Page 21 of The Prince's Captive

That only confirmed her suspicions. He thought this little display would make her think she was safe with him and lower her guard and loosen her tongue.

“Then I accept both apologies.”

Commander Gavril’s mouth opened for a moment before he looked to the side and she caught the glimpse of a smile before he killed it. However, light in his eyes lingered as he turned back to her. Instead of attempting to correct her, he just inclined his head with that same calculating look from before and said, “Thank you, Hypatia.”

She didn’t like the way he lingered over Hypatia’s name and his eyes seemed to narrow as he said it. She kept her expression neutral, giving nothing away. If he thought just having the basic human decency to start calling her by a proper name instead of ‘demon’ was going to get him any credit with her, she took back any thought of him being intelligent.

The man started to get up, his face tinged in pink, his gaze dark and stormy, and completely unapologetic despite his previous words. The man started to brush himself off and walk away, but Commander Gavril caught him by the shoulder. The second the commander pulled his gaze away from Marcella, the mirth that had lingered even in his calculating look vanished and he was as cold and dark as the Abyss as he faced the soldier. Commander Gavril threw him back to the ground so hard there was a thud and a grunt of pain.

Marcella startled again as the commander’s fingers flew through the air. A rune lit up and then Commander Gavril bent down, pushing the rune forward and pressing his hands against the man’s neck, burning the runes into his skin.

Marcella couldn’t stop her own gasp as she scrambled back on the log as far as she could.

The man coughed and choked, reaching for his neck as Gavril stood back up, darker than the storm clouds that were encroaching in the sky above as he looked over the men. He gestured to Marcella and then the man choking on air.

“—my orders clear—don’t care—demon—treat—same respect—speak—being respectful—not speak—at all—disrespect her—not going to be speaking—back to—returned to her people—single scratch—telling them of how—treated by us—despite—Is that clear?”

There was some muttering that Marcella thought might be assent, but wasn’t sure. She felt like she sort of understood what the commander was saying, but couldn’t be completely certain.

And if what she did understand was correct, he was the biggest hypocrite she’d ever met. Calling her a demon but getting onto his men for insulting her? So it was only alright for him to do it?

The commander narrowed his eyes at the men and barked again, “—said, is that clear?”

“Yes, commander!” the men called back much more vocally this time.

Commander Gavril nodded and then waved his hand, dismissing them all. The man with the runes marking his neck ran off the fastest. Once the men were back to their tasks, Gavril let out the smallest of sighs and his shoulders dropped.

Marcella was the only one looking at him now, and there was a split second where his expression shifted. The bags under his eyes were deeper and a weight seemed to be pressing on his shoulders… He looked desperately tired.

Then it was gone as he turned to her and, to her surprise, took a seat on the log beside her. He didn’t crowd her, but she didn’t know why he would want to sit next to her.

Oh. Right. He thought she had bought his little display, and wanted to take advantage of the gratitude he expected her to be feeling for him attempting to defend her honor to pry information out of her.

“Your people…” Commander Gavril spoke in her tongue. He tilted his head, and the sharp look she was beginning to worry about returned. “Trouble like that?”

It made sense, as a commander, trying to bond with a princess by talking about the pressures of leadership. Get her to think they were similar. Too bad for him they had nothing in common. All Marcella knew were the orders her clan gave her.

But the more she spoke, the quicker they’d realize she didn’t fit.

So she stayed silent.

He glanced over her peplos. She had no idea what had happened to her himation that the heretic had taken. Her arms were bare after her shoulder where her peplos was clasped, and she could feel the wind of an approaching storm slip through the hole in the side of her peplos. She sat as straight as she could and refused to give into the shiver that the encroaching chill of night tried to force on her.

“Cold?”

“No.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her.

She didn’t care.

His eyes dragged over her side, tracing where the scar was hidden beneath the fabric and he said, “Hunger?”

She resisted the urge to correct him on the wrong form of the word. Let him keep butchering her language if it meant he didn’t get any better at it.

Her people were having a hard enough time fighting the Inimicus without their commanders being fluent in their tongue. That was the entire reason Hypatia had been getting married. Clan Desero was entering an alliance with Clan Montis to have a hope of beating the Inimicus together, and if their union rallied the other clans behind them, they could truly win.

Still, not an easy feat to achieve. It had been hard enough for Desero and Montis to come to an alliance. To convince the other clans to put aside their differences and create an army that could rival the Inimicus… that would be a real miracle from Asentai herself.

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