Page 85 of The Prince's Captive

“You fainted mid-punch.”

Marcella weakly tapped his shoulder with a loose fist and said, “There. Finished my swing.”

She tried to get up, but he just held her more tightly and she certainly didn’t have the strength to fight him on it without fainting again. He narrowed his eyes down at her. “You are eating.”

He said it more like a command than a question.

“Yes, I’m eating,” she mumbled. But now she was kicking herself for not thinking of that as an option to quicken her demise. The problem was now if she stopped eating, Gavril would get suspicious. And it would only make her weaker and then her chances of giving him a black eye before finally dying would be nonexistent.

She really wanted to give him a black eye.

Once she’d gotten the upper hand on him and given him a black eye, then she could try starving or dehydrating herself to death.

She imagined she wouldn’t get far before Gavril was pouring water down her throat himself to keep hislupaalive—as everyone called her. But she could still try.

“Enough?” He shook his head and muttered, “Never mind, you wouldn’t know.”

He looked her over and shot what sounded like a question to one of her guards. “—much is—”

“—small—once—enough—”

He got a response he clearly didn’t like as he made a noise in the back of his throat and snapped at them before gesturing to her lying in his lap. “—not enough—sitting—with me—needs more—”

The guard opened his mouth, and she caught the words, “—Princeps Nikias—ordered.”

Gavril’s brow pinched and he waved his hand. “—water—eat.”

The guard hurried away and Gavril rolled his eyes. He then looked back down at her and said in her tongue, “You should have said something.”

Marcella raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Your Highness, I’m in such an excellent position to demand better treatment from the people who are keeping me alive against my will.”

The hand that held her arm and was curled around her back stilled, and that was when she even realized his fingers had been gently shifting back and forth in the first place. The softness in his eyes faded and his voice hardened. “You should have said something to me.”

Marcella rolled her eyes and held up her left wrist between them. “Because this makes me your responsibility?”

His jaw clenched and he nodded. “Yes. It does.”

She let her wrist fall to her lap as she huffed. “Is this something you do every time you go on a mission? Bring back a soldier as your pet? Then you play your games with them until you grow bored?”

She should have been satisfied at the way her dig went right under his skin from the shift in his expression.

“It is not habit. I do not collect. You are the only one. You will be the only one.” His grip tightened. “I’m not playing a game. We are sparring. You are a soldier. A mage. I am a commander. A mage. I like to keep my skills sharp. You want to hit me. That is all.”

Liar. And that lie made no sense.

“You’re hardly keeping any skills sharp with how little of a challenge I am,” Marcella muttered. “It’s a waste of time.”

The rest went unspoken but louder than anything else.

She was a waste of time. Of space. Of everything.

“Once you eat enough, you will improve. You are a soldier. You need orders. A mission to accomplish. Reason to—Reason.”

Before she could try to figure out what he was trying to get at, the guards returned with food and water, and Gavril was lifting her up into his arms and carrying her out of the sparring ring. She kept her arms in her lap, shrinking into herself as she saw all the eyes on her and Gavril. He carried her over to a bench off toward the edge of the courtyard and set her on it while he waved the guard with the food and water over. The guard just set the waterskin and the bowl on the other edge of the bench and hurried away.

She’d noticed the guards were only near her when they had to be. They looked at her like she was mud. Which, to be fair, she was disgusting with all the sparring, sweating, and not bathing in the dungeon. She hadn’t been given anything to clean up with after the first time. But she’d been the same on the road and the soldiers had looked at her similarly despite being just as filthy as her.

Gavril never had.

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