Page 68 of The Prince's Captive

The woman gestured to the man holding down her left arm and barked an order.

Marcella then felt the raggedy fabric of what was left of her peplos on her back fall away from her shoulders and pool at her waist, exposing the rest of her shoulder blades and spine. Then the sound of more fabric ripping and her strophion falling to the side and exposing the last area of her back that had been covered, so it only touched her front that was already flush with the table. Her choking sobs were just harsh, gasping, breaths as the water pooling in her eyes spilled over while she silently pleaded to Asentai for it to be over.

The edge of the knife had just started to cut into the skin at the base of her neck, and she could feel the blade drawing her vitae up against her will.

Then the sound of a crash had the woman’s grip faltering, sending the knife across Marcella’s shoulder sharply before she let go as a door slammed open.

“Marcella!”

Chapter22

MARCELLA

Prince Nikias immediately tossed the cloak onto a counter and rushed out of Marcella’s line of sight, saying something, “—doing—”

“—am Idoing?—mea sponsa—”

That voice…

Gavril.

She hadn’t heard him sound so furious before. Angry, frustrated—usually with her—but not this.

There was another thud and then Gavril saying, “—out of my way—out—”

Marcella saw the heretic scurry out of sight and heard quite a few footsteps all rushing in what seemed to be the opposite direction. Something lit up in the air behind her and the feeling returned to her limbs, and the second her paralysis was gone, she was trembling all over against the table her limbs were still strapped to.

Then she could feel her voice again and her breaths turned into full sobs. A hand brushed her back, the palm on her bare skin only serving to remind her how helpless she still was, and it wrenched a louder sob from her lips as she shrank into the table as much as possible with the straps still holding her down.

Then something was in her line of sight again. A familiar voice making soft, hushing noises. Hands were on her face, brushing her hair back so she could see.

Gavril knelt on the floor, his face just below hers, filling her blurry vision as he cradled her face in his palms. “Marcella. It’s me. Safe now. I am with you.”

She wasn’t sure if the noise she made was a mocking laugh or a terrified sob or both. He couldn’t seriously think she would believe him now? His thumbs moved to brush away the tears rolling down her cheeks, but she managed to jerk her face out of his hands and turn her face back into her hair as he let his hands fall back.

She felt his hands reach for hers, gently prying and pulling the contraptions off them so she could move her fingers again. Lucky for them the paralysis, though gone, had left her too stiff and disconnected from her own limbs to be able to try casting. The straps started to loosen one by one, and Gavril’s voice filled the air, soft despite his thick, sharp accent as he murmured, “So sorry. Fix this. Safe. Don’t be afraid.”

Once the last strap was loosened, Marcella tried get a hand under her to get off the table, but Gavril’s hand on her back had her collapsing back down and shrinking into herself as much as she could.

What now?

What could there be left to put her through?

Then she noticed the glow in the air and she immediately tried to shrink away from it. But then the sting in her shoulder eased. Then the burns from the vitae whip faded. She slowly blinked open her eyes again as the sensation dimmed, to see Gavril had stepped away and was picking up his cloak from where his brother had thrown it to the side. The clasps that had been holding her peplos up were in broken pieces on the floor.

She tried again to get her arms and legs under her, even though they were shaking. She would hit the ground painfully, but she didn’t care. Better to lie on the ground than spend another second on that table.

Before she could even get her torso off the table, Gavril was back. She started to shy away again, but she was too slow before he had the cloak draped over her shoulders, covering her healed but exposed back. Then he wrapped his arms and the cloak around her front, clasping it shut so it covered all of her before he wrapped one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs, pulling her off the table.

Marcella choked on a sob again, torn between wanting to rip the cloak off herself and hold it tighter to hide beneath. She didn’t have the strength to try to push Gavril away.

Once she was clear of the table, Gavril hefted her up higher in his arms, leaning his head into her hair and murmuring, “It’s over. I know. I know. So sorry. Forgive me. Won’t happen again. Safe. I am with you.”

Marcella was too tired to argue. Instead… all she had was a plea.

“Die,” she whispered.

Although whether she meant him or herself, she wasn’t even sure.

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