Page 2 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

Corin took a slow sip of his punch. It was his favorite, though he wished he had the stomach to enjoy it. “Glad to see Uncle Theros enjoying himself.”

“He has only been waiting for his day since your father passed,” Mirelle laughed.

Corin knew she had fond memories of his father. Everyone in Knossos did. He had been kind to all he encountered, and his people missed him dearly. It wasn’t that Uncle Theros was a bad king, but he wasn’t his older brother. Nobody would be.

It was who Corin strived to be—a just king. A ruler that treated all his people fairly and equally. He knew most of the people in his kingdom and visited the towns often. He listened to their plights and strived to improve their lives.

Yet he knew he would never live up to his own father.

“If he had it his way, you would have been in the Labyrinth days after.”

Corin scoffed. “And he still would have had to enter after me.” No child had ever survived the Labyrinth. The youngest heir to survive was an older teenager, and that had been all too long ago.

Mirelle shrugged, her eyes hard. “You seem nervous, my prince.”

Corin looked over his long time friend. Her chestnut hair was tied back, as it normally was, but she was dressed in ceremonial robes for the celebration. He wondered if they had been those of her mother when she was the same age. Mirelle seemed larger than her mother’s short stature, but he assumed that was because of her sense of power.

He had always admired Mirelle’s fortitude and understanding of responsibility, though it always made her seem more imposing than she truly was.

It only made sense when Uncle Theros suggested a marriage between Corin and Mirelle. They had been friends since the two were young. She came from a powerful family, one of a direct line to King Minos—as did Corin, but their family lines had diverged centuries ago.

He could have rejected their upcoming union, but Corin knew that Mirelle would be a good match for him. She was a favorite among the court, especially when it came to the king. She had been helping her father manage his land for many years. She had even offered strategic ideas to Uncle Theros when a neighboring kingdom came to strike, and her suggestions turned the battle around in the favor of Knossos.

“Can you blame me?” Corin asked in response to his betrothed.

“It’s been over a century since an heir hasn’t made it out.”

“I am aware.”

She looked over him for a moment then shifted her gaze to King Theros, who had chosen that moment to stumble into the lap of a noblewoman. “Have you ever thought about what he would have encountered?”

Corin grimaced. The encounters weren’t shared aloud to many. The current king nor Corin knew about Corin’s father’s time in the maze. His uncle, however, had told him he himself had killed the Minotaur, just as Theseus and countless other heirs have done. Taking the psyche of the Minotaur through its death was seen as the simple way to escape the Labyrinth—if one could survive it.

“We shouldn’t be talking about that,” Corin answered instead.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mirelle mused. Her eyes glinted. “Though it would be fun to guess.”

“Mirelle…”

She grinned and sat beside him. “It’s not wrong to hazard a guess!”

“All it does is tell me all the ways things could go wrong for me down there.”

“You will be fine, your highness,” she assured him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “And while you—”

A horn sounded at the far end of the hall, sharp and commanding. The laughter in the room immediately faltered. Cups were lowered. Even the lyre fell silent mid-note.

Mirelle’s hand slipped away.

“That will be the priests,” she muttered softly.

Corin exhaled through his nose and set his untouched glass aside. The crowd parted as three robed figures advanced, gold-threaded hems whispering against the stone. Their garbs were intricate, detailed, and much more extravagant than the people of Knossos could ever own. Their faces were calm in the way of men who did not have to prove anything tomorrow. Their role was easy over the upcoming days: listen to the Labyrinth and await Corin’s exit.

Uncle Theros straightened with effort, wiping wine from his beard. “Ah,” he boomed, far too loudly. “Come to bless my nephew, have you?”

One priest inclined his head, but not to Corin. His gaze was focused on his uncle.

“The Labyrinth is awake,” the man intoned. “And it remembers its due.”