Page 3 of The Prince's Mage

She felt that way about her language in his.

But not Gavril’s. Not anymore.

“Speak, demon—mage.”

Why did he call her mage when Gavril always called her soldier?

And why did he have to correct himself from demon?

One of the Inimicus opened the trunk, and Marcella winced at the glow of the Heart blinding her. Prince Nikias kicked it and said, “Rock. Value?”

She couldn’t let them know the value of what they had. Not even if it would save her life.

It was the one thing she’d managed to keep from them the first time on the table, and if she wanted any hope of Asentai’s favor when she did return to the goddess in death, she had to keep it now. She had to make up for her pathetic weakness from before.

“None.”

To them at least.

It was a holy relic. The holiest of all relics. The faithless Inimicus and their heretics had no use for it.

She could see the glow of vitae in the air above her. A strange, foreign vitae latched onto her own like a parasite. She could feel her heart beat against the glowing line attached to her, monitoring her heartrate again just like before. The heretic said in their tongue, “—truth—”

Prince Nikias shook his head and leaned down further, continuing to speak in her tongue. “Must know something.”

She continued to speak in his. “No. Gavril. Want Gavril.”

“Away. Not coming. Answer,” Nikias snapped in her language and kicked the trunk until it was right under her. “What purpose this?”

“None.” For them. Marcella didn’t know their word for pretty or beautiful. “Nice rock. Want Gavril.”

“—true—”

Nikias snapped something at the heretic before returning to Marcella. He grabbed her jaw, nails sinking in as he butchered her language and said, “Will take cloak. Answer. Gavril not coming, demon. Stuck me.”

She tried to curl around the cloak tighter, but with her wrists both strapped down so tightly she couldn’t even wiggle her arms, she couldn’t. She hissed, “Gave answer. Die.”

“I will.” Nikias whispered so low she barely even heard him. Then his lip curled up, and he grabbed her head, shoving it up and reaching under it for the cloak.

She screamed and thrashed despite the motions taking the distant aches in her body to raging fire through every limb. She tried to rip her head out of his grip, but it was tight and he yanked the cloak out from under her.

Her screams were half sobs as the familiar warmth and fabric vanished and she was left with the reality of the fact that she was on the table and Gavril was nowhere to be found.

There wasn’t going to be any rescue.

Maybe this was what she deserved. For the way she’d treated him. She hadn’t believed him the first time he’d tried to save her from the table, so now she was going to suffer it alone.

Her forehead hit the table as she cried, and to her horror, her cries just took the shape of a word. A name.

She just cried Gavril’s name.

Prince Nikias’ voice was somewhere in the background, barking in her language, demanding answers about the Heart, but all she could do was cry and beg for Gavril even though she knew he wasn’t coming.

At some point a blade bit into her skin, but she only screamed for Gavril louder, interspersed with a few, desperate prayers to Asentai for a miracle.

She knew now what miracle she had prayed for the night before he’d left. It had been him. She’d been praying for him to stay.

He hadn’t.

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