Page 59 of Labyrinthine
“Stop,” I command.
Everything stops. The room goes silent. Even Darian stops. Mallen too.
My voice cuts like steel. I’ve never used it like that. I wasn’t sure I had it in me. Maybe they have heard it before, buried under doubt, waiting for me to use it.
“I‘m fine. Your concern is noted, Darian. You will apologize.”
He bristles. “I know what I saw. You don’t have to defend him?—”
“I’m not,” I interrupt. “I wasn’t in danger.”
Darian exhales. “He attacked you.”
“I will not repeat myself. Apologize, or leave.”
Silence cleaves the room. The Guard salutes. “Your Highness.” He takes Darian by the arm.
“You cannot be serious. I am the prince of Larksbind.”
“You are a guest in my chambers.”
Mallen stays silent. His fists are still clenched. He’s poised. Ready to move. But he’s watching me with an expression I don’t understand. It’s not just surprise. It isn’t just awe. It’s complicated, fiercer too—pride maybe, or hunger—for the girl I’ve stopped pretending to be. It’s like he hates that I defended Darian, but he’s seeing me now.
All of me.
And he likes it.
“Princess—” Darian starts again.
I slice his words with a finger, held up in the air. That’s all it takes.
“Darian, if the next words out of your mouth are not an apology for your behavior, I will have you and your men removed from the palace until you remember your manners.”
I notice the subtle smirk lighting up Mallen’s face.
I know that look.
It’s the glint of a serpent coiled, not yet striking—patient, watchful, every muscle taut with quiet menace, waiting for the opportunity to be dangerous again.
I arch my eyebrow.
Darian flinches. Grits his teeth.
I wait.
His shoulders fall. “I’m sorry.”
I nod and then glance at the wreckage around me. Smashed ornaments. Crushed furniture. My sanctuary has been reduced to a battlefield. Curtains torn from their hooks, shards of porcelain glittering like ice across the rug. The chair my mother once sat in, broken at the leg. I want to scream again. Or fall to my knees. Or gather every shattered piece and pretend I can fix what’s already gone. But I just stand there, rigid, at the center of a mess that mirrors the turmoil inside me.
Because I will not shatter.
“What was it you wanted, Darian?” I ask.
“To thank you for sending a healer. It’s more than we expected. Your father gave me leave to come to your rooms and…”
His voice trails off, but I’m barely listening. My pulse hasn’t slowed. My throat still burns. The air tastes of ruin. Mallen’s gaze keeps flicking to me like he’s counting every breath. And Darian—his bruised face is too open, too human. He meant well. He always does. That doesn’t mean I forgive him.
“I want everyone out,” I say. “Escort Darian back to his quarters.”
