Page 20 of The Prince's Mage

Her legs were shaking and starting to buckle when she started on her hair. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see her own scars as she used the water and the soap that was left to wash her hair. The water turned murkier, and Marcella had to be satisfied with the job she’d done and hope she’d done enough to restore her curls to normal. With her soaked hair plastered to her neck and shoulders, the water dripping and running down her skin, she fumbled for the clean garment, taking care not to look at her own skin.

It wasn’t a chiton. It was a peplos, falling all the way to her ankles instead of just above her knee like her chiton had.

It hid the scars on her legs, which she liked. It also had sleeves she could tie together, which helped cover the scars on her arms. The less of her to be seen the better.

She wasn’t certain she was ever going to feel like she didn’t want to hide, buried beneath a ridiculous amount of fabric as if it would be a defense from her chiton being ripped to shreds to expose her back and any part of her they wanted to get at.

Her knees hit the ground as she was halfway through tying the left sleeve. She was shaking.

She tried to breathe.

Gavril was back. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He’d said that last time.

When everything had been happening so quickly, it had been so easy for her to believe now that he was there everything was going to be alright. That this time would be the time he kept his promise.

She had her hand over her mouth as she bit her tongue and tried to force down her sobs. She was so sick of crying. She was so sick of feeling helpless.

Even when she wasn’t on the table… who was she fooling? In Areator she was always on the table.

But she’d given up her chance to get off it. She’d told Gavril to stay.

Why?Why had she done that?

How stupid was she?

The door opened and she jumped. It was Gavril.

At least it was Gavril.

Better him than someone else. He had a tray in his hands, and he quickly set it on the bed and rushed over to her, saying, “Are you alright? What happened?”

His arm came around her and he pulled her into his embrace, and she supposed she didn’t have somewhere better to go. Her left sleeve remained only half done as they sat on the floor next to the dirty chiton and cloak.

She took a deep breath, pushing down her encroaching sob, and shook her head. “It’s too quiet. It brings back memories, and my legs are still weak. I am weak.”

A hand brushed her cheek, stilling the motion of her head and forcing her to look at him as he spoke in her tongue, “No. Never. I have never known anyone who has the strength to live after what you’ve been through. No one has lasted longer than you have through the atrocity you went through. Everyone who was put on those horrific tablesdied.You—” Gavril’s voice cracked, and he paused, swallowing thickly. “You are alive. It is a miracle, and a testament to your strength. To live through suffering is strength. What has happened is my weakness, not yours.”

Maybe she should take the opportunity to throw all of her terror and anger at herself for trapping herself there at him instead, but she found herself instead softly leaning into his palm instead and sighing. “It seems all we do is have the same arguments. Live or die. Who is to blame? We are left just sitting here.”

“Then instead of wasting breath, we eat. You need food. As I have argued before. You will get stronger when you eat well, and I know you have not been eating,” Gavril said, sliding his arm around her back and taking her hand in his as he lifted them off the ground. He helped her back to the bed, sitting her back against the headboard as he sat across from her and moved the tray between them.

That was when she noticed something about him. A strange shadow under his eyes. A little shimmer to his skin. His vitae.

With the limiter cuffs off, she could sense it resting on the surface of his skin. Around his eye. What a strange sensation, but yes, she could feel his vitae in him and on him.

As he started to uncover the plates, she said, “You are hiding something from me. You have an illusion on your eye.”

He looked up sharply, nearly knocking over the glasses of water as his face paled. “What?”

She lifted her left wrist and said, “I know what your magic feels like. This bond means I can sense it on your face.”

Gavril looked down and muttered under his breath, a curse in his language as he fussed with the glasses and plates on the tray. “It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing you would not be hiding it. Show me.” Marcella leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Don’t hide from me.”

Gavril kept his head lowered, his hair falling in his eyes so she couldn’t see them. His voice trembled, but it was clear how hard he was trying to keep it steady. “You ask me to make myself nothing in your eyes.”

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