Page 46 of The Prince's Captive

Was this a replacement for the chain binding her wrists together? Had that… ritual instead bound her to Gavril?

But why would they do that? And why would she still have the limiter cuffs on?

And yet, what else could it be?

When she looked up, she could see a matching set of black lines on his wrist, mirroring hers.

Whatever that had been…

It had marked them both. It bound them both.

Chapter16

MARCELLA

Before Marcella could figure out what he’d just done to them both, Gavril abandoned the commander and the heretic and took a step toward her. She took a step back, still clutching her wrist to her.

Some of the men laughed again and one of them called out. “—sponsa—seem—with you—as you—make her—work.”

Gavril’s gaze darkened as he whipped around and barked at them. “—thought I was—before—seen nothing—she is—far less forgiving—did to—disrespected—wasn’t—most respectful—words will—from now on, am I clear?”

“Yes, commander!” the men called back.

He took her by the arm and started leading her through the camp and toward her tent.

A different man called out. “—still allowed—right? I mean—didn’t think I’d—honor.”

Gavril paused and let out a long sigh. “Yes, you may.”

Marcella startled when the men started cheering and whooping, bumping into Gavril as he steadied her. He should have just let her stumble and fall.

“—left of that wine—” was the last thing she managed to make out as they reached her tent. Like usual, Gavril lifted the flap and delivered her inside.

For once Marcella was eager to get inside and get away from it all so she could just have a moment to herself to think.

To pray.

To nurse her sore throat and throbbing wrist. Or maybe the one with the mark.

To worry about what they’d just done to her and what it meant. What kind of sick ritual it was before she was going to be delivered right to one of their heretic’s tables the second they arrived in the city the next day.

But as she crawled into the canvas and darkness, she wasn’t the only one.

She whipped around as Gavril lowered the flap as he sat at the edge of the tent. Darkness fell over both of them and she hit the other edge of the canvas. What was he doing?

The choking breath was her.

Then a dim light filled the air. Gavril sat with his legs crossed, his hands lowering. A light rune filled the space between them as he set it on the ground, lighting his features and freeing his hands.

A thousand questions threatened to spill out of her, but as she stared at him and the way he was staring at her now, she decided she wouldn’t voice any of them. She just sank her left hand into the tent floor and let her eyes burn with the hatred and dedication that had her putting on Hypatia’s bridal wear and riding to her death in the first place.

The same determination that had her following Hypatia to be turned truly into her replica.

She couldn’t read the look in his eyes. The same one he’d given her after she’d proclaimed her curse on him.

Finally, he broke first.

“You… have questions?”

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