Page 126 of The Prince's Captive

“You—”

Marcella’s legs buckled, and the guards were the only thing keeping her off the ground. She kept trying to focus on the words even as she fought the urge to faint.

“And yet—future king—direct order, commander—make me arrest you—do not want to.”

“Yes—with you—born first—only one who has—Gavril should be—ten times the king—ever hope to be—three years, I have thought something—voice—wished it more than I have in this moment.”

At the sound of his name again, Marcella couldn’t help the half-moan, half-whine that crawled out of her throat and formed his name. “Gavril? Back?”

But she was ignored again, even though Nikias twitched at the sound of her voice.

“Commander—” Nikias started but was cut off as Aimilia continued, raising her hands and stepping out of Nikias’ path.

“I wish—in first. I wish the Desero demon had killed you instead.”

Nikias looked back at Marcella, completely limp in the guards’ grips. He snapped his fingers and they started moving again.

But as Nikias passed Aimilia, Marcella heard him whisper something to her that she couldn’t catch. She was done fighting. So Marcella gave up and gave in.

As she did, she prayed to Asentai Gavril would come back early.

He was still, at best, a week away.

She was alone.

Everything went black as her eyes rolled back into her skull.

* * *

For a moment the leather biting into Marcella’s skin wasn’t all that concerning since it happened every night in her nightmares as she relived the table.

But then she shifted her left wrist and the searing pain tearing through her woke her right up. And the feeling of leather strapping her to wood didn’t vanish.

Marcella blinked her eyes open to see the white marble walls and the edge of a wood table she’d only seen once before but was intimately familiar with. She could feel cold air on her arms, and the familiar weight of Gavril’s cloak was gone.

No.No.

She’d promised she would wear it until he came back. Where was it?

She tried to get up before she remembered she couldn’t as the straps had her slumping back down immediately and letting out a sharp whine in the back of her throat as it aggravated her injured wrist.

There were runes in the room helping light it in the darkness since there was no sunlight coming in through the windows high up in the walls. She couldn’t see anyone. She tried to shift her right hand, but she couldn’t even move her fingers against the metal holding them rigid and spread out.

The same metal contraption they’d put on her before to keep her from casting. Her injured left one had been left alone. She was on her front and she could feel the fabric of her chiton pooling at her waist, leaving her back exposed, and her strophion was gone as well so there was nothing between her front and the cold wood.

This was just a nightmare. It had to be. This couldn’t be real.

Even though none of her nightmares had ever included any injury as real as her wrist. It just had to be a nightmare.

Gavril had promised. He’d promised she would be safe while he was gone. He’d promised she’d never end up here again.

She let out a muffled sob, trying again to rise and do something, but she slammed back into the table, crying out again at the pain in her wrist.

Her mind was too hazy and slow. She needed to think.

Gavril had promised.

But she’d promised something as well. She’d promised she’d wear his cloak. Now she wasn’t.

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