Page 56 of Labyrinthine
“No. I wouldn’t have.”
“You didn’t stop him.”
I lift my chin. “I didn’t need to.”
That gets a reaction—a flicker of surprise. A beat of blistering heat, banked but alive, seems to curl through the hollow of his chest.
“I would’ve faced my father, though,” I continue. “I would’ve stood in front of the entire court, declared myself, and taken the punishment. You weren’t ready to face him.”
“You don’t understand what that would have meant.”
“I understand.” My voice is quiet, but steady. “You’re not the only one who’s bled for Starsfall. I know the price of crossing my father. I have paid it in skin and in nights without breath.”
His jaw flexes. His hands curl at his sides, not into fists, but something more dangerous—the kind of tension a soldier holds before the battle starts. Still restrained. Still silent.
And still not meeting my eyes.
“I loved you before he even knew your name,” he murmurs. “And now the crowd sings for him like he’s some savior come to claim you.”
I say nothing.
“Tell me what you see when you look at him.”
My answer doesn’t come quickly enough. He moves past me, slow and deliberate, the air around him tightening. “Azhara,” he says, and his voice cuts sharper than steel. “Do you want him?”
“I want to survive this,” I whisper. “I want to live through this. Gods, I want a life I have to lie to live. Most of all, I want you to stop treating me like I’ll break if you love me aloud.”
That lands a hit, clean and deep.
He staggers back a step, and this time, it doesn’t look rehearsed. He looks gutted.
It’s just one step—barely more than a shift of weight—but the crack has formed. His eyes glint, too bright for the dim room, and his hands flex like he’s seconds from either pulling me into his arms or punching through the wall.
His voice lowers, fraying at the edges. “I’ve waited years, living on scraps. A glance. A smile. I stayed silent while your father paraded suitors past you like you were a prize in a glass cage. I fought for you while pretending I didn’t care. And now, when I finally come close—he’s there. Always there.”
Jealousy creeps in, slow and cold. But still, he holds the line.
“I didn’t ask Darian to flirt,” I say. “But you would not name what you wanted us to be. Not before them.”
His eyes finally rise to meet mine. “Because if I named it, I would not have stopped.”
I take a shaky breath.
His voice softens, but the tension only coils tighter. “He doesn’t love you, Azhara. He wants the crown. He wants to win. You’re a symbol to him. Tell me you know I’m right.”
“And what am I to you?”
For a moment, everything halts. Even the clock waits.
Then—
“You’re everything. You’re the only thing I can’t survive losing,” he says, almost broken. “Azhara?—”
My name slips from his lips again, softer this time. Not a plea. Not a command. Just a sound full of ache, like it’s the only word he remembers how to say. His eyes glint with something I can’t describe, and for a heartbeat, I think he might fall apart. From grief. From loss. From failing to protect the only thing he ever wanted. There’s a question in his eyes, and his body screams that the answer’s already killing him.
He crosses the distance between us in two strides, his hands braced against the wall on either side of me. Still not touching me. Still in control. But barely.
“I see the way you look at him,” he breathes. “And I’m trying not to come undone.”
