Page 131 of Labyrinthine
His brows lift, eyes boring into mine. Searching. Disbelieving. Needing me to say it again, to prove it wasn’t some cruel joke.
We’re close now, and still too far—his breath uneven, mine held hostage between one heartbeat and the next.
I lift my chin. “You lied to me.”
He looks down. “You wouldn’t have believed me.”
“You didn’t trust me enough to try.”
The silence between us stretches so long it starts to fray.
I can’t speak.
“You hid from me,” I manage finally. “Behind duty. Behind sacrifice. You didn’t give me the chance to see you.”
“You did.” His laugh is broken, bitter. “I’m a monster.”
“No,” I whisper. My hand rises to his chest. “You make me stronger. Hold me accountable. Make me choose. You don’t let me run.” I swallow hard. “If that makes you a monster, then you’re the one I want.”
He stills beneath my hand like a man standing in the ruins of a temple—bare, waiting for the stones to fall or the gods to answer.
I press my palm flat against him. His breath hitches.
“I never stopped protecting you,” he says, voice like gravel. “Even when you didn’t want me to.”
I exhale slowly. This shame has teeth.
“I know.”
Mallen’s eyes flicker. He waits. I don’t know for what.
Apologies are too small. Excuses too easy. I offer neither.
Instead, I draw in a breath and step back from him.
Then I bow.
Not the shallow dip of the court. Not the languid gesture of a woman trying to charm. I fold low, one arm crossed over my chest, the other behind my back—a king’s bow. The one that only the rulers of Starsfall make when they offer the highest honor to a worthy equal. A sign of humility. Of reverence. Of concession.
Gasps ripple through the line.
Mallen doesn’t move.
The wind tugs at my cloak. I stay bowed, eyes fixed on the dust at my feet, and the silence bears down—taut and breathless—as if all of Starsfall holds its breath against my spine.
Let him reject it. Let him walk away. Let it end here if it must—but not for want of trying.
At last, he speaks.
“Never beneath me. Always beside me.”
I rise.
He stares at me a moment longer. He stares at me like a man trying to remember the shape of mercy. Then, without a word, he reaches for me.
He lifts me into his arms, and the world disappears. His hand closes at the back of my neck, drawing me in like gravity. Our mouths find each other in a kiss that isn’t soft or clean or sweet—it’s bitter and bruised and full of all the things we haven’t said.
And when I kiss him back, we don’t offer forgiveness.
