Page 47 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

For her sake, Corin was glad she seemed a bit more cognizant of what was happening. She still appeared broken, but she was slowly mending.

He watched her, slowly and softly, admiring her beauty—the way her hair fell in a slight mess upon her shoulders, the way her cool eyes flittered around, the way the golden veins illuminated her light skin. She was beautiful, too beautiful to be trapped away in the maze.

After a long silence, Corin cleared his throat. “That mist,” he started slowly. “Or whatever it was.”

“The mist,” she confirmed. Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear her. “I have called it that in the past.”

“Right. The mist… it wasn’t just illusions, was it?”

Ariadne shook her head and squeezed her legs closer to her chest. “Perhaps for you. I know some heirs have encountered it and saw… well, they saw the truth, I suppose. But others? I don’t always know what they saw. I avoid it if I can.”

“Have you encountered it a lot?”

She lifted her shoulders, pulling her legs in ever closer. “A few times. It is never welcome.”

Corin was quiet as she thought over her words.

“For me, it… it shows what would break you the fastest.”

She shifted closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her shoulder beside his arm. After a few moments, her head shifted to rest against his arm, her body heat soaking into his.

“The man you saw,” she explained. “The first one. He was my father.”

“I assumed so.”

She nodded against his arm. “The other one. That was… him.”

She didn’t need to give his name; Corin already knew who she meant. Theseus. He was too tired to test the hero’s name in the maze, but he knew. There was no need to speak the name aloud.

“He was the hero,” she continued, her voice breaking on hero. “Or so the world decided. So I decided then.” She released a shaky breath. “I was young and foolish and believed in stories and hope.”

Ariadne inhaled long, letting the air fill her up fully before exhaling slowly. “I would like to tell you about it, I think.”

Corin blinked a few times as understanding dawned on him. “You would?”

“If you would like?”

He could see the shine of her eyes through her lashes, and Corin knew that he would give anything to listen to her story, to hear the words come from her. He wanted to know everything about this woman who had been cursed to roam the halls and watch heirs. And he would give anything to hear it.

Yet here she was, offering it to him so gently. He was holding her trust in his hands, and he prayed to all the gods in Olympus that he would never break it.

He hoped she could see how willing he was to listen to her, hoped he portrayed the longing he felt for her. And for a brief moment, he thought maybe she knew. He thought maybe she understood his feelings for her because she felt the same way. He hoped that was true.

“Of course.”

A small smile graced her lips.

She told him then about how she had watched Theseus be sent into the Labyrinth—determined but desperate. How she had fallen for the certainty in him, the way he spoke of justice and escape. How she had taken the thread, wound it carefully, and gifted it to him like a promise.

“I stayed away all night,” she went on. “Listening for his footsteps. Praying he would survive.”

And he had. Of course he had.

She explained to Corin about how the two had fled together after that, how they had had to leave her father’s grasp. She spoke of how she ran barefoot over stone and sand, laughing and joyous because she thought the worst was over. She believed she had escaped her father and his kingdom. She thought the sea felt endless and kind to her.

And Corin listened. His entire body seemed to respond to her words. The words of a kind and beautiful woman who was baring her soul to him, explaining her whole tortured history. She was exploring the betrayals she faced and the hurt that cursed her. He couldn’t interrupt her any more than he could fly. All he wanted to do was listen and protect her.

Her voice began to waver.