Page 82 of Labyrinthine
He goes still. A breath, tight and slow. “You asked me to stay. I did.”
He draws away before I see his face. By the time I roll to look at him, he’s sitting upright at the edge of the bed, muscles tense, spine drawn like a bow.
“I just meant—” I reach out, my fingers brushing the ridges of his back. “I was worried we’d be seen.”
He glances over his shoulder, wary, reading me. Then he sinks back down beside me, careful. We lie facing each other, breathing the same hush.
He’s unconcerned.
Of course he is.
My father made him Commander of the Royal Guard for a reason. Those guards answer to Mallen now. There was never any risk. I trace a line down his chest, watching him watch me. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t stop me.
“You’re warm,” I whisper.
He catches my hand, pressing it flat over his heart. It beats hard beneath my palm. “This will be over soon. I promise.”
“How will you deal with my father?” I ask.
His gaze sharpens, forest green and flint-edge. “I taught you better than this.”
He’s not angry. He’s reminding me—who he is, what he’s capable of. His restraint is terrifying. Cunning threaded through every breath. There’s little cruelty in him, but there’s little mercy, either. None for a man like my father.
“Does it upset you?” he asks.
“Would it change anything if it did?”
“Maybe.” His eyes hold mine, unreadable. Then he brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “Your father deserves to be erased.”
The words aren’t snarled. They’re cool, quiet, steady. That makes them worse.
But he isn’t looking at my father. He’s looking at me like I’m his whole world, or the war worth waging and the ruin he welcomes. Maybe I’m the reckoning he’s waited for, and the altar he’d burn the world to reach.
It feels like gravity. Like drowning.
I bury my face against his chest and let him hold me.
“I don’t care how many men fall,” he says softly. “You’ve been trapped long enough. Let me break the walls.”
“And my magic?” My teeth grate over my bottom lip. “What if it’s too much? What if he’s right?”
Mallen huffs a bitter breath. “You’re stronger than that. Than him. Stop giving him power he doesn’t deserve.”
I want to believe him. I want to be that girl.
I don’t remember blood on the marble. I don’t remember my mother’s scream as it tore from her throat. Or the way the light went out in Starsfall, as if the land itself recoiled from what I’d done. My magic’s been waiting. Hungering. Sealed in shadow for twenty years. One wrong move and the darkness inside me will rise and devour everything.
It stirred yesterday—called to the Obcasus like a temptress beckoning ruin.
If it hadn’t been for the binding woven by the gods themselves, I’d have killed everyone in Starsfall. My father, as he basked in his glory. The nobles, busy indulging him and vying for his attention. The children, playing games while blood drips onto the arena floor beneath them.
I turn my face away.
Mallen shifts closer. His hand smooths down my spine with aching care.
“Wherever you just went—don’t. Not now.” He tilts my face to his. “You’re not weak, Azhara.”
His thumb grazes my lip. To remind himself I’m real. Then he kisses me—not to claim, but to quiet the storm. My pulse jumps, but he doesn’t press. Just lets his mouth linger like a promise I haven’t decided to keep.
