Page 80 of The Prince's Mage

And kill her in the process.

He laid Marcella on her bed, pulling the blankets up over her. He hesitated after that. Ever since Marcella had found out what the term she-wolf implied about her and her character, he’d stayed in his room at night. His slow, cowardly tongue could not tell her the truth. He could not tell her that it did not matter whether he was in her room or his. There was nothing inappropriate about it, and his people called her that only to degrade her despite the respect she should receive as his wife.

But he could not assuage her fears or convince her that term had nothing to do with their actions but with his people’s imagined superiority without revealing that secret. He’d almost told her a thousand times, but his courage always failed him. Like he always seemed to fail her. He could not do it.

Not until he had the chance to keep her. Or let her go safely.

Even if it meant feeling the wind cut through the hole she would leave in his chest when she walked away.

So he should get up from where he sat on the bed by her side and go to his room, but he could not seem to get his feet to move. Instead, he kept gently brushing his hand through her curls.

Well… if she was going to wake up soon, he might as well stay so he could attend to whatever she might need when she woke up. He whispered, “Marcella?”

She let out a soft hum and shifted closer, turning her head until it brushed his leg and rested against him. He did not know what he was going to do if she was as horrified and disgusted with him for this secret as she had been with his others. He did not know what he would do if she slipped through his grip, fulfilling every curse she proclaimed over him.

He deserved it. For all the time he’d failed her and broken his promises.

But that didn’t make it easier.

Questions he wasn’t going to have to answer if they did not prove his theory and stop this already bloody war from getting bloodier.

Gavril just could not seem to find the will to get up even as his own eyes fluttered shut and his hand stilled, resting on her shoulder.

What if he was just an idiot with too much hope who always fell short of carrying out his well-intentioned, grand promises?

The next thing he knew when he roused was the distinct absence of the weight of Marcella beside him, resting against him. As he stirred, he also heard soft, huffing breaths. He blinked his eyes open and sat up straighter against the headboard to see that Marcella stood at the foot of the bed, leaning against the bedpost, both hands aloft. The glow of her vitae stuttered and faded and she slumped back with a frustrated groan.

Of course.

Gavril quickly climbed off the bed and stepped in front of her, taking her wrists in his hands and lowering them as she startled at his sudden appearance. He brushed his thumb over her pulse and said in her language, “You are exhausted. This will get you nowhere.Deliciae, rest.”

Marcella’s legs gave out, and he quickly sank to the floor with her as she lowered her head. She replied in her language for the first time since she’d insisted on using his to learn it, “I’m sorry. Sorry. I cannot. I cannot do it. I am not—Maybe another mage. One who is worth something, someone with skill or power I can never hope to possess. I am just mediocre. I was too weak before and I am shattered pieces now. If you had only taken someone else, someone—”

“Look at me.” His hands were on her cheeks, forcing her face up to look at him, the glow of the sun setting out the window caught on the tears pooling in her eyes. “Do not dare say it. You are not worthless. I would have you. Whether we fail or succeed, it will be with you or no one. I would not wish you into anyone else for a second.”

“Gavril, we must face the truth. I cannot do this, and you need another plan. Time—”

“I would not let you give up on your own life. Do you think I will let you give up on this either?”

“If you do not give up on me, it will not matter. We will all pay the price!” Marcella shook her head, the tears spilling over as she pulled out of his grip. “I know you’ll just say that fighting is not tired of me, but look at me! I could barely fight before, and I cannot fight now. I can’t—I can’t fight anymore. It is not getting us anywhere. Your misguided faith in me will be our ends. I tried to warn you. Human hands always fail. Yours have. Why do you believe I am some exception?”

His hands had failed. She was right, and he could see in her panic and pain she was not trying to hurt him as desperately as those two words did.

Because he’d failed her, she’d died. And she didn’t know. She didn’t understand why she was struggling. And it was not fair that he kept his secrets because of his shame.

“You died.”

Marcella blinked, her tears still rolling down her cheeks as she stuttered. “W—What?”

His throat closed and when he blinked all he saw was her broken, bleeding, dying on that table. His fault. His failures. He’d condemned her. His weaknesses were the reason she was suffering. He was always the reason she was suffering.

“On the fifth day… Nikias had you touch the relic. The healer was monitoring your heartrate. It… stopped. For several minutes. You weredead,” Gavril’s voice shook, breaking as he finally spoke the words. He couldn’t face her as he spoke, just staring at the ground as he finally owned up to his greatest failure.

“I… it is hazy. I do not—I could not have died. They had to be mistaken—” Marcella shook her head.

“Two days later, I returned. You were still on the table.” Gavril slowly lifted his head, just enough that he could peer past his hair falling in his face to see her. “That is why I started destroying the room, because I thought you were gone. But then you lifted your head, and you were alive. Sometime after your heart stopped, it started beating again.”

“That’s not possible,” Marcella said. She reached up and scrubbed at the tear tracks on her cheeks as she scowled. “They had to be wrong. It was—I don’t know. Maybe the relic interfered with their reading. Maybe—”

---