Page 33 of The Prince's Captive

This time, however, he put down the concept she’d given him. Prayer. And he noted down what a set of lily pins and clasps meant.

With so many different groups of Sordes and such little information recorded about each, Gavril wasn’t going to let a single scrap slip through his fingers. If they were going to have peace, they were going to have to understand each other.

But… even though his life would be so much easier if she was Hypatia… he was a little relieved she wasn’t. It made him feel less guilty for finding her so—

Interesting.

She was interesting, the girl they’d fashioned into the Desero demon’s image and sent off to be captured instead. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like. To be in her position.

She didn’t break. She didn’t beg him for a thing. He admired her will to live without sacrificing her people or her values.

There was a strange sense of peace about her. If all of them had the peace and grace she did, then maybe they wouldn’t be slaughtering each other in order to force it.

He couldn’t help it. After days of analyzing everything about her, he was… fond of her.

Hopefully tomorrow he would get to the bottom of who she really was and if anyone was coming for her so he could ensure their effort succeeded.

If there wasn’t…

Gavril was going to keep his promise. He wasn’t killing her. He wasn’t letting any harm come to her.

She so desperately wanted to live that it was all that consumed her petitions to a goddess who had long since stopped caring about any of them. It was a waste of time and effort. But still… Ifhehad anything to say about it, then she would live.

Just because he was dead when he got back to Areator didn’t mean she had to be.

Chapter12

MARCELLA

Marcella had no idea what the commander was up to by prying into her life, but she was resolved not to let his charm get her to lower her guard again. She spent the night kicking herself for responding to him at all and for even thinking of believing him.

Unfortunately, she was a creature predisposed to faith. She wanted to believe him.

The following day, as they picked up after the noon break and were already riding slower, Gavril said, “Who are you?”

Marcella had, fortunately, been trained on how to handle interrogations in case they did decide to try to drag information out of her before killing her. She’d expected the interrogations to be a little more physically painful than confoundingly annoying, but she knew the answers she needed to give.

“No one.”

She felt more than saw Gavril startle at such an answer since she was sitting in front of him on his steed.

“Amongst your people, who are you?”

“No one.”

He left it for the afternoon.

But when he sat her down, more toward the right edge of camp than the center like he used to, and he returned with their rations, he immediately said, “Cannot be no one.”

Marcella just rolled her eyes and reached for the ration cake in his hand.

He pulled it back slightly, his brow furrowed, and he repeated, “Cannot be no one.”

“No one of importance,” Marcella amended and snagged the cake out of his hand.

He frowned and looked over her once more. “Fake.”

Marcella took a bite. Obviously. He’d figured that out already.

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