Page 87 of Labyrinthine
Darian’s voice is low against my ear, and no one’s looking. “I can’t keep pretending. I want more with you.”
“We have this,” I whisper, the words brittle in my mouth.
His expression falters, just for a heartbeat. That shine in his eyes dulls. “It’s not alone.”
He leaves before I can say anything else, slipping into the crowd with effortless grace. He knows how to move through this world—knows how to charm, how to win people over. Even the nobles who once sneered at him now tilt their heads to listen. He’s collecting women without even trying—earning glances, curling smiles, the kind of attention that opens doorsand silences doubt. They follow him like moths toward heat, not realizing the fire isn’t meant for them.
It’s impressive. It’s calculated.
He’s everything Mallen is not.
Mallen is beside me before I notice him. His hand grazes the small of my back, not possessive, just present. “He’s playing a long game. Men like that don’t offer affection freely. Be careful where you step.”
I study Darian as he charms a pair of councilwomen. He’s golden, effortless, too practiced. A man who could love you while planning your downfall.
Mallen’s words lodge behind my ribs and twist—tight, instinctive, protective. Because he’s not wrong. And yet—he is.
“You’re leaving,” I say, my voice too soft.
Mallen hums, low and sardonic. “Your father’s requested that I deal with a problem in the west. The labyrinth needs preparation. It’ll be two days, maybe less.”
“You think he’s trying something.”
“I think he’s always plotting. But this time, it’s about you.” Mallen pauses. “Don’t be surprised if he uses my absence to...test you.”
The silence between us is thick. His gaze drifts to my mouth and then back to my eyes. There’s a coil beneath his expression—tight, sparking, volatile. Not just want. Control held by a thread. Something that won’t be named unless I ask for it.
“Will you miss me?” he says lightly.
“I’ll manage.”
His mouth twitches. “But you’ll miss me.”
I should tell him what I’m really thinking. That trust is built, not demanded. But keeping things from me isn’t protection—it’s constraint. And if he wants to keep me safe, he should start by being honest. By telling me everything that is happening and why everything is changing this year.
But then he smiles—soft, dangerous, hungry—and for a moment, I forget every word I rehearsed. Because he looks at me like I’m the last thing tethering him to humanity. Like if I pulled away, he’d stop trying to be good at all.
And I don’t want to lose this. Or damage it. Whatever this is, however dangerous it might be, it’s mine to navigate. I’m not ready to tear it apart. Not yet. I won’t ask for honesty with a blade at his throat. I’ll wait—watch—decide for myself what parts of him are armor and what parts are weapon. For now, I choose silence. Not because I’m afraid—but because I’m not done learning him.
I don’t say anything. His fingers linger just a little too long, and then he’s gone. A whisper of black disappearing between columns of silver stone.
I hate that I miss him already.
Darian is there before I can even exhale. “Thank the gods. I thought he’d never leave.” He hands me a glass.
“He’ll be back soon.”
“I don’t like him,” Darian says, smiling with his mouth and not his eyes. “You’re not safe near him.”
“Mallen wouldn’t hurt me,” I whisper, but the words taste like rust.
Darian leans in, voice low. “There are many ways to wound, Azhara.”
My throat tightens.
The way he says it—measured, quiet—sounds rehearsed. Not a warning. A verdict. I glance around, but the room and its decorations offer no comfort. The sunlight is too bright. The shadows too sharp.
“There’s a hunt tomorrow,” he adds. “Ride with me.”
