Page 27 of The Prince's Captive

He reached over and hit her back as she coughed and choked—not hard enough to bruise as she doubled forward. Everyone in the camp was looking at them. Commander Gavril just looked up and said something in his tongue.

“—how to use—water—”

A few of the men chuckled and went back to their own meals.

As she cleared her lungs of the water that had gone down the wrong way, Gavril’s hand came to a stop, resting on her back. His thumb brushed over the scar Hypatia had given her. He leaned in and spoke in her language, “That’s what I thought.”

She opened her mouth but her denial of the truth in a desperate attempt to save her life—and if not her life then at least from being handed over to their heretic for experimentation—never left her as Gavril stood up and walked away.

He was grinning.

She was dead in the morning.

If she was lucky.

She sat there in the center of the camp, the fire flickering beside her, her heart racing even faster than it.

So… with nothing she could do, she pulled her legs in, clasped her hands together, and she prayed.

She prayed for a miracle.

She bowed her head until she could feel the cool metal of the cuffs and the etchings of the runes against her cheeks, limiting her magic and keeping her helpless as a Solitus babe.

When a hand brushed her shoulder, startling her out of her plea to Asentai, she looked up to see Commander Gavril kneeling beside her, his brow furrowed. She reached up and was surprised to find tear tracks on her own face. She quickly wiped them away.

Whatever it was, she was going to face it with grace.

Well… if they handed her over to their heretic, she may not have enough grace for that.

Gavril quickly took her by the arm and started hauling her through the camp. They weren’t even going to wait ten minutes before they let their heretic rip her apart now that they knew no one was expecting her to be returned whole.

Or returned at all.

Her knees buckled at the thought, but she did her best to keep walking. However, she could see Gavril noticed as he took on more of her weight.

But… instead of taking her to their heretic’s tent, he… took her to hers. Like he had every other night.

When they came to a stop, her heart slowed a little… Maybe…

He gestured to the tent and said in her tongue, “Long day ahead. Rest.”

Maybe he was just doing this so she wouldn’t fight. So she’d lower her guard and wouldn’t have the chance to attack their heretic. Or maybe it meant she was going to get a quick death in the morning and he was just giving her one last night.

That still seemed too kind for an Inimicus.

She crawled into the tent. But she didn’t sleep.

She had nothing left to lose.

So she prayed and waited and when hours had passed and she was certain he had to be asleep, she very carefully lifted the flap of the tent.

Only to be greeted by bright green eyes shining in the moonlight and a familiar voice as he rolled over to face her. “Rest,contumax puella.”

Marcella huffed.

She wasn’t getting past him at night.

Still, as long as she was breathing a miracle might occur.

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