Page 39 of Labyrinthine
“That’s the point,” he says, and the derision in his tone makes me feel like a child again. “There’s a distinct possibility he’ll survive the Reaping. He is trained, after all, and I’ve wondered when Larksbind would stop sending boys to die. I prepared for it. If he wins, the Reaping returns our sorcery—mine—to the gods and Larksbind becomes our equal. I won’t allow it. Now, if he marries you, I own his appetite. If he wants you, he kneels. Through you, I hold him. Through him, I get Larksbind. No blood required.”
He pauses.
“But only if you play your part.”
There it is. The truth in all its simplicity. Not peace. Not redemption. Just control. Just power. My father always has a plan. One that closes every door before I even dream of opening it. That’s how he nearly won the war—through anticipation, through cruelty, through fire. The stories he tells of that time are his lullabies. Bloodshed as legacy.
I’ve heard them all before. Today, they slide off me like oil, and my thoughts drift to the afternoon. To Darian. To the danger. The way it made me feel alive again.
Then back to Mallen. To the steady darkness of him, the way his eyes linger like he sees through every lie I wear. I want him. Gods, I want him. I shouldn’t. Not if choosing him wakes Starsfall and lets my power bleed through. I have always believed it is not a gift but a hunger. If I loose it, it will take. That is where I hesitate, and it’s the same place that left a door ajar for Darian.
The dagger taps against his nails. A rhythm like a countdown. He watches my hands, the lift of my breath, and reads what I do not say.
“You thought this would end with marriage to a man from Larksbind?”
I don’t flinch. Not this time.
“I thought the curse would break,” I say. “That you’d finally be done with me.”
His eyes widen. For a moment, silence stretches between us like a blade. I’ve spoken out of turn—and he’s shocked I dared.
There’s a reason I rarely do. I’ve learned caution the hard way. Learned that silence survives longer than defiance. And I’ve been reckless.
His teeth stop grinding. A slow smile curves his mouth—not amused, but cruel. Something in me goes still.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice like ice over stone, “I might have loved you, had your curse not killed my wife.”
I refused to flinch for a second time. “What if I choose Starsfall?”
He gives a soft, delighted hum, as if I’ve handed him a favorite weapon.
“Then Larksbind loses,” he says. “Their kingdom drowns under the dark magic you unleash. I win without lifting a finger. Their sun fades, their crops wither, their children are born cursed—and I reclaim what was stolen from me. Breaking thecurse doesn’t mean freedom—for me or you. It means power shifting hands, the leash never truly loosening.”
He lies so clean I almost believe him. The rites I was taught say the gods bound the curse to keep our countries from men like him. He folds truth around a blade and offers it as mercy. Maybe he knows something I do not. Maybe he only wants me to think he does. With him, the ground is always moving.
His fingers toy with the blade beside him.Tap. Tap. A sound too measured to be idle. “And don’t think of turning your gifts on me. You know better.”
I nod once. Eyes to the floor. The choice he lays out is a noose, no matter which way I turn. Marry Darian, and the curse breaks—only for my father to tether me to a throne and wield me like a weapon pressed to a king’s throat. Or choose Mallen, and the curse returns magic to Starsfall, letting Larksbind fall to ruin while my power feeds his conquest like carrion feeds the crows.
“You know I’ll lose my powers if I marry Darian.”
I blink. Too rapidly. Because my father will lose his powers too, and he’s sworn he’d never let that happen.
“You think I’d give up power so easily?” he says, almost laughing. “I’ve taken precautions. Old rites. Dark ones. The curse is only the first leash. I have others. You will still serve, even if the prince thinks he’s won you.”
My stomach knots. He’s bound me deeper than I knew. And now, even escape tastes like chains.
He’s changed the story again. Rewritten the rules. That’s how he works—truth laced with lies until even your memories rot beneath them. The story twists and folds like the shifting labyrinth beneath Threnos, walls sliding, paths vanishing, leaving you trapped in a maze that never stays the same.
You’re left doubting the sky, the stars, and even the blood in your own veins.
“You understand what breaks the curse?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Then make it right.” He leans back in his chair, drawing the dagger with him as if it belongs in his hand. “Seduce the prince. You can manage that, can’t you?”
This isn’t how the Reaping is meant to work. Marriage has always been the lever. He’s pressing for a bed now, shifting the ground so I cannot find my footing.
