Page 63 of Labyrinthine
A flicker of amusement crosses his lips. “Good. Keep it that way.”
I almost laugh, but I don’t. Instead, I drift toward a tall stem of midnight-purple blossoms nestled between some white roses and let my fingers trail their petals. They’re cool against my skin. Velvety. Fragile.
“Did you want me to pick them for you?”
I shake my head. “My father dislikes it if the garden looks untidy.”
Darian steps beside me. “Then we won’t pick them. Just admire.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, “You don’t have to stay here, Azhara. Whatever he says, whatever your father insists—this doesn’t have to be your life. I know how tightly they’ve wound you into this cage, but cages can be broken.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“No,” he says simply. “I think it’ll be hell. But I also think it’ll be worth it.”
My heart lurches.
He turns toward me, eyes open and honest. “I’m not asking for anything now. I’m not expecting a decision. But when you’re ready—whenyoudecide—Larksbind is yours. You’d be free there. Not hidden. Not claimed. Protected, yes. But never controlled. Not by me. Not by anyone.”
“Even if I never…?”
“If you never love me?” He smiles faintly. “Then I’ll still be proud to stand beside you.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I blink them away, stunned by the gentleness in his voice. I didn’t know how much I needed that softness until he gave it without asking. It slides into a part of me still raw, still trying to mend itself beneath old wounds I no longer bother naming.
“I’ll wait,” he says. “Not because I expect anything from you, but because I believe in you. I’ve seen the woman that you are, and the one you’re trying to become. She’s there. Still fighting. Even when they try to bury her beneath obedience and silence.”
My throat tightens. I think of my father’s hand on my shoulder. Mallen’s voice rasping my name like a possession. The loneliness left by my mother’s death.
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you wait?”
“Because you’re worth it.”
I stare at him, stunned by the calm certainty of it. There’s no hunger in his gaze, no claiming. Just truth. Just light.
It’s so simple. So disarming.
And gods help me, I want to believe him.
His fingers brush mine—not pressing, just there. Offering.
“I won’t crowd you,” he adds. “I won’t push. You’ve had too much of that already. I know what men like your father do. What men likehimcan become. But I’m not your jailer. And I’m not in competition.”
He nods toward the far side of the garden. I don’t have to look to know who he means.
“I’m just here,” he finishes. “If you want me.”
My breath catches.
He doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t even try to kiss me.
He just waits.
After a long moment, I let my hand curl around his.
Not a promise. Not a choice. Just a thread of connection in a life where most have snapped. His touch lingers like he doesn’t want to let go. Like he wants me to know that there’s a shoreline in the distance, even if I can’t see it yet.
