Page 47 of The Prince's Captive

Now he cared about her questions. She scoffed and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her left arm around them so her knees blocked her view of the bracelet and the lines on her arm.

She stayed silent.

“You… You understand then. What I did?”

Not specifically. But she didn’t speak. She didn’t even nod.

“Do you understand?”

Yet again, she held her silence.

“Marcella. Speak.” He said it the same way he gave orders to his soldiers.

Her lip curled up at the way he butchered her name. She couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, “Speak? You want to order me to speak?”

His eyes widened, and now that she’d started, the words kept falling out of her.

“Fine! I understand what you’ve done to me. You kidnapped me. You pretended to care to lower my guard. You pretended to let me go so I could run into your trap, and you could create this illusion that you’re some kind of hero trying to protect me when all of this has just been one of your Inimicus illusions! I understand it was all for this!” She flung her left wrist up, turning it so the light reflected off the piece of metal with the rune and the lines now etched onto her skin. “You’ve trapped me with your Inimicus magic with this—this bond! You’ve branded me with your sick magic so I’ll never be able to escape you! You’ve bound me to you worse than any kind of chain or cuff.”

He nodded, sitting back and rustling the canvas as he did so. He let out a long sigh and muttered in his own language.

He whispered in hers, “Sorry. I—This was not—You—I—”

She rattled her good wrist again. “Did you not just force me into this?”

He lifted his hand, rubbing his brow with the other and snapped, “Just—Let me—”

“What possible justification could you have? Besides, why should I believe it?” Marcella scoffed, spitting her next words, “You’re an illusionist. You’re a born liar.”

“What?” He blinked. Then he shook his head and fumbled over his next words. “Forget. Not liar. Understand why I… bound you?”

She glared at him. “I imagine now that you’ve branded me it’ll be easier to track me in the event I were to escape.”

His brow furrowed. “Branded? I—what? Wrong. All wrong.”

“Do tell me then, what exactly do I have wrong and why should I believe you?”

“No trap. Hirtus—mage who attacked, acted on own. Did not know he was to replace guard. Been keeping you away because I did not trust. Letting go was plan. When I…” Gavril looked at her and she wanted to spit in his face for the pity filling his eyes as he looked at her. “No one coming to save you. Real.”

Marcella prayed for an iron heart. She was going to need it.

“Save your lies for someone stupid enough to believe them.”

The pity left his eyes as they narrowed at her. “Not lying.”

Marcella narrowed hers right back. “Really? Then… if you truly don’t want to keep me, then why not leave my tent unguarded last night? Why not remove this cursed mark and let me go right now before we reach your capital?”

When he turned his head away, unable to look her in the eyes, a savage sense of pride welled up in her chest. Finally. She caught him and he could not keep pretending anymore. He muttered, “Not so simple.”

Weak excuse.

“Seems pretty simple to me. You just think I’m simple enough to buy it because I’m not Hypatia. I’m a soldier whose only use was looking like her, but I’m no fool.”

“Don’t think that.” He shook his head. “Complicated. Too complicated for…”

He gestured to his head, and she thought he might be implying he didn’t know enough of her language to be able to explain it. A convenient excuse no doubt.

She rolled her eyes. “Apparently you’re not as good of an illusionist as you appear if you can’t even attempt to put together a believable lie, not that I’d fall for it.”

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