Page 30 of The Prince's Captive

The more concerned Cyprian was with the girl, the more precarious the situation Gavril and the girl were now in became.

“I’m concerned because these soldiers are incorrigible gossips and when we get back to Areator, my niece is going to be hearing about all the attention you’ve paid the Desero demon,” Cyprian snapped. “I’m trying to help you from having to explain yourself against all the rumors you’re creating.”

The weight of the blank metal pieces in his pocket increased at the mention of Aimilia. The weight of the lily pins and clasps in the other was greater.

“Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. If you catch the men gossiping, it’s your job to have my back on this as a fellow commander and my subordinate on this mission, as well as for your niece’s sake, to punish anyone impugning my character because I’m treating our enemy with basic human decency despite what she’s done.”

No matter what Gavril couldn’t let anyone else find out the girl they had wasn’t Hypatia. What little protection he could guarantee her, he could only give if she was someone valuable enough to her people to negotiate to get her back.

And if she wasn’t Hypatia, she especially didn’t deserve to suffer for the things Hypatia had done.

“Good luck trying to punish the whole unit,” Cyprian scoffed. “They’ve just gotten better at doing it under your notice. This is your mission and your ridiculous idea to try to get the demon to speak. I’m trying to warn you, not do your job for you.”

“Warning noted. How about you get back to doing your job then?” Gavril said, starting off across the camp toward the girl’s tent before Cyprian had the chance to respond.

Maybe it was his own paranoia making him so short. Like if he talked to Cyprian too long he would figure out what Gavril had. He would realize they had a decoy of Hypatia and not the real one.

She was a convincing decoy. Gavril was forced to admit the Sordes had done an excellent job, all the way down to the scar on her side only Hypatia had. He was a skilled illusionist and somehow they’d created an illusion that felt so real to his touch it fooled even him. The only flaw had been the illusion was of a fresher scar. Without that, he wouldn’t have paid as close attention to her as he had to try to deduce for certain if she was the real thing.

Even the way she spoke down to him on the occasions she did speak with a haughty condescension had him starting to shelve his doubts that she wasn’t the real Hypatia. But then he’d see her eyes. Her resolute silence most of the time and the sharp way she looked around the camp.

Once he’d seen it, he couldn’t unsee it.

She was a soldier. Not a princess.

Or even the equivalent of a commander. No. She was a foot soldier. Far more like the men in his unit than him.

It was the only explanation for why she didn’t even seem to suspect who he was after seeing him and being given his name. And why she didn’t know nearly as much of their language as Hypatia was reported to. If he hadn’t been looking closely, it would be easy to see it as deliberately ignoring it to not let anyone know it was under her skin, but even then there would be some twitch. Eyes darting, a shift, a hitch in her breath at the vulgarity and insults. No one could fake true ignorance so thoroughly.

The clearest test, and also the riskiest one, had been simply saying ‘Hypatia’ just loud enough she should hear it and see if she consistently responded to it the way someone would their real name. She hadn’t.

That had been the sign he could not ignore.

Gavril just wished he’d never ended up in this situation to begin with.

The mission he’d left Areator to accomplish had been to capture the Desero demon, prevent the marriage alliance between Desero and Montis, and bring the demon back to Areator so they could use her as a hostage in negotiations.

He’d failed.

Spectacularly.

They were halfway back to Areator, and the real Hypatia was long gone—if she’d even been in that entourage to begin with. It had been too late that first night and it was far too late to try to go after the real one now, and even if he did think he had a chance at locating and capturing the real one before her wedding, he’d have to reveal that the girl they did have wasn’t Hypatia.

And even if he could do that and keep her alive—as Cyprian would want her dead immediately—that still put her in far too much danger. She’d be kept alive only so she could be brought back to Areator and given to the healers so they could study the corrupted vitae of the Sordes. That didn’t even take into account what some of the men in his unit would try to get away with if they knew she was going to end up on one of the healers’ tables. If she managed to make it to Areator unscathed by the soldiers, it wouldn’t matter. The longest a Sordes had lasted under the healers’ experiments was five days.

She would be as good as dead anyway.

So was he if he didn’t return to Areator with Hypatia.

Unless… maybe she was still someone of importance, even if not Hypatia’s level of importance to her people.

Gavril rustled the tent flap just a second before lifting it and peering inside to see the girl hadn’t moved from where he’d left her before. She was sitting with her legs crossed under her, and her head was bowed over her clasped hands.

Prayer, she’d called it. What a strange creature she was.

But a brave one, he couldn’t deny her that.

As he opened the flap, the slight, silent movements of her lips stilled when she looked up at him. He sat on the ground outside of the tent, tying the flap to the side before setting the rations down so he could cast a light rune. Once there was more light illuminating both of them as the sun continued to fade below the horizon, he went through the ritual of breaking off a piece of the rations and drinking the water first before offering it to her.

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