Marcus.
The thought of him struck me instantly.
His voice against my ear in the dark. The warmth of his hands around mine. The way he had always stepped between me and danger without hesitation, as though protecting me had become his instinct long before either of us realized it.
The way I had loved him so naturally, so completely.
This felt different entirely.
Dangerous.
Because if I allowed this, if I encouraged Gen even slightly, it would feel like betrayal. But if I refused him completely, I risked losing the only opportunity I had to leave this estate and search for Marcus.
This festival was the perfect opportunity, because there would be crowds. Traders, villagers, Roman soldiers.
If Marcus truly was here somewhere in Britannia, then eventually I would find a trail leading toward him.
Still, it felt wrong.
Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet.
"I need time to think," I murmured quietly.
My chair scraped softly against the stone floor.
I avoided looking directly at him as I moved past the table, intending to make my way toward the corridor before this conversation became even more dangerous.
But the moment I moved too quickly, dizziness crashed over me violently.
The room tilted.
My breath caught sharply as my footing slipped beneath me—
Only for strong hands to catch me before I hit the ground.
"Careful."
Gen's voice came lower now, closer than before.
One arm wrapped firmly around my waist while the other steadied my elbow, pulling me securely against him before I could collapse completely.
The sudden closeness made my pulse stutter.
"I am fine," I breathed automatically.
"You nearly fell."
"I said I am—"
A wave of pain cut through my skull once more, hard enough that I winced despite myself.
Immediately, his expression shifted to concern.
"You should not move so quickly yet," he said quietly. "Your body is still healing."
One of his hands remained carefully against my waist while the other lifted briefly toward the edge of my headscarf, stopping just short of touching it.
The gesture felt strangely intimate.
Too intimate.
"I apologize," I muttered softly. "And...thank you."
For one suspended moment, neither of us moved.
The fire crackled quietly behind us, and I became painfully aware of everything all at once. From the warmth of his hand through the fabric of my simple gown. The scent of smoke and cedar clinging to his clothes.
The way his eyes had lowered toward my mouth once more.
And before I could fully understand what was happening—
he kissed me.
Softly, tentatively, like he was testing the waters before fully surrendering to the impulse.
The shock rooted me completely still, my palms flattening instinctively against his chest as my mind struggled to catch up with what was happening.
Warmth.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was how careful he was being with me, like he already knew I might pull away at any second, and I did.
My breath caught softly as I turned my pulled away and pushed lightly against him, enough to place distance between us once more.
Gen stepped back, and instead of the anger or embarrassment that I expected, he simply smiled. Not smugly, nor cruelly.
No...like he was amused with himself.
"My apologies," he murmured, running one hand briefly across his jaw. "It appears I lacked restraint for a moment."
I stared at him, still too stunned to properly respond.
"That does not count toward your answer, by the way," he continued lightly, his gaze lingering on me once more. "You still have until morning to decide."
"The festival is tomorrow night," he added.
My lips parted immediately. "I—"
But he only lifted a hand gently, stopping whatever protest I had been about to make.
"You should rest."
His voice softened again at the edges.
"The healer was quite clear that you ought not to exhaust yourself." His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the way I still swayed faintly on my feet. "And considering you nearly collapsed moments ago, I am inclined to agree with him."
I opened my mouth again, prepared to insist that I could walk myself back to my chamber.
Instead, he offered me his arm.
"Allow me to escort you back to your room, Helena."
Reluctantly, I took his arm.
Not because I wanted to, but because I needed the support. It was still preferable to fainting outright and having him carry me back again.
Because that had already happened once.
Right on the second day of my recovery, when restlessness drove me out into the corridor against Mildred's orders. I had only managed a handful of steps before dizziness overtook me entirely, and I still remembered the strange humiliation of waking up in Gen's arms afterward while he carried me back toward his chamber like I weighed nothing at all.
Never in my life had I missed modern medicine more desperately.
The walk back remained quiet.
I leaned unconsciously closer toward him as we moved through the dim corridors, his hand steady at my waist while the other supported my arm carefully. The scent of cedar and smoke clung to him, wrapping around me almost like warmth itself.
Safe, protective.
And yet, entirely wrong.
This was not the comfort I truly wanted. No, this felt more like returning to a place I once loved after it had turned into something else.
It was not until we reached the doors of his chamber, the room I had been sleeping in since arriving here, that I finally gathered enough courage to properly face him again.
"Lord—"
"I asked you to call me Gen," he interrupted softly.
I exhaled quietly before lowering my gaze briefly toward his chest, my fingers still curled lightly around his arm.
"Well, Gen..." I murmured. "You do not need to wait until morning for my answer."
Silence settled instantly between us, as I felt his body go still.
Slowly, my eyes lifted back toward his, and the look in those blue orbs changed immediately.
It had darkened with something hopeful, dangerously so.
"And what answer is that?" he asked quietly.
My heart pounded hard enough to hurt, because this was wrong.
Marcus. God, Marcus—
If I didn't do this, I didn't know when I might see him again, and that triumphed everything.
"I will go with you tomorrow," I whispered.
For one suspended moment, he simply stared at me, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The way his eyes widened, his nostrils flared, those lips parted.
Then his hand lifted slowly toward my face, careful enough that I could have pulled away if I truly wished to.
"You have no idea," he murmured, voice rougher now, "how difficult you make restraint, Helena."
The honesty in it stole my breath unexpectedly.
And before I could think of it, he kissed me again.
This time slower, deeper, no longer tentative.
He pressed my back gently against the closed wooden door as his hand settled carefully against my waist, mindful of my injuries even while he pulled me closer against him. Warmth spread through me despite very instinct screaming at me that this was wrong.
But the loneliness of the past week, the fear, the uncertainty, the desperate need for comfort after everything...weakened me.
His lips moved against mine with maddening patience, like he was savoring the fact that I was finally kissing him back, however briefly. One of my hands tightened instinctively against the front of his tunic while his forehead rested lightly against mine afterward.
HIs breathing had grown uneven.
And so had mine.
"Helena," he murmured softly against my mouth. "I am afraid that I will never get enough of you."