Page 96 of Labyrinthine
“Why not tell me this from the start?” I whisper.
Darian exhales, slow and hard. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was like him.”
I look up at him sharply. “How’s that turning out?”
“Not ideally,” he says. “But would you have believed me?”
“That was never your choice to make.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I didn’t have much of one. Mallen was your shield. We both know I’d only have pushed you further away if I’d said anything earlier. So I kept my mouth shut.”
“But you’ve decided it’s time to shatter any illusions I have left?”
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve decided it’s time you choose for yourself.”
I flinch.
It’s not the words. It’s thewayhe says them. Like I’ve never been allowed to. Like everyone else has already chosen for me.
Mallen. My father. The court. Even the realm.
“I have,” I bite out. “I’ve choseneverytime. To survive. To obey. To keep my head above the tide while all of you played your games underneath it.”
“I know,” he says, voice tight. “But you don’t have to keep doing it alone.”
The silence that follows is too loud. The forest presses in. I can hear his breath behind me. My own blood in my ears.
“Please,” Darian says quietly. “Let me help you. Just this once.”
His hand brushes mine. I don’t pull away. Not immediately. The touch is tentative. Hesitant. A connection offered, not claimed. And gods, part of me wants to believe him. To believe he’s different. That this isn’t just another way to lead me down a path someone else already paved.
But trust is a currency I no longer have.
I turn my hand and press my fingers to his chest—gently, yet firmly—pushing him back. “Don’t.”
He stills.
“I’m not ready,” I say. “And if you think I’ll run into your arms the moment I fall out of Mallen’s shadow?—”
“I don’t.”
“Good. Because I’m not running anywhere.”
The hurt flickers in his eyes—but only for a moment. Then it’s gone, buried beneath that calm he wears like armor.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
It sounds real. Not wounded. Not manipulative. Just...real.
I nod once, a jerky, awkward motion. My throat aches.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Whether you’re trying to help or win. But I’m not choosing sides. Not tonight.”
“I can live with that,” he says.
I start walking again. Slower now. He keeps pace beside me, silent.
The path is narrowing. The forest grows darker.
