Page 47 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
Then her gaze drops, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the table. “Where is Henry?”
The name drops into the room like ice water, chilling the warmth that had begun to build between us. I set down my glass, forcing calm into my tone despite the sharp edge threatening to surface. “He’s held securely. I can take you to him myself if you’re that eager to see him.” My fingers tap against the glass, my composure steady even as something dark and possessive stirs within me. “What do you wish to do with him?”
She hesitates, her eyes losing focus as though searching within herself for an answer. “I don’t know,” she whispers, and theuncertainty in her voice sets my teeth on edge, tension coiling tightly in my chest.
I force a smile, though an edge sharpens its curve. “You don’t know?” I tilt my head, studying her intently. “After everything he put you through, you feel… what? Sympathy?”
Her gaze meets mine, uncertain but searching. “I don’t think it’s sympathy,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly. “It’s… something else. It doesn’t feel like pity. It’s new. Something I haven’t felt before.”
There’s a crack in her armor, unexpected and raw, a vulnerability that holds me still. I watch her, the sudden urge rising to close the space between us, to make her forget him entirely; to feel nothing but me. The way her lips shape each word, the soft curl of her mouth as she speaks, commands my attention. She swirls the wine in her glass, her gaze fixed on its depths as though searching for answers there.
“There’s a war inside me,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it resonates through the hall, cutting through the silence. “Part of me still clings to what I was raised to believe; that I should be a good wife, a good woman. Certainly not someone capable of murder.”
Her fingers trace the rim of her glass, her eyes drifting back to mine, heavy with her thoughts. “But the feeling of revenge… the satisfaction of seeing Villina avenged, of watching the light fade from Nyria’s eyes… It was as sweet as this wine.”
She lifts her glass, the liquid catching the flickering candlelight, gleaming like dark jewels. Her measured sip seems to last an eternity, her quiet intensity making me hang on every word that falls from her mouth. Her lips curve into a strange smile, caught somewhere between guilt and exhilaration, as she exhales, her eyes locking onto mine.
“Does that make me a bad person?” Her question lingers, low and vulnerable, weaving itself into the space between us. I don’tanswer right away, seeing the wheels turn in her mind and I allow her to fully process her thoughts.
“And if it does, why do I care? Why should it matter to anyone if I am? Everyone knew of Henry’s cruelty, yet no one ever dared to lift a finger. They bowed to him, obeyed him…”
Her voice trails off, the silence crackling with unspoken weight. I remain still, utterly absorbed by the storm within her, drawn closer by the darkness she finally allows me to see.
I can’t hold back any longer, not with her words charging the air with something electric, something that demands a response. “Now, everyone will bow to you,” I say, my voice quiet but fierce, a promise etched into every syllable.
Her gaze catches mine, questioning and intrigued, her brows lifting slightly as if daring me to continue.
I lean in closer, letting the weight of my words settle between us. “There’s no shame in standing up for yourself, Brielle. The world will try to tell you otherwise—because you’re a woman, they’ll say you should be submissive, that your strength is somehow a threat. But you don’t live in that world anymore.”
She looks down, her lips parting as if to protest, but I catch her chin gently between my fingers, lifting her face back to mine. “You’re not what they tried to make you,” I say, my voice low and rough with intensity. “You’re more, Brielle. You’re a queen. And anyone who dares question that strength—anyone who would see it silenced—is a fool.”
Her gaze locks with mine, and I see it—a flicker of something raw and fiery glowing beneath her lashes, like embers catching their first spark. The old hesitations, the shadows of the life she’s endured, soften ever so slightly.
She leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s delicate, tender, yet it seeps into my very bones, igniting a quiet, simmering burn. Her eyes meet mine again, and I see it clearly:something resolute, yet vulnerable—a conflict not entirely tamed.
“I want to see him now,” she says, her voice steady but carrying that faint edge of uncertainty that’s lingered since we began this journey.
I hesitate, holding her gaze. “Are you sure?” The words feel heavier than I intend, a strange weight forming in my chest. For the first time in so long, fear stirs deep within me. What if I haven’t shown her enough—enough of what I feel, enough to make her choose this life, chooseme,instead of falling back into pity for that man?
But the way she looks at me, the softness of her kiss; it convinces me. There’s no going back for her. She can’t return to that part of her life.
With a long exhale, I let the tension drain from my shoulders. “Fine,” I say, a trace of contempt curling my voice. “I’ll take you to see the mutt.” The mere thought of him tightens my jaw, but when she smiles at me—a glint of relief and gratitude in her eyes—I let the anger simmer quietly, for now.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her words gentle but resolute.
I rise from my seat, extending a hand to her. She pauses, just for a heartbeat, before slipping her fingers into mine. Her touch is soft, tentative; a tether pulling us closer. Without a word, I guide her away from the table, the rustle of her dress and the steady rhythm of our steps the only sounds in the room.
We walk through the silent halls, her hand still nestled in mine, fitting as if it’s always belonged there. The muted echoes of the castle surround us like a heartbeat, steady and unrelenting. Each step draws us closer to the towering doors of the throne room, the weight of what lies ahead pressing heavier with every passing second.
I stop just before the doors, turning to face her. Her gaze meets mine, questioning but steady, and for a moment, I simplytake her in—the way her determination hums beneath her calm exterior, the way she draws strength even from her uncertainty.
“There’s something else,” my words echoing slightly, catching a flicker of surprise in her expression. “I wanted to give you your gift, anyway.”
“A gift?” she echoes, curiosity softening her tone. Her eyes search mine, and though I can feel the faint buzz of nerves in my chest, I let a smile tug at my lips. This is not a moment I’ll let slip away.
Without another word, I turn toward the massive doors, pressing my palms against their cool surface. With steady, deliberate force, I push them open. The cavernous room beyond unfurls before us, its vastness and the weight of its contents spilling into view.
Gods, be with me.
