Despite the lovely dinner we had shared, then applying the salve to Marcus's jaw after he had bathed and changed into his night tunic, the knot of anxiety in my stomach refused to loosen after the news he had broke.
Not only had we finally found a way back to our own time, but we had also altered this one enough to threaten the future itself. Not to mention, Marcus was being summoned back to rome by his Emperor, a command neither of us could ignore.
And then there was Gen. Since his brief defeat, he had fallen unnervingly silent, keeping out of sight and biding his time. Marcus was certain that silence would not last.
Even after Marcus kissed me senseless, promising that one day we would have children of our own. He was relieved beyond words, just as I had, when I told him I had bled, that Gen's seed hadn't taken root. Even then, the unease in my stomach lingered.
It clung to me long after the candles had burned low.
No matter how tightly I closed my eyes or how heavy my eyelids became, sleep remained just beyond my reach.
Marcus shifted behind me, his lips brushing softly against my temple as his arms drew me closer around the waist.
"I thought you were asleep," I murmured against his neck before pressing a lingering kiss there.
"So did I," he said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion.
Then he let out the faintest breath of amusement.
"Your unease is contagious, Elena," he murmured.
Even with his eyes closed, I could feel the tension that still lingered in him, matching my own.
"I don't know how you can sleep, Marcus," I said, gently lifting his arm from my waist before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Rising to my feet, I began pacing the length of the tent. "These problems are bigger than us. I don't even know where to begin to fix them."
He released a quiet sigh and opened his eyes.
Propping himself on one elbow, his head resting against his hand, he watched me in silence.
In the flickering candlelight, he looked almost sculpted from marble, like one of the statues I had wandered past in museums back home. Except, this one breathed, frowned and carried scars earned in battle.
"We can fix them," he said at last. "Just not tonight. Tonight, our duties are paused."
I stopped pacing and returned to the bed, sitting on its edge as I studied him properly.
The warm light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the dark waves of his hair and the fresh scar that only made him look more impossibly handsome. He looked every bit the Roman commander his soldiers believed him to be.
"I couldn't bear it if something happened to you," I admitted quietly. "Do you know why the Emperor has summoned you back to Rome? Have your spies sent any word from Gwrgenau's lands?"
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
"The fact that you still call him 'Gen'," he said slowly, "and not by his full name...suggests some part of you still clings to the man."
I let out a weary breath.
"Marcus, now is not the time."
He sat up and reached for me anyway, his fingers slipping beneath my chin until I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
"Indeed, Elena," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Now is not the time."
His thumb brushed lightly across my jaw.
"But since you have raised the matter, let me put your fears to rest." His eyes never left mine. "I will never allow you to fall back into his hands again."
The words were quiet, but absolute.
"You are mine in this life and whatever comes after it."
His grip tightened just enough to make his meaning unmistakable.
"He is Lord Gwrgenau," he bit out, the faintest edge entered his voice. "He is not 'Gen' to you. And he never will be, even if I must see his line end with him."
"I'm sorry," I murmured, my hand drifting to his wrist, my thumb resting over the steady pulse beneath his skin as if reassuring myself that he was truly here.
"You have nothing to apologize for," he said softly, releasing a quiet breath. "But if it eases your mind, wife, I have arranged for us to meet someone important first thing tomorrow morning."
I frowned. "Who?"
"A priestess."
My eyes widened.
"The one who knew about our...predicament."
"How did you find her?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it never reached his eyes.
"You may not like the answer."
"Marcus."
He reached up and brushed his fingers through my hair, his touch impossibly gentle.
"And because I know you, I would rather not give you another reason to lose sleep tonight.
He pressed his lips gently on my temple.
"Rest," he practically commanded. "When morning comes, you will understand everything."
I stared at him for another long moment, hoping he would relent but he didn't.
Instead, he simply watched me with infuriating patience, as though he had already won the argument before it had begun.
"You are impossible," I muttered.
"I know."
A reluctant laugh escpaed me despite myself.
"But you are still here."
"I am."
I climbed back beneath the covers and settled against hmi, allowing his arms to gather me close once more. Before closing my eyes, I leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
"I love you," I murmured.
He pressed another soft kiss against mine. "And I, you."
The words lingered between us as I rested my forehead against his, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing until, little by little, sleep finally claimed us both.
Morning arrived with the muted sounds of the encampment stirring to life.
By the time the sun had fully risen above the hills, we had made our way into the outer reaches of the camp, flanked by half a dozen of his soldiers. The air was different here, because the further we ventured from the command pavilion, the rougher everything seemed to became.
The orderly rows of officers' tents giving way to a muddier path churned by boots and horses. The air started to smell of damp earth, smoke and sweat. Broken wagon wheels leaning against makeshift fences, while stacks of confiscated supplies sat beneath patched traps just waiting to be sorted.
No one spoke, not even the soldiers escorting us seemed unusually alert, their hands never straying far from the hilts of their swords.
Ahead, separated from the rest of the camp by a crude wooden palisade, stood a cluster of weather-beaten tents.
One in particular drew my attention.
Its canvas was stained with dirt and rainwater, reinforced by ropes that looked like they had been hastily repaired more than once. Two legionaries stood guard outside with spears planted firmly in the ground, their expression unreadable.
Marcus slowed, every line of his body tightening, and I followed his gaze towards the weathered tent ahead.
"A prisoner?" I asked quietly. "I thought you said last night that she was a priestess?"
He only gave a single nod.
The flap shifted as one of the guards stepped forward, striking his fist against his chest before announcing our arrival. Marcus acknowledged him with little more than a glance before turning back to me.
"She refused to say anything more," he said carefully, "unless she saw you."
My brow furrowed.
"Alive," he added after a pause. "And unharmed."
An uneasy feeling twisted low in my stomach.
Without another word, the guard untied the leather cord securing the entrance and pulled the canvas aside.
The smell hit me first, as we made our way inside.
Damp earth, sweat and stale straw.
My eyes adjusted slowly to the dim interior until they found the lone figure seated against the far wall, wrists bound but head held high despite the grime streaking her face.
She looked up and smiled.
My breath caught.
"No..."
The word barely escaped my lips, because staring back at me from the darkness, was the last person I had ever expected to see.