Page 54 of The Prince's Mage

But then she was being picked up and spun around. Gavril was laughing as he set her back onto her feet, steadying her as she stumbled getting her legs under her. Her fixation on the spot had been disturbed, and now all she could look at was him as he cradled her face with one hand and said in his tongue, “Marcella—pulchra puella—made this possible—key to this—peace—Mea spes—fulfilled.”

She could feel the rise and fall of his chest when it brushed hers with how close they were. She still didn’t understand.

His breathing started to slow as his other hand left her waist and joined his right in cradling her face up toward him. She could see the band on his wrist and the lines on his skin. He whispered in his tongue, “I love you—mind is spinning—remember how to say it—your tongue—I tried to learn it—look at you and I can’t think. I love you. I can’t hold it back—can’t pretend to feel less—I love you. Do you understand? I love you.”

She’d known already, but she’d been praying every night to never hear those words. However, the shock of it all left her tongue too heavy to move, so dumbly, she nodded.

Then he was kissing her.

Marcella startled, gasping slightly as she caught herself on his shoulders. He deepened the kiss, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his chiton. She didn’t really know why. She just knew his lips were on hers and his hand had gone back to her waist, clutching her to his chest while his other hand slid from her cheek and into her hair. And she couldn’t think.

She just didn’t really want it to stop.

This certainly didn’t feel like incompatibility.

Gavril’s hand slid to her back, clenching her peplos, and she couldn’t help the breathy noise that rose up in the back of her throat as she kissed him back, pushing herself even closer. It was a strange thing. She’d long since lost count of the times he’d held her and had been curled around her so tightly there was no space between them, how many times his hands had been on her waist, her face, her back. It had always been warm and comforting, soothing whatever pain had come crashing down. It had never been like this.

This burned.

She was going to get burned.

The sound of a voice clearing its throat had Marcella’s good sense snapping back into place and overcoming the fire that just wanted her to stay in Gavril’s arms and kiss him until they were both swallowed by the Abyss. She pulled back, ripping her hands off him.

She hadn’t even noticed one of her hands had ended up in his long hair while the other had rested on the middle of his back. Gavril, however, did not let go immediately. He just closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, and the mindlessness started to creep in again as she felt his breath brush her cheek. He whispered in her tongue, “You want peace, you said. You wanted me to believe—Marcella… you do not kiss a man like that unless you want him too. You can have both.”

No. No, she couldn’t.

“Gavril—wanted to speak—not be about this.”

The sound of the Inimicus tongue in that voice had a chill going down her spine, and she stumbled back as Gavril turned around to face his brother.

Nikias stood in the doorway of the library, glaring at Marcella despite addressing Gavril. Aimilia hovered behind him, watery eyes and lips pressed into something that was a smile and pained all at the same time. Gavril’s expression—seconds ago it had been the warmest thing she’d ever seen—went cold as he looked at his brother. He said in their tongue, “Want is—word—must speak with you is better—over with—stop trying to killmea uxorem—your gaze.”

Before he took his first step, his fingers brushed her left wrist and pulse and he whispered in her tongue, “Will be back. Discuss later.”

Gavril swept out of the library, past Aimilia and followed Nikias—arm still in a sling—into the hallway. Aimilia looked over her shoulder at Marcella and said, “You—what is your word?Fortuna?”

There was no perfect translation.

Her people didn’t have the same concept.

Marcella was still so baffled all she could do was dumbly reply, “Blessed.”

Aimilia’s brow furrowed, and then she nodded. “Then, you are blessed.”

She was gone, back into the hallway after the two princes, and Marcella was left standing there in the library. Her heart was still racing, and she brushed her hand over her lips, still feeling the ghost of Gavril’s lips on her the way she felt the ghost of the leather straps in her nightmares.

That’s what this was. A nightmare.

She had to get out. Before it was too late.

She looked over to where Gavril had impossibly cast a clan rune. Her heart twisted in her chest. It was already too late.

* * *

Being alone in the silence had given Marcella enough time to figure out what to say when the conversation arose. And knowing it was Gavril, she was fairly certain it was going to come up sooner rather than later.

She wasn’t sure how long she was in the library alone while Gavril and Aimilia spoke to Nikias. But eventually, when the sun started setting and she could see the golden sky out the window, Gavril and Aimilia finally returned, both looking like they’d run the entire length of the city twice over with how exhausted they were. Aimilia gathered up her things and shook her head. She said to Gavril in their tongue, “Your brother is the most—contumax—man I’ve ever met.”

---