Page 11 of Labyrinthine
I keep the distance on purpose. Father plants eyes everywhere, and kindness can be mistaken for trust.
She bows and hesitates. “As you wish, Princess.”
But she doesn’t make it to the door before a low, unmistakable voice speaks. “I’ll stay.”
I turn—slowly—and there he is, framed in the archway like some carved sentinel from legend. Sword at his hip, and the night caught in the hollows of his face.
Mallen.
For a moment, I don’t speak. The torches hiss. The steam curls between us.
“I didn’t summon you.”
He steps forward, his expression unreadable. “Your father insisted someone guard you after the attack from Moonsrise. I wasn’t about to entrust that to the palace watch.” He glances over his shoulder at the servant still frozen behind him. “Leave us.”
Her gaze darts between us, unsure. But this time, she obeys.
Now it’s only us.
Mallen closes the door behind her and remains there, upright and distant, as if chained by his own restraint. His presence pulls at me like gravity, though he keeps his distance as if one more step might shatter his control.
“He’s insisting someone is with you at all times.” He lets the latch click, the sound small in the steaming room. “Your father wants you watched carefully. Too closely for your liking.”
“Mallen—”
“I won’t look,” he says, softly. “Not unless you want me to.”
Only now do I realize how much my ribs ache. How much I needed to exhale. And how much I want to play with fire.
“You think I’m in danger?” I ask.
“Always.”
“From you?”
His gaze lifts to meet mine, and his eyes are far too bright in the darkness. They glint, as if there’s something wild beneath their emerald color. “If you choose it.”
It’s a cruel thing, the way my stomach flips at his voice. The way warmth pools where it shouldn’t. Mallen is a man who’s torn men’s lives away. A king’s blade in daylight, and a patient knife in the dark. But he’s also the man who pressed me against him and kissed me like it might be the last thing he ever did.
And still.
Still, I want to know how much this means.
“I don’t want a guard.”
He doesn’t move. “So bathe. I’ll watch the wall instead.”
My fingers play with the laces of my tunic as I hesitate. I’ve undressed before him a dozen times before. But it was never like this. Not with this weight between us. Not with the memory of his mouth still lingering on mine.
I turn slightly, keeping my back to him. My voice is steady now, clipped and cool. “You may stay. But if you look, I’ll know.”
There’s the faintest sound—perhaps a breath, perhaps a laugh—but he says nothing.
I want to turn. More than anything I’ve ever known. He’s only standing a few paces behind me, silent as a shadow, so I pretend the heat in my face is from the steam curling over the bath. This should be like any other evening. Routine. Unremarkable.
I step out of my sandals and trousers, curling my toes at the edge of the pool.
Think of the steps.Just the steps.Not the man behind you. Not the way my breath tangles in my chest. Just water. Just normal. Not the way I’m pulling at the knots in my hair as I let it fall over my shoulders like armor I never asked for.
