Page 78 of The Prince's Captive

“Marcella…” Gavril breathed her name out as he reached her cell, still saying it wrong. He had a key in the lock and was opening the door. She immediately backed away, and whatever he saw in her movement or wary expression had him pausing as he stood by the cell door.

He was dressed finely, more so than she’d ever seen him before, given that he’d been pretending he was just a commander and not a prince on the road. He definitely looked like one now.

She needed the reminder. She needed to remember he was a liar, and she couldn’t trust him in order to fight the way she remembered how he’d held her and whispered in her ear that she was safe with him.

“Imperator. Princeps.” Marcella choked on the Inimicus words before she switched back to her tongue, “Who are you today, again?”

He looked at her like she’d physically struck him, and if he came close enough to her, she just might.

“Gavril I always have been to you, and will be to you forevermore,” he said in her tongue, his voice carrying an intensity to match her own. He took a small step toward her. His eyes darted over her, and she cursed herself for taking the clean clothes at the way his gaze softened to see her in them. He then looked at the empty tray and glass on the ground. “Eat well?”

“What do you want?”

She was not falling for it.

“To ensure you have,” Gavril said, his brow furrowing as he clearly was struggling to figure out the proper translation to whatever he intended.

She didn’t care what he intended. Not when she could still feel the leather straps biting into her skin and vitae burning her side.

“Of course, obviously. You wouldn’t want your new rat to die the first time she goes up on the table, right?”

Gavril’s expression darkened, and he started forward, and it wasn’t until Marcella’s back hit the cell wall that he stopped. It wasn’t until that moment that she even realized she’d been backing away. He said, “No.No table. I—No part. I—remember?”

She had to hand it to him. Getting worse at speaking in her language to add to his desperate, frantic, caring act was smart. It made it feel so real.

It wasn’t. Itwasn’t. He was an illusion.

He gestured to the cloak on the ground and then himself. “Remember?”

“Remember that you’re an Inimicus who has been lying to me and saying and doing anything to try to convince me I can trust you? Organizing a fake escape so I’d participate in your binding ritual? Having your brother take the role of the villain and put me on the table so you can come in and save me? The Inimicus are blessed to have you as commander and prince. Your mind knows of no situation you can’t orchestrate to manipulate in your favor.”

She wasn’t sure if she was proving a point or trying to convince herself.

“No.” Gavril shook his head, a deep furrow to his brow, and she could practically see his mind spinning. Whether it was from trying to find the right translation or the right manipulation, she didn’t know.

But she couldn’t risk believing anything but the second.

“No. Wrong. All done… Protect.” He held up his left wrist and pointed to hers. “To protect from table—from death.”

Marcella couldn’t help her laugh. “How stupid do you think I am? It clearly didn’t work—if I believed that was your intention in the first place.”

She had.

And now she knew what a mistake it was to put faith in anything but herself, her people, and her goddess.

“I—I—” Gavril stuttered, his hands shaking in the air. “Mistaken. But not again. Still—Wasn’t fake. Escape. Rescue.”

He still expected her to believe him?

“Really? Alright then. If you were actually letting me go and not sending me headfirst into a trap, let me go now.” Marcella lifted her chin and took a step toward him despite her own shaking hands. “You’re a prince and a commander. Handy with illusions. I’m sure you can think of some way to sneak me out of here and let me go outside of the city.”

Gavril stayed where he was, rooted to her cell floor, and shook his head, his eyes closed. He took a long deep breath and took his time forming his sentences. “I can’t. I told you. It’s not that simple. You know I can’t do that.”

“Won’t.” Marcella crossed her arms and wrapped her fingers around her biceps, tightening them so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “The word you’re looking for is won’t.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before he said, “No. Can’t.”

“Oh? You can’t?” Her voice dipped lower. “And yet you expect me to believe you could at one point but not now?”

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