Page 69 of The Prince's Captive

Her eyes fluttered shut as he sank to the ground, still clutching her in his arms. His cloak was the only thing between them as he held onto her the way she held her hands in prayer. He whispered, “Vivet.”

Live.

She couldn’t stop shaking. He brushed his hand over her head and hair and down her back as he gently rocked her. “Mea spes, tuebor. Tuebor. Ita vivere.”

No. Better death than this. But that would be mercy.

If Gavril had any mercy in him, he would have put her out of her misery the second he realized she wasn’t Hypatia. She was just a toy to him.

She wondered if that was how he’d gotten hispuella, Aimilia. If he whispered soft words in her ear as he held her like he’d let too many things fall through his grip, lying to her with every breath. He was good at it. Making girls want to believe him.

“Tuebor.”

* * *

Everything following was even more of a blur than the interrogation to Marcella. At some point she must have stilled and drifted off or at some point Gavril had gotten up. She could feel his gait as he carried her, and she was completely still, curled in as tightly as possible, her head buried into her own shoulder and hidden beneath her curls so she could not see anything.

There were other voices in the Inimicus tongue, but she didn’t bother trying to translate. She didn’t care what they said. Knowing didn’t do her any good and it wasn’t going to stop them.

One of the voices was Gavril’s.

She heard the creak of a cell door and her tears started to renew in relief. Better anywhere than that room and that table.

Then in her tongue, “Rest. Safe now. I am with you.”

She wasn’t sure what happened after that.

All she knew next was the sound of a fist tapping on a wall and a muffled voice in the Inimicus tongue. The tone was annoyed and huffy and she only managed to catch the last word. “—prince.”

That was when she realized she wasn’t lying on the ground. Because what she was lying on shifted. And she didn’t realize until it had stopped that someone had been tenderly running their fingers through her curls and down her back. The hand came to a stop and curled around the base of her skull. Another hand was resting on the small of her back.

What she was lying on was incredibly warm. And incredibly familiar. She’d spent weeks with his front pressed against her back. She would know the feel of him anywhere, no matter how much she wished she didn’t.

Gavril.

She felt his head shift, his jaw lifted from where it had been resting against the top of her head. Her face was tucked into his neck, brushing the top of his chest. Her hands were curled up under the cloak, one pinned between their chests and the other resting on his shoulder.

Gavril spoke, “—take care ofmea uxorem—”

She felt his voice in his chest against her cheek.Uxoremwas a new one. Maybe it meant fool. Or weakling. Something equally as pathetic as she felt.

She stayed perfectly still and kept her breathing even so he wouldn’t realize she was awake. Her memories were hazy, but she had enough that she had a good idea what had happened.

Gavril must have told his family the easiest way to get her to talk would be to strap her to one of their tables and promise they would let her down if she did. Maybe he had even thought they would.

But they didn’t. Because they were Inimicus.

And the shame was hers for believing they would. She should have just taken their torment. Her clan would be so disgusted with her for folding so quickly. She was disgusted with herself.

If they had captured Hypatia—if they would have risked interrogating her—she wouldn’t have broken. Not for anything. Even if she’d been completely paralyzed, she would have found a way to break them first.

Marcella was just broken.

Prince Nikias’ voice seemed to be coming from outside of a wall, but Marcella didn’t dare open her eyes to see. “—lupa—not—uxorem—Aimilia—sponsa—trying to free—your mistake.”

“—no mistake—lower—wake her—ruining this—wakes up—what you did—never—again—miracle if—looks at me.” Gavril shifted beneath her again. She felt his jaw brush the top of her head and the thumb at the base of her skull circled her skin and he whispered in her tongue, “Marcella? Awake?”

She stayed still, dead weight.

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