Page 40 of The Prince's Captive

Her clan blood boiled, and she lifted her chin. “It’s been the honor of my life to serve my clan this way. Kill me. Hand me over to one of your heretics to cut me open. That won’t change.”

“Who are you?”

“No one.”

“Who is no one?”

Fine. He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. If she wasn’t going to escape, maybe she could at least be put out of her misery.

Marcella took a long breath. “My father was a weak mage, far removed from the main branch of Clan Desero. He died in battle when I was four. My mother was a Solitus from our lands. She died not long after when I was five, her and the baby.”

Ever since then, she’d been alone despite always being surrounded by her own people. She’d always just been trying to earn a place among her people.

But even this revelation did not seem to change the way he looked at her, and all the fury that had been carrying her voice dissipated.

She could not seem to raise her voice from a whisper as she said, “So… you see. I am no one. Just the girl who looks most like Hypatia. That’s all.”

Why was he still looking at her like that? She didn’t need his fake pity.

But all he did was shift closer, leaning his weight on his hand as he shifted closer. His voice lowered even though they were still encased in the silencing rune.

“Do you want to live?”

There was a weight to his question that she was certain, if she tried to lift it, would crush her to death.

“I wouldn’t have prayed for a miracle otherwise.” She leaned forward, feeling the slight edge of his breath as she hovered right in front of him. Her voice darkened, giving into the guttural sounds of her language and her hatred.

He thought she was a savage who would believe anything. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“And I’m not letting my faith turn me into a fool again, commander. So you can drop the act. I know you only let me go because you knew I would get caught and were hoping I’d feel so grateful to you for saving me from the mage you silenced that I would tell you everything you want to know. I don’t know why you haven’t told the other commander I’m not Hypatia, what you get other than trying to win my trust. But I can tell you that is never going to happen. So you can stop. We’re almost to your capital. They’ll have heard of Hypatia’s escape by now. You’re going to do whatever you want to do with me regardless of whether I spill my guts, so if you’re going to give me over to one of your heretics to rip them out instead, just do it.” Speaking so much for so long left her hoarse, rasping, and wincing as she bit out, “I’m done.”

The way he stared at her throughout her tirade, she wasn’t certain if he understood it all or if there was something else behind the calculating look in his eyes.

Gavril looked up at the sky and shook his head. He muttered something in his tongue. “—have to do now—”

Marcella kept her expression still so as not to give away what little she understood. Finally.

Maybe this was her goddess’ mercy. Whatever scheme the commander had been trying on her was finally over and he would just put her out of her misery. Or at least he would move on and just let them turn her into one of their heretic’s experiments.

Gavril ran another hand through his hair before reaching into his pocket—if he tried to hand her the lilies again, she was going to smack them out his hand. But he must have thrown them away since instead he pulled out a small, thin piece of metal with a rune etched onto it and a long leather strip. On the edges of the rectangular shape were two holes but nothing in them.

He set it on his knee and then reached for her. She jerked back instinctively, and his face fell. He sighed and grabbed her anyway, turning her around. She heard more metal clinking and then her wrists were free from being tethered together, but the cuffs around her wrists muffling her magic were still there.

He quickly turned her back around and resecured her wrists, this time in front of her like they had been previously. His hands lingered on her forearms, wrapped around them, and her teeth were cutting into her tongue so as not to give away her sprain.

He said, “Believe or not, I will keep my promise. Above all, I want peace.”

Marcella leaned forward but ripped her arms out of his grip. “I don’t care.”

He picked up the little rectangular piece of metal with the rune etched onto it and started to lace the leather tie through the holes. Every muscle in her tensed as he shifted forward, but before she could do anything to stop him, his arms were around her neck. She could feel his fingers brush her skin as he tied the leather into a knot. She was completely stiff and still until he let go and started to pull back, but instead of sitting back completely, he still hovered right in front of her, and his hand rested on the cool metal piece that now hung right below her collarbone.

His gaze burned the same way the edge of his large palm burned against her skin as he said, “Keep this until tomorrow and I will keep my promise. No harm. No… No—what you fear most—heretic?”

Marcella’s bout of courage that had her opening her big mouth and practically inviting him to hand her over and turn her into an experiment ebbed. Why was he so insistent? Didn’t he realize she was never going to trust him? Didn’t he realize how worthless she was to him?

To everyone?

The most value she had would be for their heretics to get another body on their tables.

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