XXIV
Corin barely remembered leaving the Hall of Due.
The world beyond the maze felt wrong to him now—too loud, too bright. Too heavy. Each step echoed through his bones as though gravity itself had sharpened its teeth while he was gone.
He passed through empty hallways, searching for someone to talk to, for someone to help him.
He limped along, his body searching for some sort of comfort as his body ached something fierce. He stumbled slightly at one turn, finding the bright light of the sun beating down on him from an opening in the castle walls.
The sun felt welcome on his skin, but entirely wrong. It was stronger than that inside Ariadne’s chamber, and he seemed to miss it at that moment. The calmness in its power. The way it seemed to offer such comfort.
This sun only offered power.
By the time he managed to reach the Great Hall, his legs were trembling and his vision was swimming at the edges. The doors were wide open, his arms immediately thankful to not have to throw any effort into his entrance.
Voices filled the space, shattering the momentary peace of Corin’s head as they pierced his ears. It was full of conversation and laughter, the low murmur of court life that Corin hadn’t heard in days.
And then, all at one, silence crashed down.
He took one step inside.
Someone gasped.
Something glass shattered.
“Gods above–”
“The heir–”
“Is it truly–”
Corin swayed.
The room rushed toward him in fragments: dark banners hanging from stone pillars, long tables crowded with nobles, goblets half raised and forgotten. He could have sworn the air felt familiar, like when his father had passed—the air of loss.
His uncle surged to his feet from the high table, purple and black robes sweeping behind him and gold flashing at his throat.
“Corin?” Uncle Theros called out, disbelief sharp in his tone. Gods, it had been so long that he was unused to hearing his own name. It felt so foreign to him. “Corin!”
Mirelle was already moving when Corin caught sight of her.
She crossed the hall faster than Corin had ever seen her move before, skirts gathered in her hands. Her composure was cracking entirely as she reached him.
“You’re back!” she breathed out, gripping his arms as if afraid he might vanish again. A rush of pain flashed through him. “You’re actually back.”
“I–” Corin tried to get the words out, but the effort sent a wave of dizziness through him.
“Get a healer!” someone shouted.
“Water!” someone else cut in.
Corin only faintly saw the hall erupt into motion as his strength gave out. His knees buckled, and he would have hit the stone floor hard if Mirelle and two nearby guards hadn’t caught him.
The last thing he felt before darkness pressed in was her hand tight around his, grounding him.
He came back
to soft voices. Urgent. Overlapping.
“...dehydrated—no, more than that–”
“Gods, look at the state of him–”
“How long was he inside?”
Corin forced his eyes open at that. The ceiling above him swam into focus as he took in the arched stone, familiar and foreign all at once. He was laid out on a table or a low couch, something padded beneath him.
So different from the last time he had awoken after exhaustion, yet for half a moment, he wished he was back in the chamber with Ariadne.
A healer hovered at his side, hands brisk and practiced as they checked his pulse and pressed cool cloths to his skin. It was a welcome distraction from the pounding in his head.
“There,” the healer muttered. For the life of him, Corin could not remember his name. “He is awake.”
“Corin.” His uncle’s voice cut through the noise, sharp with relief and something else—hunger, perhaps? “You collapsed. What happened in there? What did you see?”
Corin swallowed, his throat painfully dry. “Why–” His voice cracked. He cleared it and tried again. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” A female voice echoed out from somewhere. Mirelle, he thought.
“I’m so…” Corin fought against the words that laid heavy on his tongue. “Tired.”
The healer handed him a goblet. “Drink. You’re dehydrated and exhausted.”
Corin took a sip greedily, even as the healer warned him to proceed slowly. He listened, only slightly, because the cool liquid felt so good against his rough throat.
Had it only been hours before that Ariadne had offered him ambrosia in such a similar way? A day, at most.
He realized the sharp injury from the Minotaur, his arm that was cut in his first fight, still burned. There was no muscle or blood showing through the cloths covering him. Only an intense pain from the inside.
All of his injuries seemed to only be inside him, nothing clear to show the small crowd that eagerly awaited his words.
He wouldn’t heal as quickly here without the help of the ambrosia, and gods, how Corin wished for a small drop at that point. Just something to tide him over while he recovered.
When he felt like he could speak again, and the intense gaze of everyone in the room felt too impossible to ignore, Corin spoke again. “Why wasn’t anyone waiting for me?”
Out of all the questions that plagued him, that was the one that came out.
The room went very still.
Corin thought that perhaps they didn’t hear him. He went to ask the question again, but Mirelle stopped him with a warm hand tightening around his arm.
“What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat. “At the entrance,” he said slowly. “In the Hall of Due. There should have been… someone, right? I remember… waiting for Uncle Theros as a child. When an heir exits… the court waits. It’s tradition.”
Uncle Theros exchanged a glance with the healer.
“Right?” Corin repeated softly.
“Corin,” Mirelle drawled out his name. “You weren’t expected.”
A chill slid down his spine. “What?”
When neither Mirelle nor his uncle replied, the healer spoke up. “You were inside the Labyrinth for seven days, my prince. You emerged on the seventh. Not the expected three days and nights.”
The words didn’t fully land at first. It took a moment for them to catch up to Corin’s ears.
“Seven?” he repeated slowly, though the word sounded hollow even to his ears.
“A full week,” Uncle Theros confirmed after clearing his throat. “The rites accounted for three days and three nights. When you didn’t emerge, we…” he trailed off, jaw tightening. “We began preparing for mourning.”
Corin stared at him, stunned.
Seven days.
In the Labyrinth, he knew that time had folded in on itself. It stretched and twisted until three days felt like a lifetime but also as if no time at all had passed. He understood that time had moved differently inside. He felt it every time he journeyed. Accepted it.
Still, he imagined he was in there for only a few days. Not an entire week.
He thought of Ariadne, of how the light had shifted and healed his wounds, of how the maze had breathed around them.
She had been there alone for centuries.
How long had it felt like for her?
It was then that Corin truly understood the dark garb that those around him wore.
Every garment had the echoes of purple, but there was a distinct black piece to everything: Uncle Theros’s black cloak, Mirelle’s black gown with only hints of purple lace.
Similar garments to what was worn when his father passed all those years ago.
Mirelle laughed softly, breathless and shaky. “Gods,” she breathed out, tears in her eyes. “I knew you’d make it out. I told them you would.” She leaned down and pressed her forehead gently against his, an intimate and familiar gesture born from years of trust. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Corin managed a weak smile for her as she straightened.
His uncle cleared his throat and shifted slightly. All relief in his body seemed to give way to something colder, more calculating. “You passed the trial,” he started. “Which means the Labyrinth took its due.”
Corin felt his chest tighten at that.
“What did you do?” the king asked, eyes sharp and searching.
The question hung in the air, heavy as a drawn blade.
A sacrifice he’d never forgive himself for if he didn’t finish it out. He wasn’t sure how to relay the story of his sacrifice, of what occurred in the halls of the maze. Of the kindness he faced.
Corin closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, letting the healer’s cool hands steady him and the echo of stone doors closing behind him replay in his mind. Ariadne’s face. The way she smiled through the pain. The last vision of her coursing through his memories.
He opened his eyes but did not answer.
Instead, he shifted carefully until he was upright. “I think,” he said hoarsely, “it would be best if I told the story all at once. To all that care to hear.”
Murmurs ripped through the gathered folk.
“The Labyrinth doesn’t give its truths in pieces,” Corin continued, voice steadier now that he had found his footing. “What happened in there won’t make sense without the whole of it. I’d rather speak when everyone who needs to hear it is present.”
Uncle Theros studied him through a few silent breaths. Corin kept his expression open, respectful—but carefully blank.
Finally, the king nodded. “Very well. You’ve earned that much.”
Relief loosened something tight in Corin’s chest, though it didn’t erase the dread beneath it. Time. Just a little more time. Then, he could figure out how to tell his court he was ready to give them up for the woman he met trapped in the maze.
The healer protested halfheartedly, but Corin was already pushing himself to his feet. Whatever the Labyrinth had done to him, it had also left him resilient. The pain was there—achingly insistent—but no longer ruling him.
They moved back toward the Great Hall together.
Mirelle slipped easily into step beside him, already speaking animatedly. “People were terrified, you know. Half the court thought the Labyrinth had claimed an heir for the first time in a century. But I knew that wasn’t the case. You just needed some extra time!”
“Taleon,” Corin interjected softly.
“Yes, that was his name!” Mirelle agreed with glee.
“You gave us all quite a scare,” his uncle added.
Corin shook his head. “My apologies. Time…”
“It moves differently there,” Uncle Theros finished for him. Their eyes met, and Corin nodded once. Someone understood that bit of his trial at least.
“Well, I have already begun arranging the celebrations. Quiet ones for now, but once the formal announcement is made…” Mirelle grinned. “You’ll never hear the end of it.”
Corin managed a small smile. “You’ve always been efficient.”
In truth, he imagined she had planned everything well before he even entered for his trial.
They all knew he would be taking over the crown as soon as he finished the trial.
Final preparations would need to be made, of course, but he imagined things would move quickly now that he was back in Knossos.
“And your coronation,” she continued, squeezing his arm. “The council agreed—within the week. They won’t delay.”
Speed, efficiency. Both were her specialty.
The word coronation, though, landed strangely. It was heavy. Inevitable. And choking him slowly.
“I’ve coordinated it all with Horal,” Mirelle finished.
“I’m glad he was helpful to you,” Corin mused. “It is all…”
She offered him a small smile as she squeezed his arm once more. “A lot, I know. But you won’t have to worry about a thing. You can recover from your trial, and Horal and I will have it all set up.”
Corin released a harsh breath, not realizing how much the idea of preparing for yet another task had been weighing on him. Recover, she had told him to do. He wasn’t sure he would be able to. Not until he saw Ariadne again.
And that thought clenched at something in his chest.
As they walked, Corin glanced toward his uncle. “When you entered the maze for your trial,” he asked carefully, “did you see her?”
Theros slowed a fraction. “See whom?”
“Ariadne.”
“The Threaded Daughter.” The king’s jaw tightened. “She was there?” When Corin nodded, his uncle took a deep breath. “I saw… a presence,” he answered after a moment. “The whispers in the walls made me think… but it’s difficult to say.”
Ariadne reduced to a whisper. A story. A myth.
She deserved more.
Corin nodded as if that were answer enough. Then, softly, he said, “The Labyrinth takes what matters the most.”
Theros looked at him sharply, perhaps wondering if Corin knew what the king had done—or hadn’t done—while completing his own trial.
“And sometimes,” Corin continued, gaze pressed forward. His voice was calm in a way that surprised even himself. “It takes something you thought you could never live without.”
Silence stretched between them.
The king’s fingers flexed at his side. “You speak as though you know my trial.”
“I know enough,” Corin confirmed.
For a moment—just a brief pause—fear flickered behind Uncle Theros’s eyes. Then he straightened, schooling his expression into something composed or dismissive. Practiced. “You’re exhausted,” he said. “The Labyrinth leaves echoes. Be careful not to mistake them for truths.”
Corin didn’t respond.
They had reached the Great Hall once again. The doors stood open still, light spilling across the stone floor. The court was still gathered in expectant clusters. Conversations once again hushed as Corin stepped forward, every eye turning to him.
He took a breath.
Tell them, part of him urged. Tell them everything.
And so he lifted his chin, feeling the weight of the disc hidden and heavy against his skin. The promise of it burning like a secret vow.