Marcus rested his forehead against mine as I breathed him in, turning my face and pressing my nose against the crook of his neck.
God, I had missed him.
I missed his scent. Missed the steady warmth of him. Missed the strange sense of safety that always seemed to find me whenever I was in his arms. I wanted nothing more than to remain here forever, forget about everything else and stay hidden away from the rest of the world.
There was nothing else like it.
His arms tightened around my waist, drawing me closer until there was barely any space left between us. Even when we were all pressed up against each other, with my back against the wall beside the door.
I still didn't know where he had taken me, but I no longer cared.
"Elena," he murmured, the sound of my name little more than a breath against my lips. Then he kissed me again, softer this time.
When he finally pulled back, his gaze traveled over my face, lingering on the veil woven through my dark hair, then the dress Mildred had dressed me in.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Though I would have preferred you dressed as a Roman," he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, "you look beautiful."
His eyes softened. "As though Venus herself had decided to bless every part of you."
"You're alive," I whispered, cupping his face between my hands. "I was so scared when I woke up and couldn't find you."
Something softened in his expression.
His hand came up to cover mine, turning his head just enough to press a kiss against my palm.
"I am here," he murmured.
His gaze drifted over me face, taking in the veil, the dress, the unfamiliar clothing that marked me as part of Gen's household.
"You changed your name."
A faint frown appeared between his brows.
"And somehow," he added, his jaw tightening, "you ended up in that bastard's arms."
I let out a weary breath.
"He found me."
Marcus's eyes sharpened immediately. "Found you?"
"Unconscious. Near some kind of prayer altar." I shook my head. "I woke up in his manor with a head injury and no idea where I was. They think I've lost my memory."
His eyes flickered toward the bandage hidden beneath my veil. The sight draining whatever anger that had been building inside him.
Carefully, almost reverently, he brushed his fingers against the side of my face.
"You were hurt."
"I'm fine."
"You are not fine," he bit out, the words coming out harsher than he intended.
His forehead touched mine once more. "I truly thought you were dead, Elena."
Outside, distant music and laughter drifted through the walls from the festival. But inside this small dark space, there was only the two of us and the overwhelming relief of having found each other again.
"I'm sorry for worrying you," I murmured.
My hands drifted from his jaw to his chest, fingers curling into the rough fabric of his cloak as though reassuring myself that he was truly here.
"But we need a plan, Marcus."
His gaze sharpened immediately.
"Gen—Lord Gwrgenau—believes the gods sent me to him." I released a slow breath. "I appeared beside his prayer altar. To him, that means something."
I watched his expression darken.
"If no one claims me..." My throat tightened. "Then he will see it as a sign. A blessing. Permission to claim me as his."
"No." The single word came out hard as iron.
His hands tightened around my waist. "Then I shall claim you."
I blinked.
"As my betrothed," he continued. "Publicly. Before his people and mine. Before anyone who wishes to challenge it. You were meant to be my bride, after all. As my Caesar wills it."
"No."
This time, the sharpness in my voice matched his.
I clutched his cloak tighter. "You can't."
His jaw clenched. "Elena—"
"If you do that, there will be bloodshed." I shook my head. "He hates the Romans. His people hate the Romans. The moment you step forward and claim me, this becomes more than a misunderstanding."
"It already is."
"Marcus."
I waited until he finally met my eyes.
"People will die."
"People tend to die one way or another in this lifetime, Elena," he said. "It happens far more often than you think."
I stared at him.
"Not in my world," I said quietly. "I'm a nurse. I'm supposed to help people."
My fingers tightened against his cloak.
"And I won't stand by while people die simply because you couldn't rein in your...ways."
The room fell silent.
Outside, distant drums continued to echo from the festival.
"He is not Garrick," I added quietly. "He is dangerous in his own way, but he has treated me well. His people have treated me well. I will not be responsible for starting another battle."
Marcus looked away first, a muscle in his jaw twitched.
I reached up and touched his face. "I shall not risk you, too. You are injured."
His eyes flickered back to mine. "My injury is irrelevant."
"It isn't to me," I murmured, my gaze dropping instinctively to his chest. Toward the place where Garrick's blade had struck him.
The memory alone made my stomach turn.
"You almost died."
His expression softened immediately.
"And so did you."
"Then let us not make that mistake twice."
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
The way he looked at me stole the breath from my lungs, like I was everything to him.
His dark cloak concealed most of his Roman uniform, and his dark hair was tousled from being covered, damp with sweat at his temples. Here, he seemed completely at ease. Confident, capable, moving through this world as though he belonged to it.
It was the world he knew, after all.
The realization sent a sharp ache through my chest.
Because if we found a way home, I would be asking him to leave all of this behind.
Unable to bear the thought, I rested my forehead against his.
"Please," I whispered against his lips. "Find a way for us to be together again. Without bloodshed."
He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
"Focus on recovering, Elena," he said softly. "And I will do exactly as that. We will go home."
I wasted no time in reaching for him.
Marcus's hand slid to the back of my neck as he lowered his head, his lips finding mine once more. The kiss was softer this time, as though he was sealing his promise and saying goodbye all at once. A kind of reassurance that neither of us wished to give.
When we finally pulled apart, neither of us strayed far. His forehead rested briefly against mine.
"I will find you again," he murmured. "This is nothing but a short parting."
"Be careful, please."
He nodded once, his fingers lingering against my cheek for a heartbeat longer before he stepped back. "Go, Elena. Before they notice you were gone."
Though every part of me refused, I found myself nodding.
Then I stepped back out into the night.
I followed the music, keeping my head lowered and my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I made my way through the narrow passageways between the buildings, retracing my steps toward the square.
I passed drunk men and women in various states of undress, tangled together in the shadows or openly indulging themselves in the middle of the road.
All the while, I could feel Marcus's watchful gaze on my back.
The closer I approached the drums and the crackle of bonfires, the louder it became, mirroring the one in my chest.
Then I stopped.
My blood ran cold.
At the edge of the shadows stood Gen.
Several of his men surrounded him, and at his feet lay Cadoc and Brenin.
Dead.
One of his soldiers crouched beside them, examining the way Cadoc's neck had snapped in an unnatural position, while another searched the shadows.
The atmosphere had changed completely.
Though the celebration continued only a short distance away, here the air felt dangerous.
My heart began to pound.
Slowly, Gen lifted his head.
His eyes found mine immediately.
There was no smile, none of the warmth I was used to.
Only a terrible calm.
"Helena."
His gaze flickered briefly toward his two fallen soldiers before returning to mine.
Then, very quietly, he asked,
"Where have you been?"