl looks valuable. That’s the point.
Because I don’t get to choose what I wear. Or get to say no.
Not since I turned twelve.
Certainly not since my father found out about the failed escape that was officially an attack on Starsfall’s ruling family. According to Mallen, Moonsrise nearly stole me. Slipped into my rooms, tried to whisk me from my bed. According to the palace guards, the attack was swift, brazen, and proof that our enemies will stop at nothing.
And now, those guards stand at every door. The palace wings are locked. Courtyards I used to walk through are now roped off as if the hemp could keep out armies. And Mallen. Always Mallen. He doesn’t walk anymore, he stalks, like a creature who once lived in chains and is now set free to reap his revenge.
He hasn’t left my side since the lie was planted.
And tonight, with the Reaping’s opening reception just moments away, he’s leaning against the door like he belongs there—arms folded, gaze heavy. He stares at me like I’m not just his charge, but his religion, his ruin, his one sacred obsession. Like he’s daring anyone to come close enough to bleed.
Evie finishes with a flourish and smooths the fabric at my hip.
I resist the urge to move her hand away.
“Leave,” Mallen says.
His voice is calm but firm, and Evie’s hands freeze mid-motion. She glances at me and then at him.
There’s no mistaking the tension in her posture. She dips into a shallow curtsy and withdraws without a word, but I catch the lift of her brow as she passes. A subtle flash of disapproval.
She shuts the door softly behind her.
I smirk, just barely, meeting Mallen’s gaze through the mirror. “Still watching?”
“You look beautiful,” he says.
I don’t answer. My lips form a thin, unimpressed line.
He crosses the room in a few long strides, armor catching the candlelight, and slides his hands around my waist. The polished silver of his uniform gleams like moonlight, trimmed in forest green. It makes the emerald in his eyes burn darker, sharper.
