Page 24 of Labyrinthine
By the time I return to the reception, the music has changed. Darker now, slower. A waltz meant for intrigue. The nobles are drifting to the floor in pairs and trios, all satin and suggestion.
And that’s when I see Mallen.
He is not at my side.
He stands near one of the pillars at the chamber’s edge, half-shadowed by the spill of a jade banner. His arms are crossed, his face carved in stillness. But his eyes are locked on me as I return to the lonely center of the room.
For a moment, the world quiets.
The music slips away like the memory of summer when it’s winter. The heat settles low in my chest, and a slow, delicious ache pressing between my ribs. And the slow, silver smile Darian left behind fades, like a ghost settling on my skin.
All I feel is Mallen’s gaze. Its heat. Its weight. It’s a quiet storm sweeping me away as if I were fallen leaves. This is a maelstrom contained, the calm before the winter’s tide carries the shore out to sea. It’s not angry, not jealous.
Worse.
It’s resigned.
He looks like a man bracing for war, knowing he will not stop it.
My feet take me toward him before reason arrives. Perhaps it’s because I want to explain. Or because to be seen differently. Or maybe it’s to catch that look again, the one he has worn these past days, as if I mattered more than the orders that bind him.
He watches me approach.
But he doesn’t move.
“Were you going to vanish into the walls?” I ask, tone light. Too light. “Or just glare like an old ghost?”
Mallen’s voice is low. Rough. “I did not neglect my watch. You didn’t need me.”
“Don’t say that,” I say, and it comes out small. “That’s not true.”
“You walked with him,” he says, eyes unreadable. “You let him touch you. Gave him your attention. Your silence. And I’ve guarded enough nobles to know when they’ve been dazzled by trinkets.”
“You think I can be bought with poems and sparkly things?” I ask, as steadily as I can. “You think I wanted a prince in the Reaping?”
“I think,” he cuts in quietly, “you stopped looking for me when you saw something prettier.”
That lands. Not because it’s true, but because he believes it. And somehow, that is worse.
“I didn’t stop looking,” I say, voice tight. “You stopped standing where I could see you.”
A long breath passes between us.
Then he bows—sharp, fast, too formal.
Not a dismissal. A retreat.
And as he goes, something in me strains toward him, like a thread pulled tight but not yet cut.
CHAPTER SIX
I toywith a scallop on my plate, barely tasting the food.
The feast was well underway by the time I’d taken my seat, and now the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine lingers. Music drifts from the dais, dancers swaying in flickers of gold. My shoulders ache beneath the weight of jewelry and expectation. My father is currently conversing with some of the nobles and basking in their regard. When his gaze brushes me, I smooth my face. He saw Darian, and he will count it as a success if I look the part.
The two men who sit beside me have haunted my thoughts for most of the night—and neither of them seems interested in food.
To my right, Darian lounges with the easy arrogance of someone born into power and used to charm doing half his work. His attention lingers on me like a brand, unapologetic andbold. To my left, Mallen is still—a tightly coiled spring—and the tension in his jaw could cleave stone.
