Page 128 of Labyrinthine
His concern isn’t feigned. He’s worried—about an attack, about Mallen, about me changing my mind.
I nod once.
My throat is dry. I don’t let it show. If I speak now, the wrong truth might slip out—bitter and bruised, too fragile to take back.
I can’t afford doubt. Not anymore.
Mallen has every right to be angry. But I don’t believe he’ll hurt me.
We review the plan one last time. Darian and his men will ride east. He’ll tell anyone who asks that he bedded me and then left me behind. He’ll claim he unleashed my magic to protect Larksbind and left in disgust when it touched him. A hero’s tale. A convenient lie. One that casts me as the ruinous enchantress while he rides free, his secrets buried with mine.
He lingers. Doesn’t step back, doesn’t look away. His fingers drift from my elbow to my wrist, lingering there like he wants to say more. Then he leans in—not quickly, not possessively. Just a tilt of his head, a pause that invites.
I meet him halfway and kiss his cheek. Not to invite—but to close.
His breath catches. He smiles. Not surprised. Not grateful. Just resigned.
For him, it’s a lover’s goodbye.
For me, it’s closure.
I turn before I lose my nerve.
The cold catches in my throat as I move. Part of me wants to look back, to memorize the shape of him framed by morning light. But I don’t. I won’t allow myself to take anything more from him.
“Did you ever love me?” I ask, uncertain if I want to face this truth.
Darian’s smile is flawless. Wounded and warm. A prince’s lie.
“I love all my women, Princess.”
He leaves without another word. The wind takes the sound of hoofbeats away before I regret hearing them.
I wait for the silence to turn heavy, staring at the dead fire and the rumpled bedsheet, while breathing in the scent of cedar smoke that lingers like memory. I gather my cloak, fasten the riding gloves I left folded on the table, and make my way to the stables. The horse Darian left me is fast, but still recovering from yesterday’s ride. I press him into motion anyway. We pass through woods, pass the Crossroad Shrine—so they whisper—for gods who never answered but still watched.
Time stretches.
The rhythm of hooves blends with the rush of blood in my ears. My hands tremble like a lie I can’t keep holding on to. I don’t know if it’s fear or the ghost of a choice already made.
The longer I ride, the more the dread coils. Mallen will be furious. Not reckless though. He won’t strike me down in anger. But I know him. I know the way his silence bites deeper than his sword.
I just have to reach him before the mask hardens. Before the man I know is gone.
I chose this. Every step, every lie, every hand I didn’t hold—I made those choices. To protect myself. To escape from Starsfall. But that doesn’t undo the damage. Doesn’t erase the pain of what I did to him.
Maybe he wonders if I’ve already forgotten it.
I don’t think I ever will. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is facing what I’ve broken, even if he never lets me put it back together. Even if I don’t deserve to.
The land begins to change. Roads widen. Grass turns to churned mud. The sound of it reaches me before anything else.
Drums.
Marching.
The army moves like memory—relentless, half-buried, impossible to outrun.
There’s no cover. I don’t look for any.
