Page 34 of Labyrinthine
Because for him, it is.
We step into the corridor. The guards fall in, one to either side. I smooth my face into the one they expect. Wax and steel hang in the air. Our footfall measures the distance. I flex my hands once and let them settle. We reach the stateroom doors, and I taste copper—and then curse under my breath.
My father stands beside Darian, speaking as if they’re old friends. His gaze skims me, quick and weighing, then moves on. He’s seen enough, and I am here, as he ordered.
“It’s good to see you looking well,” my father says, every word lacquered with care. “An afternoon with Darian should help you feel even better.”
“I thought we could revisit the gardens,” Darian offers with an easy smile, holding out his hand.
I hesitate and then take it, careful to school my expression, aware of Mallen’s presence behind me.
“Without the fighting this time, Princess.”
We walk toward the door. Mallen follows, almost silent.
“I think we can trust a prince to keep Azhara safe,” my father says. His words ring loud in the room, and the walls press in.
I go still. My breath snags.
Mallen steps forward, calm and exact. He stops a pace from Darian. “We’re all aware of the recent intrusion. Moonsrise reached the inner halls and attempted to remove the Princess. Until that breach is sealed, no movement is routine. Your men will coordinate with mine. If anything touches her, Larksbind will answer.”
He gives nothing away. I hear the heat under the ice only because it is for me.
Darian doesn’t draw back. He nods once, cool and composed, and steers us away. The guards peel off once we reach an enclosed garden, settling along the outer walls.
“Your guard dog barks loudly,” Darian says as he takes a seat. “Is he always this protective?”
I sit beside him—apart. In case Mallen’s watching.
“He’s always been there,” I say.
“He’s in love with you.”
I laugh, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “He’s known me since I was a child. He cares for me. It’s not…”
Darian is still watching me. His eyebrows knit.
He shifts closer, his thigh brushing mine, his fingers resting next to mine as he lowers his head. “What was it like, growing up with him always around?”
His tone dares me to answer wrong.
So I don’t.
I tell him how the nobles’ sons learned where to press, and how they decided to make it a sport one afternoon in the archery yard. How their hands held my arms, and their laughter flooded my ears. Then a torch came too close, and my hair singed while they called it a game. I did not cry. I swallowed smoke and counted breaths, and hid the bruises under my sleeves at supper.
Mallen found me before the light failed. He took off his cloak and set it over my shoulders. He did not ask why I’d let it happen. He asked for their names. I told him. The next morning, those boys arrived for drills with split pride and new respect. No one spoke of why. After that, he began to meet me at dawn. To teach me stance and breath and how to break a grip. How to move when you are smaller. He stood at my back in ceremonies and at my side in corridors. The nobles’ sons tried once more. Only once.
“Before Mallen, I had no one. My father called it independence.”
Darian doesn’t speak at first. Just stares at me like I’d uttered a truth too painful to hear.
“Azhara,” he says, and it’s not flirtatious or smooth now—it’s horrified. “You were a child.”
The quiet thickens around us, and I feel it settle over my skin like dust. Like ash.
“I didn’t realize it was strange,” I murmur. “It’s just how it was. My father had to raise me and rule a kingdom. He?—”
“Neglected you,” Darian finishes, tightening his grip. “You’re not a distraction. You’re his daughter. His future. He should’ve protected you.”
