Page 121 of The Prince's Captive

She paced the length of her cell in the days following Gavril’s departure. At least she assumed he had departed. In her cell she didn’t have any way of knowing for certain what was going on outside.

All she could do was fiddle with Gavril’s cloak, pace, and pray.

Unfortunately for her, her mind was not content to let her pray in peace.

Every time she got halfway through Hagne’s Prayer One, a pesky voice in the back of her head derailed her. And all she could do was wonder.

Why had Gavril wanted to spend his last night in Areator sitting on the dirty floor of her cell and praying to a goddess he’d never cared to pray to before?

And why had she let him?

Why did he care about proving she’d told the truth about the supply cache? Why was he going himself? Why was his family alright with him going on such a pointless mission?

And did she care about him getting back safely so she could look for an opportunity to take him hostage or because she… wanted him back?

She thought it over every way she could and she just… she couldn’t see what Gavril got out of coming to her cell and putting on that act. So… if that hadn’t been part of an act… part of whatever scheme he had going on right now involving the sparring… maybe there wasn’t an act.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach, thinking back to the first time they sparred with magic. How desperate he’d been for her to fight.

He’d never corrected her assumption that it was the only way to keep her off the tables. But he also hadn’t just told her so. But if he was trying so hard to keep her off the table without just threatening her or terrifying her… Maybe…

Maybe she’d been wrong about him.

What if he hadn’t had anything to do with when she’d been brought to the tables the first time and the rescue had been real? What if he hadn’t known she was going to get caught seconds after he let her go?

Of course she’d wondered all these things before, but now the disbelief she had anchored herself to in order to justify her actions and Hypatia’s orders had left her when Gavril had.

But… did being wrong about him change anything?

Did him not being a liar trying to manipulate her change anything?

She was still a prisoner. She was still under the constant threat of being put up on the table. While she might not be begging Gavril to kill her to save her from it, she couldn’t keep living every day wondering if they weren’t pleased with whatever they were getting from her, and she would end up there.

The only way for her to be something of worth to her people was to take him captive the way he had her.

So it didn’t matter.

He was going to hate her as much as she hated him if Asentai granted her miracle and she was able to take him captive.

And that was the only thing she could do. Or die trying.

There was no other option. His idealistic pursuit of peace would not survive his people’s desire for blood and the excuses of her people’s so-called corrupted vitae.

When Marcella finally reached that conclusion after turning over it all in her own head, she retched up the little she did have in her stomach. She made sure to clutch Gavril’s cloak as close to her as possible so as not to ruin it.

Her hair wasn’t afforded that luxury.

She scrubbed her hair with the water, soap, and rag she’d been given after the last time she’d sparred with Gavril.

All that mattered was the cloak was spotless.

Even though she felt sick from the knowledge, she couldn’t change course.

Even though Gavril had only been gone a few days and she already missed him. She couldn’t even say she missed anyone from her own clan after months. This… this ache in her chest and her turning stomach… this was new to her.

It was terrifying. How had she let her hatred of him leave her and be replaced by this… She didn’t even have a word for it. She just knew the emptiness in her chest, and she knew it was because Gavril was gone.

And it didn’t matter how much she missed him.

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