XXIII
They stood there in silence for a moment, all three of them suspended in the aftermath of the maze opening.
Corin's chest still rose too fast, his pulse too loud in his ears. The open passage beside him glowed softly, patiently, as though it had all the time in the world.
There before him stood the Hall of Due. He could make out the light grey stone of his castle, the empty space that he knew held the two priestesses to welcome him back. He could see lingering decorative banners that had slowly started to dissipate from his absence.
It was his home. Right there only sitting a few steps away. It was his escape from the cursed maze that was set out to torture him.
He stared at it, then shook his head once sharply as if that might make sense of what happened.
“I don’t–” His voice came out hoarse, and not out of exhaustion. “I don’t understand.” His gaze shifted back to Ariadne, to the woman whose heart he nearly broke just moments ago. “I swear to you, I didn’t know this would happen.”
Ariadne didn’t respond immediately.
The Minotaur moved instead.
With a low, wounded sound, it limped across the chamber toward its sister. Its great head was lowered in a way that made it seem so young and innocent. Its horns were nicked and cracked, blood dark against pale stone.
Corin felt bad for the beast, more so than before. He felt bad for his actions and the discomfort it led to the monster.
When the Minotaur reached Ariadne, it pressed its massive weight close, almost clumsily. It nudged at her side like a hurt animal seeking comfort. And in that moment, it was.
Ariadne turned fully then to face her injured kin, hands immediately lifting to its face. She murmured softly—words Corin couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand from where he stood not far away—and touched the torn flesh with practiced care.
Something in Corin’s chest twisted painfully.
He looked back at the exit.
And suddenly, horribly, he understood.
His breath caught.
“No,” he whispered, more to himself than to the other beings in the room. His gaze flickered between the light spilling from the passage and Ariadne kneeling beside her brother. “No… that’s not–”
The realization settled anyway, heavy and undeniable.
To leave, he had to sacrifice her.
Not her life. Not her blood.
Her presence.
He would have to walk away. To choose the world beyond the Labyrinth knowing it would close tight behind him and leave her exactly where she had always been.
Alone.
Forever.
Because she was his hope now. He didn’t realize it until this moment, but that’s where his hope lied. Where his heart lied. With her. And leaving, giving her up, was the greatest sacrifice he could give up.
Corin swallowed, his throat burning. “It wants me to leave you.” The words were so quiet that he barely heard them over the pounding in his chest, but he saw the moment his words reached her.
She stilled, her spine stiffening.
Slowly, she looked up at him, confusion giving way to something sharper, something wounded. “What?”
“If I go,” he continued, forcing the words that felt heavy as stone out, “I don’t come back. Not now. Not like this. That’s my sacrifice.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “It’s not my pride. It’s not my life. It’s not blood. It’s you.”
Her face went even more pale.
“I won’t be able to be with you,” he finished with a tight voice.
For a heartbeat, he thought she might argue with him. Might deny the meaning of the exit appearing. Might laugh off his silly explanation. Might rage at the cruelty of it.
Instead, her shoulders sank.
“I see,” she said.
The words cut Corin deeply, more than the strike from the Minotaur had.
She straightened, brushing her hands on her skirts, and looked at him fully. There was something in her eyes—pain, he thought. It was raw and unguarded. She probably hadn’t felt this way in a long while, since her hero and family trapped her beneath the ground.
But beneath all of that was something steadier. Acceptance. Understanding.
And he hated that maybe even more.
“It makes sense. This place does not take sacrifices lightly.” She hesitated, then added, almost as if trying to convince him, “You were always meant to leave.”
Corin blinked. “I don’t want to.” The admission broke out of him before he could stop himself. He shook his head, taking a step toward her. “I can’t just—walk away. Not after this. Not after you.”
“You were so close. You could have gotten the Minotaur’s psyche. You could–”
“No,” Corin insisted. “That wouldn’t have done anything. Not truly.”
Ariadne inhaled sharply as the Minotaur leaned into her more. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and meeting Corin’s gaze with more sadness than he was ready to accept.
“You have to leave, heir. You did not come here to stay.”
He laughed weakly, a sound so close to tears. “I didn’t come here to lose you either.”
“You did not come here to find me.”
The bitter truth hurt him. Desperately, he ran through every scenario in his mind, trying to think of a way for him to not lose her. As much as he wanted to leave, maybe even more so, he wanted to never lose sight of her.
An urge clawed at his insides to make her his own, to keep her to himself in Knossos. To hold her and talk with her and never let her go.
His eyes widened for a moment as an idea struck him. An idea so grand, so perfect, that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before now.
“You could come with me!”
As the words landed, Ariadne shook her head, looking at him with a deep sense of sympathy. She cast her eyes downward. “I will not be able to walk out of here. I know that. The Labyrinth is keeping me here. As long as it is here, I will be too.”
The words sat heavy and ugly on Corin’s chest, as if fighting against his heart.
For a long, brutal moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them knew what to do. The Labyrinth remained quiet, as if listening to their hearts breaking.
The Minotaur released a small whine, curling in on himself slightly. Corin could see a puddle of blood pooling beneath the beast. It stained Ariadne’s dress from where the monster huddled in close to her. Corin knew it would not kill the Minotaur, but it would clearly be in great pain for a while..
Finally, Ariadne closed the distance between Corin and herself. She whispered some soft words to her kin and moved forward, closer to the heir.
She reached him, placed a hand on his shoulder—warm, solid, real—and fully looked up at him with tears gracing an expression that nearly undid him.
If she had offered him the expression for any other reason, he would hunt down the cause for her emotions. But he couldn’t. Because the cause of them was him.
“Corin,” she whispered softly.
The shock of his name hit him all at once, and he shook. His eyes moved around the room, expecting some sort of chaos to follow, but nothing happened. It was as if the Labyrinth was holding its breath as it awaited the heir to finish his trial.
“Go. Please.”
Before he could answer, before he could protest, she rose onto the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.
It was gentle. Brief. A promise and a farewell all at once.
A kiss so powerful and full of emotions that it stunned him. Her lips touched him, and all he could do was stand and accept it. If he could have reacted, he would have. He would have pressed his lips more firmly against hers.
But he couldn’t. His body was frozen, shocked by her actions and wallowing in the hurt that the truth struck him with.
The press of her lips felt so sudden, so final, that he wasn’t sure what to think. He wanted to feel them more, to never part their lips from each other. It would have been a perfect life to stand like that with her for the rest of their days.
But as quick as it came, she pulled back just as fast. When she drifted away, her forehead rested against his chest for just a second, listening to the way his heart beat erratically.
Then she turned away.
She went back to the Minotaur. Back to her brother. Back to living as the entities cursed to stay inside the maze.
Kneeling beside her brother, who at some point during their kiss had fallen to the ground to curl in on himself more, she resumed tending to his wounds. Her hands were steady despite the tears that slipped silently down her cheeks.
She did not look back at Corin.
And Corin stood frozen as his heart splintered.
He had to leave. There was a sense of responsibility waiting for him. Knossos needed him. He had the crown that his uncle needed to give up. Mirelle was waiting with a coronation and wedding to plan.
This was bigger than him. He had too many responsibilities, too many people relying on him, to stay inside the Labyrinth.
Despite the pain that caused him.
He closed his eyes, accepting defeat for his heart.
A weight pressed against his thigh. His eyes opened hurriedly as his fingers reached into his pocket.
The stone disc.
He drew it out slowly, staring at it as the memory of the missing piece at the entrance surged. Of the way the Labyrinth reacted to him now. Of the strange certainty that had taken root in his chest.
He glanced down at his feet, suddenly feeling the weight of the ball of thread hitting his boot. Following the line of golden thread cast off led his eyes to the archway—to the exit.
Hope hurt, certainly, but it lived.
This isn’t over, he thought.
He closed his hand around the disc tightly and took a step toward the exit.
“I will come back,” he vowed aloud, his voice rough but certain. “I swear it. I will find a way to open this place. I won’t leave you here. I refuse.”
Ariadne cast her eyes to him.
Their eyes met across the chamber—hers shining with grief and something like belief, his burning with resolve.
Then Corin turned and walked into the light.
The stone slid shut behind him with a sound like a held breath finally released.
Darkness gave way to torchlight.
He stumbled forward and found himself standing back in the Hall of Due.
The chamber was empty save for the two priestesses, who watched him in silence and acceptance from their edges of the archway.
There were no cheers, no court, no welcome home. Not even the decorations that lined the hall when he first went through with his trial. Most of them had fallen away or been taken down. Only a few leftover cloths remained, cloths that likely no one could have easily reached.
Just him.
Where was the celebration? Where were the people waiting for him? Where was his family?
Corin straightened slowly, the weight of the Labyrinth still heavy on his skin, the promise of return beating in his chest like a second heart.
He was free.
But he was not done.