Chapter 24 #2
He hides it well—the flash of surprise, the sudden wariness—but I see it. And more than that, I feel it. The truth he’s buried doesn’t sleep easy. It pulses beneath the surface now, waiting. Seen. Tangible.
We pass beneath stone archways carved with forgotten runes, as the scent of cold iron and caged magic lingers in Threnos.
Torches flicker with blue flame, casting long shadows that stretch like specters across the streets.
The passages narrow with every step, pressing inward, as if the city itself means to overhear us.
“How do you navigate the labyrinth?” I ask, keeping my tone light, almost careless.
His eyes narrow. He walks beside me as we wind our way back to the palace, toward the private wings, where the noise of the arena gives way to silence and stone quiet as a shadow. “Planning on joining him?”
I laugh—too fast, too breathless. “Hardly. Just making conversation.”
Mallen doesn’t respond. Not until we reach my rooms and he steps inside with me, crossing his arms as he leans against the far wall.
“You’re not making small talk,” he says. “You make moves.”
I don’t answer him. I don’t know how.
Instead, I slip down beside a cabinet, keeping space between us. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to think clearly.
“What game are you playing now?” he asks, voice uncertain. Soft, almost.
“I’m not the one playing games.”
He smiles and it’s the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “You think you’ve been surviving a game someone else built—but it’s been yours all along. You’re not the pawn, Azhara. You never have been. You’re becoming the player who’ll teach the board how to move.”
“I want things to be different.”
He nods slowly, staring at the pattern in the carpet as if it holds the answer to a question he doesn’t know how to ask. He thinks for a long time. So long I stop counting the seconds. So long the ache in my chest becomes familiar.
And then he moves.
He rises and walks to me, takes my wrists in his hands, and presses his lips to my forehead with aching tenderness. My breath catches. I don’t let it show.
“I have one final thing to take care of,” he whispers, “but I promise—things will be different when I return. No more secrets. No more lies.”
His forehead rests against mine for a heartbeat too long. And it hurts.
It hurts.
Because I do care.
Not in the way he wants. Not in the way he deserves. But somewhere inside me, beneath the strategy and defiance and plans spun from desperation—I care.
Far too much.
And I am about to betray him all the same.
“You need a tether to keep you sane in life,” he murmurs. “You are mine. Your heart, your soul. You always will be. But in the labyrinth, I use another cord to bind me to you.”
He leaves. The door clicks shut behind him.
And I let out the breath I’ve been holding since Darian’s name passed my lips.
I pace the room, counting every step to quiet my nerves. When the sun begins to dip below the horizon, I change into my training clothes, black, silent and familiar. The velvet cloak slides over my shoulders like a promise.
I don’t need the tunnels this time. Just the direct path from my chambers to the labyrinth. I’ve escaped the palace once—I can do it again.
Especially tonight. The guards are distracted, already dreaming of my father’s feast.
I time it to perfection. Five minutes before shift change, I step into the corridor, feigning fatigue, and ask to be escorted to the baths. They groan but agree. When we arrive, I convince them I’ll be fine alone. They hesitate. I smile. They leave.
The moment the door clicks behind them, I scatter decoy clothes across the floor and slip into the corridor, heart hammering.
Behind the heavy curtain, I wait, listening to the muffled beat of boots—the shift change.
Timing is everything.
Mallen taught me that.
So I use everything he gave me—every lesson, every warning, every drilled routine—against him. My guilt clings to me like sweat. But I don’t let it slow me.
I move in silence. I know where the guards will be, how long their routes take, where the blind spots are.
He trained me for this. And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.
I slip through the palace like smoke, every step calculated, every shadow familiar. The path is etched into muscle memory now. I reach the concealed stair and hold my breath as I try the handle.
Please don’t be locked.
It turns.
I release the breath, quiet as a prayer, and slip into the dark.
Down the narrow steps. Across the courtyard. Past the points of no return.
I run.
My lungs burn, but I don’t stop. I only slow when I reach the stables. The night cloaks me, and I crouch low, watching. Waiting. No movement. No shouts.
I made it.
I grab a sword left against the wall rack near the tack room door and feel the familiar weight of it.
A reassurance. A burden. A reminder. This isn’t like last time.
I was running away then. Trying to stop a death I didn’t yet understand.
But now—now I know what I’m doing. I know who I’m doing it for.
This time, I’m not running from anything.
I’m running to something.
To someone.
And maybe—just maybe—to the part of myself I lost along the way.