Page 36 of Labyrinthine
He isn’t demanding. It’s worse than that. He’s patient. Sincere.
“You’re a princess,” he says. “When you ask, others answer. You don’t apologize. You do not need to.”
I try to look away but he moves closer, not looming—just present. His hand lifts and hesitates at my chin, and when I don’t flinch, he tilts my face up. Gently.
“This is not how power works.”
I laugh—too quietly to be heard.
This is how majesty works. I’ve lived in its shadow. My father never raised his voice when a smile would do. He could gut a man with kindness and crown the corpse with roses. Or silence a room with just one look, making you forget everything you knew before your lips started to speak.
And I…I learned to smile while bleeding.
I have no power. Not really. Only the illusion of it, when I stand beside Mallen. Only when he doesn’t speak for me. Only when he looks at me like I matter. Without him, I’m just a girl pretending I have a choice.
I should pull back from Darian. I don’t.
His thumb grazes the edge of my jaw, featherlight, and when he lets go, I almost miss the contact.
He sits beside me, careful, as if I might flee. “You don’t have to say everything now. You don’t even have to say anything. But one day, you will tell me all of it. And then you’ll decide what you want me to do about it.”
His words settle around me like soft cloth, heavy with implication. I hesitate, unsure how to answer, but my hands move on their own. I reach for the blanket, only to find his fingers there first.
Our hands brush. There’s a pause.
Then somehow—we’re holding hands.
His is warm. Steady. He doesn’t grip too tightly. He just lets it sit between us. It’s me who’s holding onto him.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” I whisper, staring at our joined hands, “but you’re good at it.”
“I’m not trying to seduce you, Azhara.”
My head jerks up, startled.
He smiles faintly. “Not yet. One day I will. But now, I just want to find out who you are when no one’s watching. That’s all I want.”
Attendants arrive before I can reply. One sets down a tray. The other folds blankets with the stiffness of someone suppressing resentment. Darian thanks them. Warmly. Politely. They leave without a word, and the silence they leave behind feels strange.
I exhale slowly, trying not to fidget. My gaze catches on a cluster of white flowers swaying in the breeze as though they’ve heard what I have not. The sudden movement makes my pulse stutter. Even beauty feels dangerous today. The wind shifts again, brushing petals like secrets spoken too loud, threatening to expose what should stay hidden.
I fold the blanket tighter around myself. My hands won’t stop trembling.
“You’ve spent your whole life being careful,” Darian murmurs. “That’s not the same as being safe.”
I glance at him, caught between wanting to retreat and wanting to be near him. His hand is still there, not demanding, not pressing, just…there. I cover it with my own. A choice. A risk. Maybe a betrayal.
“I know what I’m doing,” I say, half to him, half to myself.
“I believe you.”
I shiver, not from cold. There’s no urgency in him. No heat that scorches. Just a steady fire, coaxing me closer. The air between us hums with necessity and want, with wishes that remain as unspoken and unknown as dreams. It unnerves me more than any flirtation could. It’s not hunger. It’s attention. Like he’s listening to the part of me I’ve spent years silencing.
“You always get this quiet when someone sees you?” he asks gently.
My silence burns as it doesn’t answer his question.
“I won’t push,” he says. “But if I were to kiss you—just your cheek—I’d ask first.”
