Page 58 of The Prince's Captive

Gavril sighed and turned to Marcella, taking her by the waist and lifting her off the horse and to the ground. Before she could even think to do anything, his eyes skimmed over her and he adjusted his cloak on her shoulders until he was satisfied with the way it fell, covering both of her hands.

She didn’t know why he was fussing.

She was a filthy… whatever she was to them.

Normally she would disagree, but she was absolutely disgusting after weeks on the road. But to be fair, so were the commanders and all the other soldiers.

Gavril just took her by her right arm and started leading her toward the palace. The older commander fell into step with them, shaking his head.

“—deserve—does to you—”

Gavril snapped, “—wash your hands of it—so stay out—”

Marcella stumbled as they climbed up the steps and into the palace. Gavril just pulled her closer so her side brushed his. Her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light when they were inside as they walked. She focused her gaze straight ahead, not looking at the marble walls of decorated columns they passed.

She willed her heart to slow and her mind to quiet.

Her fate was in Asentai’s hands.

Finally, after what felt like hours walking through admittedly beautiful bright halls, they stepped into a throne room.

Standing in the room were several other commanders—she assumed they were, given that they had the same cloaks the older commander and Gavril did. Sitting on the two thrones were a man and woman, older with clear wrinkles and gray setting into their hair. The man was a brunette and the woman blonde. Next to the man’s throne was a young man, a light brunette, but with vibrant green eyes and dressed in a black chiton with sleeves tied down to his wrists, covering them completely. A black cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, a stark contrast to the white the older man and woman wore, but it had the same gold trimming on the edges that all the commanders’ cloaks did.

The king, queen, and crown prince.

The crown prince was pacing, one arm folded across his chest and the other twitching at his side, staring at the ground as he moved. There was a darkness etched all over his features blacker than his clothes. He looked like the Abyss come to life.

Or like Dhelnir himself.

Gavril should have done Marcella the mercy of never letting her set foot in the palace.

At some point she’d been told their names, but they were foreign to her tongue and had fallen out of her head. What did it matter anyway?

The crown prince came to a stop, and his eyes landed on her first. The fury in his face melted away and was replaced with wide eyes, a parted mouth, and furrowed brow. He shook his head.

Everyone in the room was watching the crown prince, including the king and queen. The queen said something, but Marcella didn’t catch a single word.

The king narrowed his eyes at her, specifically the red and gold cloak wrapped around her shoulders.

She, Gavril, and the older commander stopped halfway across the room. The older commander bowed deeply. Gavril bowed slightly.

Marcella stood tall even as Gavril tugged on her arm. She did not bend.

They were not her king or queen. She owed them no respect.

But then the crown prince was rushing across the room, right toward her. He was speaking as he did so. “—not possible—received word—cannot be—”

It all happened so fast. The crown prince grabbed her and ripped her forward, out of Gavril’s grip. She tried to jerk back, shoving down the sharp cry that threatened to leave her as he immediately crushed her arms painfully in his hands. There was no doubt she would have bruises in the shape of his fingers later. He grabbed her jaw in one hand, nails digging into her skin as he wrenched her head from side to side, examining it.

Someone behind her was speaking, but she couldn’t make it out over the crown prince’s voice and the murmuring of the court.

Her head was flung down and she stumbled. She was immediately being spun around and then the crown prince’s hands were shoving the cloak to the side and moving for the clasp of her peplos. He was muttering something—something about seeing it?

The scar?

“—hands off her!”

That was when Marcella was enveloped in a far more familiar grip. Gavril. She stumbled into his chest as he pulled her away from the crown prince, quickly pulling the cloak back around her, thankfully before the crown prince had actually succeeded.

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