Page 128 of The Prince's Captive

While he hadn’t outright heard anything, he’d caught a few of them chuckling behind his back or smirking when he walked by, and he was distinctly aware there was some joke he wasn’t in on.

But he couldn’t leave them behind on the suspicion of it. Plus, leaving one of them behind would just slow him down further, and he was determined to uphold his promise to Marcella. He would be back no later than three weeks. There was still a week and a half left to go.

It had been fairly easy to find the cache, so much so that Gavril suspected the men Nikias sent deliberately hadn’t found it. He’d forced the men to ride fast and hard toward it, cutting down the travel time considerably compared to when they’d been sent to capture Hypatia. He did often catch the men grumbling about the brutal pace he set. He didn’t care.

They’d gathered up the chariots and supplies that were still of use—it seemed like it had been recently picked over by the Sordes, which only made Gavril more desperate to return and see Marcella. Every night, in the mere seconds he had before collapsing into exhaustion, he fumbled through an awkward prayer to Asentai that what he found would be enough to prove she wasn’t lying and that it would be enough to ensure her safety.

If it wasn’t…

Gavril didn’t know what he would do, but he would have to do something.

But still… Marcella believed Asentai cared what any of them did enough to listen to prayer, so he prayed.

If the goddess was still listening, may she show her daughter her favor.

And if she wasn’t, at least he’d followed his people’s traditions for fortune. It was tradition for spouse to repeat the wedding tradition of eating and drinking as an acknowledgement of their vows before they were to be parted, in the hopes they would be safely returned.

“Quos amor verus tenuit tenebit.”

“Those whom true love has held, it will go on holding.”

The only good thing about having to go on this mission was the fact that if he hadn’t been leaving, he never would have had that moment with her in her cell. He was certain of it now. She didn’t hate him anymore. She valued her faith too much to pray for someone she’d cursed unless her feelings had changed. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe part of it wasn’t because she knew he was keeping her safe, but he could not help himself. He hoped still that the slow softening he’d been seeing toward him as she regained the will to live was a sign. A sign his hope wasn’t in vain.

They’d just returned to Runai territory so at least they could pick up speed now that they weren’t in enemy territory and trying to avoid the Sordes patrols—to the consternation of his men, who were hoping for a fight.

Gavril was tired of fighting.

But the otherwise so far uneventful day changed when a shock of red hair appeared in the distance, hurtling toward them on a galloping horse in the afternoon sun. The easily identifiable trim of a commander’s cloak flew in the wind, but the hair flying and falling out of her braid was clue enough who it was.

Aimilia.

Fighting was not tired of him.

Gavril lifted his hand and the men all came to a stop, muttering to each other.

One of them whistled, and Gavril immediately whipped around to see who it was. Ah. He immediately snapped, “I heard that, Mage Turpis! You better hope the head of house Feris isn’t in Areator when we get back! It’s especially foolish of you since the commander you’re disrespecting is the very same one that is the reason your title is mage and not commander!”

Gavril and Aimilia might be fighting, but she had been a loyal friend for years, and he would not suffer anyone disrespecting her.

Mage Turpis immediately reddened at the reminder and a few of the men chuckled, but before anything else could be done, Aimilia was there, bringing her horse to a harsh stop. “Gavril! You need to come back now!”

What?

Gavril gestured to the supplies and said, “We are on our way back, as fast as we can with these. Why?”

Aimilia shook her head. Her face was flushed, her eyes red, her hair a mess and her horse’s breathing was labored. “No! Not fast enough. You need to get back faster. We need to leave now! It’s Marcella.”

Gavril’s heart slammed into the ground and he immediately pointed to Mage Turpis and snapped, “Dismount and give the commander your horse. You’ll take hers!”

Mage Turpis moved to do so, glaring at Gavril all the way, but he didn’t care. Aimilia swung herself off her horse and immediately scrambled onto Turpis’ as Gavril continued, “Aimilia, you will explain on the way, but I swear if this is—”

Aimilia had the reins in her hands and was kicking her new, fresher horse into action as she snapped, “This is no trick or trap. I swear on my father’s grave! But we don’t have much time!”

That was more than enough for him. Aimilia would never disrespect her father’s death by invoking his name like that for some kind of scheme.

Gavril kicked his horse into a gallop after hers, leaving the men and the supplies behind. They could get themselves back to Areator, or if they didn’t, he didn’t care. This was about Marcella.

He pulled his horse up beside Aimilia as they rode and he called out, “What is it? What has happened to Marcella? What did you do? What do you mean not much time?”

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