Page 107 of The Prince's Mage

Marcella watched him rush back to the other side of their small camp without another word.

She just sat on the ground and stared at him.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Marcella fell back into a fitful sleep, clutching her left wrist to her chest. She could fix this. She could figure this out.

If they pulled this off…

Chapter38

MARCELLA

The next morning, Gavril woke her like nothing had happened the night before. She almost thought it had been a dream until Gavril stepped in front of her when she moved to her horse.

She tensed. But all he did was shift slightly to the side and gesture to her horse. “Ready?”

She narrowed her eyes at him but nodded anyway.

And then she was being swung up into the air and on top of her horse. She let out a choked gasp and struggled to catch her balance. Gavril’s hands didn’t leave her as she secured herself. She looked down at him. His hands lingered on her waist.

She shuddered when his thumb brushed over the scar beneath her peplos. His grip on her tightened and he whispered, “You said to me… in the throne room. Have faith. My soldier, you commanded me, and I obey. Don’t say anything, please. Just… Have faith. The fight is not finished with us yet.”

Marcella nodded, and she wished she’d hesitated longer because as soon as she had, he slowly pulled his hand back.

She slowly picked up her reins, fussing with the cloak to cover her arms, mostly so she didn’t have to see the illusion of her bare arms and could more easily focus on the feeling of metal and leather and Gavril’s vitae under her skin. But out of the corner of her eye she saw Gavril look over his shoulder at her as he headed for his horse, clenching the hand that had just been on her waist.

She hid her smirk in the hood of the cloak as they set off.

Focusing on that instead of what they were riding toward and how it was all resting on her shoulders was the only thing that actually kept her riding forward.

After only a few hours, they crested a hill, and they both came to a dead stop. In the distance, they could see a large swath of tents clearly marking an army camp. The people in it couldn’t be seen, and the tents and structures set up were just dots, but it was unmistakable.

And if they could see the camp, the guards had probably spotted them. There was no turning back.

There hadn’t been since the moment she’d stepped before Chief Eustathios.

Gavril pulled out the limiters and started to clasp them onto his wrists, pushing the sleeve up just enough to do so. At least it also helped hide the marks and band on his wrist.

Once they were on, she took a sharp breath and looked at her wrists, but the illusions stayed. He’d done them correctly. As she looked up, he shook his head and muttered, “Horrid feeling. I don’t know how you stood wearing these for so long.”

She took that as a good sign. She offered him a wry smile and said, “I had them on long enough I stopped noticing it.”

He looked back down at the camp and took a deep breath. “Well, let’s hope you prove to be a far more efficient negotiator than I was.”

Marcella swallowed thickly. Could she do this?

Could she create peace for her people?

* * *

Marcella and Gavril dismounted after riding down the hill, since they expected they’d been spotted by lookouts. They were leading their horses in the direction of the camp when they were surrounded by people with wild curls, and for the first time in months Marcella was surrounded by her people.

Gavril held his hands up in the air, showing clearly the limiting cuffs on him. His sleeve fell back slightly, but stayed up enough to hide what the cuff didn’t.

She spotted a few of the soldiers jolt at the sight of her. They weren’t her clansmen. Likely they hadn’t been told or hadn’t believed that she was Hypatia’s spitting image. She said in her tongue, “I believe Chiefess Hypatia has been expecting me?”

“This is your hostage? The prince?” the lieutenant asked, eyeing Gavril, whom she had stepped closer to when they’d ridden up on them.

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