Page 86 of The Prince's Captive

Once he’d set her down, he simply sat beside her and picked up the waterskin and the bowl. He uncorked the waterskin and when he started moving in her direction, she snatched it out of his hand despite the fast motion making her head spin and she muttered, “I’m not an infant. I can take it from here.”

He didn’t try to stop her, but she saw him watching her shaking hands as she lifted the waterskin and drank deeply. If she spilled a little on herself from her trembling, she pretended not to notice in the hopes Gavril also wouldn’t notice.

His eyes left her hands and traced the water that spilled down her jaw and dripped onto the neckline of her chiton.

Alright. He noticed.

He was reaching to catch her hand in his, but before he could still her hands with his own, she shoved the waterskin back at him. As he scrambled to keep from dropping it, she grabbed the bowl, lowering her gaze to what was in it and picking up the bread first. There were a few pieces of dried meat as well as fresh fruit, and even the bread was better than anything she’d gotten since she’d been taken captive. She refused to look at Gavril as she ate, instead just focusing on sinking her teeth in and letting the dizziness begin to fade.

She was deliberately taking her time to avoid whatever conversation Gavril clearly seemed to want to have as he just sat beside her and watched her eat. Also she was certain if she did eat as fast as her famished stomach wanted her to, she would throw it all back up.

She wasn’t even close to finishing when a sharp, shrill voice filled the air.

“PrincepsGavril!”

Marcella looked up and out of the corner of her eye to see Aimilia coming out of the peristyle and toward them, dressed like she had been that first day. Dressed to spar.

But she was carrying… a tray with a strange set of objects on it Marcella had never seen before. There were tiny cups and a larger rounded object with a handle and a spout. It was unlike any pitcher she’d ever seen, but she supposed it had to be one.

Beside her, Gavril let out a sigh and then briefly put his hand on her knee and murmured, “Sit. Rest. You are done for the day.”

Marcella just jerked her knee away, and he shook his head before going to intercept Aimilia.

Chapter27

MARCELLA

This time Gavril was far enough away that Marcella couldn’t make out any of their conversation. All she could do was watch.

Aimilia had a smile on her face, but it was sharp and sly as she shifted the tray and braced it on her hip so she could stand even closer to Gavril. So close that her free arm brushed his whenever she shifted even slightly. The third time it happened, Gavril shifted back, crossing his arms in front of him.

Marcella stopped eating. Her stomach was turning, so she must still be eating too quickly despite how slow she was going. She set the half-eaten bowl to the side and reached for the waterskin. That had to be what she needed to help this sick feeling.

She didn’t take her eyes off them.

Aimilia rolled her eyes and held out the tray. Gavril took it and watched as Aimilia did pour a liquid out from the stocky pitcher into one of the cups. She then set the pitcher back down and picked up the cup. She raised it to Gavril for a moment before taking a sip herself.

Then she set it back on the tray and raised an eyebrow as she spoke.

Gavril held the tray with one hand, picked up the cup, and held it in the air, hesitating for a moment. Aimilia just huffed at him, and then he slowly took a sip before setting it back down.

Was this some kind of ritual? Or some resolution of their previous disagreements?

That had to be why watching it made Marcella so uncomfortable. She didn’t want them to stop fighting. The more strife in Gavril’s life the better.

Gavril then started to walk back toward Marcella, carrying the tray, and Aimilia fell into step beside him. Interestingly, their strides matched perfectly. There was an air about them. A familiarity and companionship Marcella could not say she’d ever known with another soul, not even among her people. She didn’t like it.

When they reached her, Aimilia’s demeanor shifted. She crossed her arms and eyed Marcella as Gavril set the tray beside her on the bench and took his seat again. At least the tray was useful for forcing him away from her. He picked up the cup and held it out to her. He said in her tongue, “Drink. This will help your strength.”

She had seen them both drink it.

Which was disappointing because she would welcome some poison.

She just stared at it.

Aimilia muttered in the Inimicus tongue, “—always like this?—see what my—meant—waste of effort.”

Gavril shot her a glare. “—be respectful—leave.”

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