Page 9 of Labyrinthine
He’s asking for a chance. He’s asking for me to listen to the part of me that still dreams, even after everything. The part that wants more than duty or survival. The part that wants him.
I nod.
He exhales a breath like it hurt him to hold onto it, and smiles. The kiss he gives me next is not to conquer—it’s to remember. Gentle at first and then more. Enough to make me believe I’m standing on the edge of oblivion, and all I know is the possibility of him. His fingertips press into me as if he’s been desperate for this and only now dares to take what he wants. And gods, I want this too.
“No others,” he says, and there’s an edge to it. Jealousy. “I won’t stand in your way if you don’t want me, but I won’t watch as you let someone else win your heart.”
I nod again, more slowly. It’s a truth—or promise—we both share, even if we don’t yet have the shape of it.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper, my voice barely more than ash.
He tilts his head, that wolfish pity softening his fierce eyes.
“Starsfall is your home. Threnos’s walls and the palace keep you safe. Now is not the time to challenge your father.”
I hate that he’s right. Hate it with the kind of bone-deep fury that feels like grief. Because I want to fight back or run until the sky splits open and somethingchanges—but there’s nowhere left to go. Not really. My father is always ten steps ahead, and this time, I’m too tired to pretend I can outpace him. The truth tastes like rust and ruin, and I swallow it down like a blade.
Mallen’s gaze is soft again, almost fragile. Almost tender. It disorients me. Mallen commands through fire and steel but he’s softening, and the brush of his thumb beneath my eye nearly undoes me. It destroys me more than any cruel word ever could.
“What will you tell him?” I ask.
“The best lies lean on truth. I’ll tell your father that Anya colluded with Moonsrise to kidnap you—and that I found and returned you. The bodies fit the story. It’ll be enough to stop another war.”
Moonsrise has been pressing our shores for months. Raids in the north, ships sighted off estuaries, envoys with smiles too sharp to be peace. It won’t escape my father that this tale makes Mallen the hero. But maybe that’s what Starsfall needs. A hero who isn’t hungry for power but fights to protect it. Perhaps that’s what I need too.
Mallen’s hand lingers as he helps me to my feet, and I realize it’s because I won’t let it go. We mount our horses in silence, and I catch myself wishing I could stay here. With him. But wishes do not come true in Starsfall, and so we ride back to Threnos. To my father’s palace.
And for once, I know I won’t be alone.
At the main road, he guides my gelding beside his, keeping pace with me without taking control. We ride in silence until thegatehouse looms, and then he nods once and says, “Lower your hood.”
I obey.
My hood falls, and our hoofbeats carry into the press of bodies. A few faces turn, then more, a hush widening like a ring on water. Laughter thins. The fiddles lose their measure as recognition takes hold. Gasps ripple through the crowd as faces turn toward us. Mallen rides with his back straight, his hand brushing my leg only to steady me. To anyone watching, the Commander of the Royal Guard is delivering a princess home. They wouldn’t guess that he touches me with both possession and wordless worry.
The palace rises like a dream ahead—torchlit, golden, far too beautiful for the ache it hides. Its walls are perfection. Its doors are locked from within.
A gilded cage.
My throat tightens. I’ve never felt more trapped.
“You’re safe now,” Mallen says, just loud enough for the guards to hear.
The irony is sharp enough to draw blood. He’s playing his part, while I play mine, letting tears fall. They think I’m crying from relief. They don’t understand I’m mourning.
“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs. Then he slaps my horse’s flank, and it surges forward. I don’t have time to protest.
We gallop through the torch-lit streets, past shuttered stalls and lantern smoke, through the palace gates, up the marble steps. Sentries snap to attention. Stableboys scatter. We take the marble steps at a climb. Mallen dismounts first. He doesn’t ask if I want help. Instead, he lifts me from the saddle like I’m fragile and precious, not because I’m weak, but because he’s careful.
I let him and bury my face in his neck to hide from any gawking nobles. Courtiers have spilled from the east gallery, drawn by the clatter and the feast still roaring in the royal wing.Silk and jewels crowd the balustrades, eyes bright with news. Mallen doesn’t care. He sets me on my feet and keeps a hand at my back as he takes me in through the colonnade, along the north passage, past guard posts and tapestries and the map room, cutting straight to my father’s rooms.
Inside the royal chambers, my father stands from his chaise. His expression twists in offense, not concern, as we interrupt his dinner with the high-ranking lords.
“My King,” Mallen says with a bow.
“My daughter appears to be a burden.”
“The princess was nearly taken tonight,” Mallen replies evenly.
