Page 60 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

His sacrifice.

And not just any sacrifice.

Corin’s gaze flickered to Ariadne walking beside him, her expression guarded. Her steps were slower now. She followed dutifully behind, casting her eyes towards the string in Corin’s hands after a handful of steps.

His heart ached at the sight of her, at the knowledge pressing heavier with each step.

It wasn’t enough for him to be a coward; he couldn’t just sacrifice his pride like his uncle.

He knew it wasn’t the sacrifice of something inside him that he needed to give because he would have given that long ago.

The Labyrinth demanded something harsher. Something that would not only haunt him the rest of his life, but would likely do the same to her.

It commanded him to break her heart.

Her heart that she had resisted giving him, and still was. Her heart that distrusted so many yet had opened for him after hiding from his kin. She had a right to be cautious around him, guarding herself, her heart, and her sanity from the likes of another male ready to break her.

But it had to be done.

And to break her? He would kill the Minotaur—her brother. The one being who provided her some comfort during her centuries underground.

Corin remembered the pain in her words when she begged him not to fight the Minotaur the first time. He knew it would break her heart to watch him kill her kin, just as other heirs had done countless times.

The realization had hit him hard. It hurt him more than any wound he’d taken so far. His chest felt hollow and raw, as if something inside him had already been torn away.

But he supposed that was the curse of the Labyrinth. He would never forget this sacrifice, just as his uncle and father had never seemed to forget theirs. It would haunt him forever, how he hurt the woman who helped him so greatly in his time of need.

He tried to steady himself by thinking not of Ariadne—of anything except for Ariadne.

He thought of the world above—of sunlight on his face, of open skies that didn’t end in walls. Of Mirelle, his oldest friend and confidant, likely waiting for him with bated breath in a court that smelled of incense and gold. Of his uncle, who was no doubt eagerly awaiting his return to fully take the throne. Of his people, anxiously awaiting their future king’s return.

Of duty. Of escape.

None of it eased his ache.

So he tried not to look at Ariadne.

He didn’t want to see her eyes when the realization crashed upon her.

He tried hard to look away, to not see as his intentions dawned on her. He didn’t want to see her heart break. Because he knew that it would break his own. Yet his eyes wouldn’t stray too far from her, always seeking to lay upon her after some time. He couldn’t help himself.

When the corridor flattened and the walls widened into the familiar, scarred room, she stopped suddenly and threw out an arm to stop him.

“No,” she said, breathless. “Wait, please.”

Corin halted, not able to stop himself from listening to her words. “What is it?”

She turned to face him fully, searching his expression with a sharpness that made his stomach twist uncomfortably. “You still think this is what you have to do.”

He glanced down at the string in his hand, not saying a word. She followed suit, seeing the string leading directly into the middle of the room and stopping.

Her jaw tightened. “You do not,” she stated. “You do not have to kill him. There is another way. I know there is.”

The Labyrinth groaned around her words. The sound rolled through the chamber ahead, deep and displeased. The golden veins dimmed in argument to her. The stone beneath them shuddered, as if rejecting her words outright.

Corin closed his eyes for a brief moment.

His heart was beating into his throat, forcing him to swallow past an uncomfortable lump. His gut twisted painfully, but it also pushed him forward. His body knew, just as his mind and the thread did, that this was the way he needed to go to return to Knossos.