Page 82 of The Prince's Captive

Her hands curled into fists and her blood boiled, but instead of rushing at him like she wanted to, she ground out, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Come on, you were eager to hit me yesterday. Now I’m inviting you to. I’m the one who caught you. I trapped you. I bound you. You hate me. Don’t you want the chance to get a few hits in consequence free?”

She shifted into a fighting stance, raising her hands. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was still somehow playing into his hand, but she wanted to knock the taunting light right out of his eyes, so that alone would be worth it.

She rushed forward first, and Gavril easily dodged her first swing, and then she was in the air, weightless for just a moment before she slammed into the ground and all the air left her lungs.

She wheezed on the ground for a moment before hands were on her left arm, hauling her back to her feet. Her breath was still labored and she was trying to process what had happened as Gavril backed away, putting his fists back up and saying, “Again, soldier.”

She looked over her shoulder at the Inimicus observing them. Was he… Then it hit her. He wanted the Inimicus to observe the fighting style of Clan Desero so they could counter it. That’s what he meant about peace.

Peace would only come when one of their people was gone.

“Is that all your people have? Did they send their worst as Hypatia’s decoy? Are they suffering a great loss without you?” Gavril spat as he paced the width of the ring.

She shouldn’t.

She shouldn’t give him the fight he wanted.

“Done already? I should not concern myself then. Clan Desero will fall in a blink with your fighting spirit.”

And then she was swinging again. But this time Gavril easily side-stepped it, twisting around her to dodge. She turned on her feet, narrowly avoiding being tripped up by him as she found her next opening. She swung—

And then she was on the ground again, wheezing before Gavril hauled her up onto her feet.

She was not going to let him have the last word. Shewasgoing to land a hit.

But Gavril was an excellent dodger.

She didn’t need this. She didn’t need to be shown just how pathetic she was. She knew very well how worthless she was to her own people.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few of the Inimicus making notes in little books as Gavril continuously deflected everything she came at him with.

And every time her fists failed to connect, the fire in her blood burned hotter and she got sloppier.

Every time she hesitated or paused, Gavril opened his mouth and something came out of it that made her desperate to prove him wrong.

She never did.

When he caught her wrist and pulled it back, he hooked his ankle around hers and sent her to her knees. He didn’t let go of her wrist, just held it up as he took long breaths and looked down at her. He said nothing, still not breathing nearly as heavily as she was, but his eyes were burning and searching in the silence.

Whatever he was looking for, she hoped he never found it.

She glared up at him, wheezing for breath until she was finally able to grind out, “Are you satisfied yet with my worthlessness?”

The iron in his eyes softened, and the hand holding her left wrist eased. His fingers shifted down to her pulse, sliding between the leather band and her skin. His touch burned. “I—”

“PrincepsGavril!”

He immediately released her hand, and she threw it beneath her to catch herself before she looked over her shoulder to see Gavril’spuella, Aimilia, striding toward them.

Gavril immediately moved to intercept her as Marcella knelt on the ground, panting. Aimilia’s vibrant red hair was pulled back into an elegant braided crown, and her chiton was beautifully trimmed while also being clearly practical, and she had a commander’s cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Her presence only made Marcella aware of the absolute disaster she was certain she looked like with her curls frizzy and knotted and sweaty. Her chiton was covered in dust and dirt from hitting the ground countless times.

Aimilia was beautiful, for an Inimicus.

Perfect for a prince.

“Aimilia—doing here?” Gavril spoke in his tongue.

---