by Kyla Stone
He seizes my upper arm. “You don’t understand anything, little girl. You think you’re snaring him, but you’re not. You’re just his plaything of the moment.”
“And you’re just his loyal lapdog. Do you come every time he calls?”
His eyes flash. “I’ll do anything to protect him. You understand? Anything.”
I rip my arm from his grasp. “I’m not afraid of dogs.”
“You should be. And you should be more careful.”
“Careful of what, exactly?”
Gallus leans in close, his stale breath striking my face. “If you’re alone in the woods and a wolf is stalking you, do you know what to do?”
I refuse to answer his stupid riddle.
His mouth curves in a vicious smile. “You must give it something it wants more than you.”
There is a long, dangerous silence.
I refuse to show fear. Beasts can smell fear; it makes them more likely to attack. Every instinct screaming at me not to turn my back on him, I do. Without a word, I spin on my heels, about to head to the rear of the cave when Theseus catches my eye. I force myself to smile at him.
“Don’t you walk away from me—” Gallus whispers.
“Ariadne!” Theseus calls. “Come here!”
I’m not even angry that it’s a command, not a request. I glance over my shoulder at Gallus, unable to keep the smirk from my face.
Gallus’s livid expression is reward enough.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Come here,” Theseus repeats. He gestures to me, patting the large boulder beside him. He shifts, giving me room to sit. I feel the warmth of him pressing against my side. “We need to leave soon.”
“I know.”
“We cannot allow ourselves to become complacent.”
Instinctively, I glance toward the arched entrance to the cave, straining my ears. But Asterion hasn’t roared for hours. I should be grateful for every moment of peace, but uneasiness worms inside me. This star-spangled cavern feels like a sanctuary, a sacred place separate from the terror of the Labyrinth.
And that makes it dangerous.
“Ariadne, I…” His voice trails off.
Something in his voice makes me look at him. I’ve never seen him so uncertain. “What is it?”
He licks his lips, frowning, then nods to himself as if he’s decided something. “I was too harsh with you when you wandered off with the thread. I—I shouldn’t have.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs, embarrassed, but the set of his jaw tells me he’s determined to follow through with whatever he set out to say. “I—I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” I mumble, too shocked to think straight. Theseus isn’t the kind of man who wishes to admit weakness, to mistakes, or to apologize for them. Yet here he is, awkward and uncomfortable, but apologizing all the same.
He looks off toward the pool, not meeting my gaze. “For a moment, I thought you were…I thought I’d lost you.”
My stomach twists. There’s real concern in his voice. He was worried for me.
I almost slip my hand in his to reassure him. “I’m right here.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have left without telling the group. It was foolish.”
“We all do things we wish we hadn’t,” he says graciously.
“Some more than others.”
He gives a sharp laugh. “I suppose that’s true. But we can try to be better, can we not?”
“We can,” I say. “We will.”
“What you did,” Theseus says gruffly, “in the monster’s lair…” He shifts uncomfortably. “It was…brave.”
I hide my startled smile. Who is this Theseus? I haven’t seen this side of him before—unsure, vulnerable even. Even though I shouldn’t, I like him even more. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” I tease gently. “Maybe you should try again.”
He clears his throat and runs his hand through his curls, damp from the sweat of training. “I was unprepared for the Minotaur’s strength. I’m not as experienced with the dagger. I’m used to the long swing of a sword.” He tries to shrug it off, but I can see it in the tension of his shoulders. He’s shaken.
I try to keep my tone light. “Is the great hero admitting weakness?”
He drops his gaze to his hands. “I’m still only half-god. I have the weaknesses of a man.”
Heat flushes my throat. I didn’t mean to mock him. It takes courage to admit a mistake. I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what. I’m too flustered to think clearly, my belly soft and fluttering.
He stretches his arms over his head, the muscles rippling in his sculpted chest and broad shoulders. His every move is lean and graceful as a gryphon, radiating power and strength. He is beautiful. Too beautiful.
I should look away, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m drawn to him in ways I can’t explain even to myself.
Theseus gives me a sideways glance, his expression suddenly shrewd, his eyes sharp and sparkling. “I think I may enjoy this marriage more than I expected, Princess.”
I sputter, unable for a moment to form words.
He laughs. It’s low and hoarse but not unpleasant, vibrating through my core. “Why do you look so displeased?”
“I’m not. I just—I was taken off guard.”
He looks at me, waiting expectantly. For what, I don’t know. Even exhausted, he fairly glows, every bit a prince, every bit the son of a god. There’s something in his gaze, in the intensity of those storm-blue eyes…
Heat spreads from my chest to my neck to my cheeks. My scar itches, my skin prickling. My heartbeat quickens within the cage of my ribs. I want to be closer to him. I want to run away.
Part of me wants to revel in these new, strange feelings—in this connection spanning between us. No boy has ever looked at me this way—like I’m something, like I’m special, like he wants me.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been the cursed princess, sister to a monster. No one in Knossos, in all of Crete, has ever seen me differently, other than Tarina and my sister, Phaedra. Not even my parents.
But another, larger part of me fills with fear—and guilt. I shift further away on the boulder, so our skin no longer touches. “What happens when you go home?”
A faint smile graces his lips. He knows I’m attempting to distract him, but he allows it. “We arrive home in triumph, flying our white sails of victory. King Aegeus will greet me—will greet us—with great joy, feasting, and celebration.”
“Do you want to be king?”
He flashes me an incredulous look. “Of course.”
I clasp my hands in my lap, hiding the half-moon cuts and scars on my palms. “Not everyone wants that yoke pressed upon them.”
“You don’t long to be queen?”
There’s something about him, about the intent way he’s gazing at me as if I’m the only girl in this cave, the only girl in the known world. I feel a strange mix of vulnerable and powerful. Just being near him causes my heart to hammer against my chest, my stomach to turn over.
And he knows it. I know he knows it from the sly smile gracing his lips, but I can’t seem to stop the locked parts of myself from opening wide, my lonely heart longing to be known, to be seen, just this once. I speak honestly, the words pouring out of me before I can stop them. “Being queen didn’t bring my mother happiness. Sometimes, I think it’s as much a burden as anything else.”
I hesitate, thinking of those long summer days dashing along the beach with Asterion, all those times we sat upon the cliffs and watched the sails of the ships entering and departing the harbor, envisioning all the bright lands they would explore, the deep expanse of sea full of unimaginable horrors and delights. How Asterion and I both wished we could sail upon one of those ships, yearning to flee the looming shadow of our family’s curse. “I—I want freedom. I want a wide-open sea in front of me and a road that never ends, full of new people and new places and new things to discover.”
“Maybe it’s not. There are so many demands, responsibilities, expectations, so many ways to fall short, to fail.”
“You make it sound awful.”
I shake my head, thinking of my mother, her thin, bony hands seizing my arms, her demanding gaze boring into my soul. My obligations bind tighter around me, restricting my breath, heavy as chains. “Your life is not your own.”
“None of our lives are our own,” Theseus says quietly. “Our duty is to the gods, always.”
I taste bitterness on my tongue. “And if the gods curse and abandon us?”
“Then we make sacrifices until the gods forgive us and change our fate.”
I swallow around the stone in my throat. “And what if we could change our own fate?”
“Impossible. Only the gods—and the fates—decide.”
I stare up at the dazzling cave above us. The glow-worms twinkle like stars. The rocks themselves gleam in the reflected radiance, the pool shimmering and placid. It’s magical, like the gods touched this spot in the middle of hell and left it here for us like a promise.
I want to believe in the gods, in the goodness of the mother goddess. But I no longer know if I can. Earth-Shaker cursed my brother. The mother goddess allowed it. Now I am here, forced to make an impossible choice that I loathe with every fiber of my being.
“Will you miss Crete?” he asks.
My stomach knots. Crete is my home. But it is also the place of my worst nightmares.
“No,” I lie. “I will not miss Crete.”
He nods. “Athens is where you belong, with me. But surely there is something you will miss. Someone you want to visit.”
A sudden swell of homesickness washes through me. I envision my father’s lush gardens, the hot sand of the arena, the smell of my mother’s lilies, the way sunlight floods the frescoed chambers and sparkling gypsum walls of the palace, Tarina’s loud, boisterous laugh. I see Phaedra’s small hand gripping mine, her sharp, dark gaze as she grins at me. “I miss Tarina. And I miss my sister.”
Theseus laughs, full and long. “Your sister is very beautiful. I miss her, too.”
He’s trying to get a rise out of me.
I refuse to be offended. This conversation isn’t real. I will never be his wife, will never be his queen. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of Phaedra. None of it is real.
He looks at me, suddenly uncertain. “I’m teasing, you know.”
A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “I know.”
He’s so close, his muscled arm, still damp, barely brushing against my own. That is real. The strange flutter in my belly is real. I lick my lips. “What will you do when you are king of Athens?”
“I grew up hearing the tales of magnificent Crete. I’ve seen your intricate metalwork, your art, your inventions. Your ships have mastered the seas. You are a shining kingdom on a hill, while we are a land of small, petty kings scrabbling in the mud for supremacy.” Theseus frowns down at his dagger. “Over what? Nothing. The petty kings of Athens are so bitterly divided among themselves they accept the dominance of Crete without question. Athens trembles before Crete like a dirty child in rags before a dragon.
“But things can be different. Things will be different.” His voice rises in anticipation and determination. “Do you swear not to mock me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“When I am king, I will unify the small kingdoms under one commonwealth.”
“A commonwealth?”
“A people’s government. Ruled by a king, yes, but a commonwealth that embraces men of all kinds. All of Attica united under the umbrella of Athens. A sovereign people. The first great city of the known world.”
“The second great city of the known world,” I correct.
He flashes a boyish grin. “You can’t keep thinking like that, not as the future queen of Athens.”
My body flushes warm, then cold, then back again, thoughts and feelings springing up inside me. I have no idea what to do with them.
Theseus watches me, his eyes swirling with unfathomable depth. He takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head.
I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“You confound me, Princess,” Theseus says. “With your wit and your strength. I did not expect such from a girl.”
I should be angry at his backward, barbarian ways. Instead, I can’t tear my gaze from the storm of his eyes.
His eyes are the color of the sea. But the sea is safer to look at.
“Maybe you expect the wrong things,” I force out.
He is so close, his fingers tracing my jaw like trails of fire. My heart hammers against my ribs. I don’t know what to say, what to do.
If only I was as beautiful and charming as Phaedra. She would know what clever, flirtatious phrases to say. She would know how to flutter her lashes just so, biting the swell of her bottom lip alluringly. Instead, I am just me. The cursed princess. The unwanted one. Awkward. Stubborn. Strong but plain, with no allure or charm to draw the gaze of any man.
Except, somehow, incredibly, this one.
“You entrance me,” he says hoarsely, as if it pains him to say it.
I swallow. “I am not beautiful.”
“Of course, you are—”
“Let’s not play word games. My looks are plain. It doesn’t bother me. I may not be beautiful, but I’m strong.”
He grins slyly. “I like a strong woman.”
“I think you don’t know what to do with one.”
His eyes burn into me. “Oh, I think I do.”
Before I can stammer anything, my throat flushing with embarrassment, Theseus bends his head closer. His lips barely brush my own. Sparks streak through my veins.
“I expect I must request your permission, my future-queen,” he says, his breath warm and rustling against my cheek. “If I don’t wish to be punched first.”
I can’t do this, can’t be here. This is unfair to him. Theseus doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know who I really am. If I was strong, I’d refuse. If I was smart, I’d pull away, leap up, and flee.
But I’m not strong. I’m weak. And in my weakness, I nod.
Theseus kisses me. His lips are soft, his mouth warm and sweet. One hand cups my chin, the other wraps around the back of my head. He winds his fingers through my hair. I feel his touch like fire. His kiss deepens—stronger, harder, insistent.
I kiss him back, my head buzzing, my stomach spinning and tumbling.
There are stars everywhere. Stars above me. Stars inside my eyelids. Stars inside my skin. It’s both beautiful and terrifying.
Time seems to still. His mouth is on mine, drinking me in. His hand tangles in my hair. His fingers stroke the line of my jaw. My skin tingles where he touches me, my whole body trembling.
I close my eyes, giving in to the dizzy rush, giving in to the want I’ve been pushing down since the moment I saw him on the docks, from that first caught breath when his eyes locked on mine, his mouth curving in that sensual, beautiful smile.
For one glorious heartbeat, I see another possible future scrolling before me. I can do exactly what’s expected of me. I can write the story the way it’s supposed to go. The princess who falls for the hero. The princess who helps the hero kill the monster. The princess who marries the hero as his reward, who lives the rest of her days in comfort, happy and content and blessed with eternal love.
That life shimmers in front of me—so easy, so simple, filled with fine dresses and sumptuous feasts, exotic palaces, and all the rich and lovely things a princess could desire. But most of all, there will be Theseus. Theseus at my side. Theseus in my bed. Theseus keeping me safe, always keeping me safe, so I never have to feel this bone-shattering fear again.
Red flashes before my eyes—the red of trampled, blood-stained grass, the red of wild, madness-crazed eyes. A warning. A reminder.
My heart clenc
hes. I pull back.
Theseus’s eyes search my face in confusion, his hand still cradling my chin. I can’t tear my gaze away.
How can you kiss him? my mind hisses. It’s awful enough what I plan to do without entangling my heart in his like a spider caught in a web.
I can’t do this.
I put my hand on his chest, hesitating for the slightest moment, feeling the warmth of his skin through his tunic, the solidness of his muscles, the rapid pulse of his heart against my palm, beating in tandem with my own.
My heart aches like a bruise.
I push away from him and shove to my feet.
He stares at me, baffled. “Ariadne, what’s wrong?”
I can’t look at him through the scrim of my tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He rises as if to come after me. “Ariadne—”
“No! Don’t! Please, let me be.” I dart away, fleeing between the stalagmites and boulders until I find an isolated spot at the back of the cave, away from the others. Theseus obeys my request. He leaves me be.
I sink down against the far cavern wall, clapping my hands over my mouth to hold back the sobs. I shake, trembling all over, pain shredding my heart.
They can’t both live.
Theseus was just an arrogant brute to me when I agreed to enter the Labyrinth, a tribute doomed to die anyway. What did the particulars matter?
But they do matter.
Because Theseus is arrogant and vain, but he’s also strong and courageous and honorable. I like him. I want him with every fiber of my being. I could love him. Maybe a part of me already does.
A life for a life, my mother’s voice hisses in my mind.
If I could spare him, I would. If I could choose another, I would. But only Theseus’s veins contain the blood of the gods. Theseus is the one—the only one.
My brother is a monster. He killed innocent children. He tried to kill me. But he is still my brother. He was never given a chance at redemption. He was forced into this form, forced to kill, cursed for the sins of our father, with no will of his own. Even then, he fought his own nature, clinging to gentleness, to tenderness. But he can find himself again. He can be free.
