traitor chapter 20

“Be as honest as your heart.”

He hesitated, his lips moving soundlessly. His wide eyes narrowed, then closed tightly, as if fighting temptation. But then, his eyelids fluttered open, his gaze locking with hers.

“If I tell you, perhaps you and I…”

Anticipation laced his low, deliberate voice, attempting to mask any tremor. Diana, sensing the direction his words were taking, let out a clear laugh. “You’re dreaming.”

Her mocking, pitying tone shattered his private fantasy, and he realized, too late, that he’d been played. Humiliation contorted his features. Her hand, which had been touching him with such apparent tenderness, retreated from within his coat.

Only then did his focus, solely fixed on her, break. Belatedly, his attention shifted to his surroundings, registering the approaching enemy. Too late. His shoulder was yanked, his body twisting. Before he could even see the attacker’s face, a syringe pierced his left eye.

He didn’t need to see to know who it was. The Scribe, Ruby Scarlet.

“Ugh!” The groan that escaped him was less from pain and more from the shock of the sudden attack. He swung his arm, trying to shake them off, but connected only with air. Ruby, who had been holding his shoulder, was already gone. When had they regained consciousness? He didn’t have time to dwell on the question. There was only one place they would go.

Leonhardt ripped the needle out, blood from his left eye streaming down his cheek. One side of his head throbbed, burning hot. Someone else’s magic was invading his mind, causing a searing headache. Biting his tongue to maintain consciousness, he searched for her with his remaining eye.

The first thing he saw was the damned Scribe. Even after being injected with four vials of truth serum, even with blood spurting like a fountain, they were still moving. He saw her, her hand gripping the Scribe’s. He reached out desperately, but it was the wrong direction. His depth perception was terrible with only one eye.

In that instant, the Scribe’s destruction spell activated. Unlike the outer walls, the weaker inner walls of the labyrinth couldn’t withstand the assault and began to crack. The bars and the floor crumbled simultaneously.

“Your Majesty!” he cried, using the title he’d used his entire life. And then…

“Diana!” He cried out the name he’d longed to say, his voice breaking.

The shock to his mind prevented him from using his magic precisely. Unless he wanted to shred her fleeing form with raw, uncontrolled magic, he had no choice but to let her go. They were both still within the labyrinth, so he could recapture them eventually.

Yet, he called out to her so desperately, hoping she would hesitate, would look back at him.

“Diana, Diana!” Staggering on the broken floor, he followed her with his one good eye.

But Diana never looked back. Her pink hair disappeared through the gaping hole below. She had utterly abandoned him.

Grief washed over his base desires, followed by a wave of messy longing and obsession. He stumbled towards the shattered cell, about to jump down after her, but the floor sealed shut beneath his feet.

Lost, he sank to his knees, his fist slamming against the closed passage. Dust puffed up as cracks spiderwebbed across the stone floor, only to vanish instantly. The labyrinth’s miraculous ability to repair itself, so wondrous before, now felt like a cruel mockery.

Gnashing his teeth, he pounded the unyielding floor several more times. He opened his coat, pulling the emergency communication device from his inner pocket and placing it in his left ear.

“Chancellor.”

“Busy.”

“I know. I have a reason.”

“Don’t tell me you lost her.”

“I lost her.”

“Ha, what a joke.” Monet’s voice, thick with irritation, crackled through the device.

“How long until the labyrinth is fully stabilized?”

“Ten hours and forty-three minutes.”

Almost eleven hours. That was more than enough time for the Scribe, a powerful mage, to devise some extraordinary method of escaping the labyrinth.

“How badly are you injured to be calling me with this?” Monet’s voice, sharp with suspicion, followed the silence.

“Magic surged through my left eye. My vision and mind are affected. I can’t use complex spells. I won’t fully recover until the labyrinth is complete.”

“Hahaha.” A forced, accusatory laugh echoed from the device.

Leonhardt closed his remaining eye, his lips pressed together. Losing them was entirely his fault. Controlling his emotions had been more difficult than he imagined. In his current state, unable to properly control the labyrinth, his intervention had only backfired.

Therefore…

“I’ll go. You can wallow in your failure like the loser you are.”