Page 118 of The Prince's Captive

“Why?” She choked out. “You are a prince. It is nothing. Just mediocre chariots, spare parts, and armor.”

He stared at her, and she did not like the intensity in his gaze on her. Always on her. “Because… Because they do not believe it exists. I am proving it.”

“So your people think I’m a liar—who cares?” Marcella scoffed, the words falling out of her before she could even think about whether they would benefit her deception or not. “That is worth sending their prince out for? Do your people not understand value? You do not send princes out into enemy territory for chariots!”

Even if he wasn’t their prince, he was still a commander, and he was still the best of them. He was the only one of them worth keeping.

“I am not the heir, and I am going willingly, even if not happily. It is worth it to me to prove you are not a liar. Steady. It will be alright.” He pulled his hand back, and then he tilted his head. “You are… bothered by this?”

Somehow in this moment she felt more caught and exposed than she had when she’d first been captured.

Her tongue was heavy and her mouth dry. She could not think of a thing to say. What was she supposed to say?

“I…” She looked down at the plate between them and then back up. “What is this tradition?”

Gavril stared at her for a moment before letting out a short breath and then picking up the lid on the plate and setting it to the side to reveal a little cake. “Before our mages go off to battle or a mission in war, we do this. Our Solitus soldiers too. It is for good fortune.”

“You eat cake for good fortune?” Marcella eyed the cake and the glasses. “Why not simply ask for it?”

Gavril smiled. “Just… let me finish.”

Marcella sighed and gestured for him to go on.

“We share this with—” Gavril paused, closing his eyes, but she had no idea what word he was searching for in her tongue. He eventually shook his head and opened them again. “We split and eat, then we drink. Like—Like before.”

His eyes fell to her left wrist. Oh. Like they had in that strange ritual.

“So… this—” Marcella held up her left wrist between them. “It is some kind of strange tradition of yours for good fortune? Like this meal is?”

Gavril’s lips twitched up. “Something like that. Generally, yes, one hopes it will mark good fortune.”

“And it doesn’t matter I’m not Inimicus?” Marcella asked.

“Not to me.”

The intensity in his gaze had not waned and she had lowered hers to the plate. She grabbed her piece of the little cake and lifted it into the air. “Then shall we?”

“You are willing to give me good fortune?” Gavril asked, slowly reaching for the other half.

“It’s supposed to give me good fortune too, isn’t it?” Marcella said even though that thought hadn’t crossed her mind until she scrambled for a reason. “I’ll help you if it helps me. I’m going to need it if you’re going to be gone.”

“Marcella.” His tongue lolled over the ‘l’s like always but somehow even more deliberately. She bit her tongue to fight the shiver that tried to race down her spine at the way he said her name. “You will be safe while I am gone. I promise. I’ve ensured it.”

Considering his record on his promises… She was certain he meant it. The problem was he wasn’t going to be around to make sure of it. She held up her piece and said, “I need some good fortune to keep me from dying of boredom while you’re gone.”

Gavril sighed at her silent dismissal of his promise, lifted his piece as well and they ate.

Marcella immediately lifted her other hand up to catch the crumbs as she pushed down the noise in her throat as she nearly cried at how good it tasted. Her meals had been better lately, but they weren’t this good. She could taste honey in it; the sweetness so overpowering it sent an ache into her jaw.

Even in her clan she’d never eaten this well except for special occasions. And only when no one was looking and she had fast hands. Or they thought she was Hypatia.

Even though she succeeded in holding back any humiliating sound she might have made, Gavril was smirking at her as he finished his piece. Once he’d swallowed, he asked, “Do you like?”

She had the feeling he was making fun of her, but she was too busy chewing slowly and trying to drown herself in the taste so she might never forget it to care.

When she finished her piece and swallowed, she said, “It’s adequate.”

Gavril laughed and as he shook his head, he said, “Contumax puella.”

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