Page 49 of Labyrinthine
“Why would they die for that?”
“Because once you reach twenty-five, your father inherits every inch of Larksbind. And he won’t preserve it. He’ll consume it.”
Our eyes lock mid-step. The room might as well have vanished.
My breath stutters. My thoughts snag on what he’s saying—but it isn’t just his words. It’s the quiet urgency of them. The way he doesn’t flinch as I search his face.
I knew my father made another bargain. One that let him reclaim his magic bound by the Reaping. And I’ve always known he hated Larksbind—but I never thought he’d try to destroy it. Not when it’s the counterpoint to our magic and stops it from spreading like a plague. Still, the change fits too neatly to ignore. The sudden press toward seduction, the rule that keeps me valuable but withheld, the way he spoke of Larksbind answering. He has never said break it, but every plan of his cuts toward ownership. Maybe I believe it because it is the pattern I have dreaded. Maybe because giving my fear a shape is easier than waiting for it to find one.
If Larksbind falls, there’ll be no leash. No lines. No balance.
Only chaos. Only carnage. Onlyhim.
My father is ruthless. He protects what’s his. He speaks of Larksbind as if it belongs to him, yes, but he’s never spoken of breaking it. Not to me. Not out loud.
But this.
This isn’t conquest. It’s collapse.
The gods forged the Reaping to prevent this madness.
To defy it is to spit in their faces—and dare them to strike back.
“He’s raised you to live a lie,” Darian says, slower now, adjusting his pace to steady me.
I shake my head. The music thins. This dance nears its end.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should.” His voice is gentler now. “I gain nothing by lying.”
“You’re from Larksbind,” I whisper as he spins me into the final pose, bodies folding back together.
“That doesn’t make me a liar.”
My lips part, but before I can respond, Darian sweeps me into the closing step and dips me low. My body arches, arms outstretched, hair trailing behind me like spilled ink across the marble. His hand steadies my back. The court is silent but for the final notes of the music.
We rise together.
The applause comes fast—thunderous. We look like lovers. Like a fairy tale that men will tell in hushed tones for generations. They didn’t hear a single word. They saw only a prince who danced with his enemy’s daughter like she were made of flame and silk.
I feel the gazes locked on me, hungry for romance, blind to rebellion.
They cheer for a performance.
They don’t know they’ve just watched the match strike the powder.
“I thought you’d behisdaughter,” Darian says. “But you’re…unexpected. You’re not a piece. You’re the move itself. The one the board was waiting for. And when the game comes to an end, it’ll be because of you.”
I blink. Step back. Bow.
He closes the distance.
“It’s already happening. You’ve decided it’s ending, whether you know it or not, and here we are. This will be the last Reaping.”
I draw a breath. It snags like a thorn in my throat. “The gods aren’t watching this.”
A smile threatens his lips. “They don’t need to. You’re writing the story for them.”
