Page 57 of The Prince's Captive

Chapter19

MARCELLA

Marcella and Commander Gavril passed through the gates to the palace just as easily as before, and the courtyard was full of Inimicus moving about. All of them stopped what they were doing as the entourage of soldiers came to a stop and started dismounting. She watched the men abandon their horses and embrace people who ran up to them. Often people who bore a striking physical similarity, direct family she assumed. Men she remembered talking about ‘puella’s swept up girls she assumed they’d been referring to in their arms as they reunited, kissing them.

Despite the fact they were Inimicus, this was at least a familiar scene to Marcella. She was very familiar with the way soldiers were welcomed home, and it seemed that might be the only thing the Inimicus and Clan Desero had in common.

Marcella watched the reunions of the Inimicus with the same hollow feeling in her chest that she watched the reunions of her fellow soldiers with theirs in her clan.

As a child she’d worried it meant she was somehow becoming a void heart, despite the impossibility of such a thing, given the way everyone knew how void hearts went through life feeling the emptiness of their empty vitae reserves. No. She was human, a mage, and the hollow, empty feeling had nothing to do with a lack of vitae.

“Gavril!”

The sharp, high-pitched sound came from a red-haired girl winding her way through the crowd of reuniting Inimicus. She seemed to be around the same age as Marcella and Gavril, compared to the soldiers who averaged older, but interestingly enough she wore the same style cloak and trimming as Gavril—well, currently Marcella in Gavril’s cloak—and the other commander. Yet another fresh commander then.

The older commander who had just dismounted snorted and said, “—explain yourself now—”

Gavril was dismounting, but instead of immediately reaching up and helping Marcella down like he usually did, he turned so his back and the horse hid his arms from sight as his fingers flew and he quickly cast a rune. Marcella watched as the lines on his left arm and the metal piece with a rune etched vanished.

An illusion.

Gavril was then being grabbed by the girl and whipped around. He opened his mouth, but before a word came out, she grabbed his face and yanked it down to meet hers.

So the commander had apuella?

Huh.

The girl was kissing him as fiercely as the Inimicus soldiers were kissing their girls. Gavril stumbled forward, throwing his hand out to catch himself, and it found Marcella’s leg. She was forced to lurch forward and grab the saddle to steady herself and keep her from toppling off as he tried to use her to steady himself.

He jerked back, stumbling as he tightened his grip on Marcella’s leg. He lifted his head, catching the girl’s forearm in his grip as he straightened up. “Aimilia—”

Aimilia. That sounded familiar. Marcella looked over to the older commander who was resolutely glaring at her. They had the same shade of red hair. Yes, Marcella remembered hearing that name shouted by the older commander several times during the argument before the ritual.

Her father? An uncle?

“What—waiting—greet me—come home—Gavril?” The girl—Aimilia?—sputtered as she pulled her hands back and put them on her hips. There was some word she said in front of his name. Not commander… it was… “princeps.”

She vaguely recalled hearing it amongst the soldiers on occasion, but never in front of Gavril’s name.

“—exhausted—long trip—need to talk—not here—” He looked over his shoulder at Marcella for a split second before turning back to Aimilia. Despite the quickness, Aimilia still followed his gaze and narrowed in on Marcella.

Marcella looked over the side of the horse and at the ground; she’d be fine if she just got off herself. Her wrists weren’t physically chained together, so—

“—chlamys?—thatlupa—give to her—know what everyone—think—not fit—”

“Aimilia!” Gavril barked, and his dark tone caused more than a few eyes to look their way. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “—her alone—first—then I will—”

But Aimilia was still looking at Marcella, or rather at Gavril’s cloak wrapped around her. Marcella would happily take it off if she could. She didn’t want it. If his girl was going to take such offense, why would he insist she take it?

“—are they?—said you were finally going—promised—let me see them—” Aimilia held her hand out flat.

Ah. For once Marcella understood… although maybe not fully. Aimilia was demanding he give her something, but she wasn’t entirely sure what.

Gavril was saved from answering by a servant winding through the crowd and calling out, “PrincepsGavril—see you—now!”

Gavril’s brow pinched and he said, “—coming—Aimilia, after—my family—promise—have to take her—”

Aimilia eyed Marcella once more, but stepped back and out of the way, crossing her arms. She shook her head and hurried over to the older commander and the two of them immediately began speaking in a hushed, aggravated whisper.

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