A week had passed since that day, yet the uneasiness in my chest refused to leave.
Mildred's words replayed in my own, over and over, settling deeper with each passing day. The possibility that I might never return home no longer felt like a distant fear. It felt real, tangible. As if the future I had always assumed was waiting for me was slowly slipping further out of my reach.
I found myself thinking about what she had said, that we could only return to the time we were born in. And because I had been born from this timeline, even if centuries separated me from it. My biological family, my ancestors, every branch of my bloodline had originated in this age long before I was even born.
Marcus had remained frustratingly tight-lipped about everything, withdrawing from our tent the moment the sun rose and only slipping back inside long after nightfall. And I let him, pretending not to notice. Quietly, ever since that day, we had been drifting apart.
I continued on working alongside Livia anyway.
And I saw the sounds his soldiers returned with after skirmishes and patrols. I saw the prisoners they brought back into the medical tents, patched together just enough to keep them alive before they were dragged back out, so they could continue answering questions. I saw the reality Marcus tried so hard to keep from me.
"You should return soon, domina," Livia said as I scrubbed the blood from beneath my nails.
The soldier's scream still echoed faintly in my ears. Only an hour earlier, we had sawed through his leg while two men held him down. There had been on anesthesia, no sterile operating room, no monitors tracking his pulse.
Only wine and prayer.
Lots of them.
"It is all right," I replied, drying my hands on my apron before crossing the tent toward the supply table. "It is not as though Marcus is searching for me."
Livia snorted, the sound was distinctly unladylike for a woman who otherwise carried herself with remarkable dignity.
"That is because my dominus possesses more self-restraint than most men."
I reached for one of the clay vials lined neatly across the table.
But before my fingers could close arund it, Livia caught my wrist.
Her grip was surprisingly firm.
"Enough."
I blinked.
"But, Livia—"
"No." She gently pushed my hand away from the supplies. "You have spent the entire day tending to wounded men. The work will still be here tomorrow."
I opened my mouth to protest, but closed them back shut when she narrowed her eyes.
"Go."
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips.
"You sound very certain."
"I am."
She folded her arms across her chest. "If I keep you here much longer, my dominus will begin prowling around my tent like an unhappy wolf."
Despite myself, I laughed.
Livia's expression softened.
"Go to your husband, domina."
The amusement faded slightly from her face.
"You have both spent too many days avoiding one another."
And so I found myself making the walk back toward the tent Marcus and I shared, escorted by two legionaries as the evening settled over the encampment.
A cool breeze drifted through my hair, carrying its familiar scent of woodsmoke, horses and distant fires for cooking. The camp had begun to quiet for the night, though pockets of activity sitll remained around the command pavilion at its center.
As I approached, the flap of the largest tent opened.
Several of Marcus's officers emerged, Quintus among them.
The two legionnaires accompanying me immediately straightened, fists striking their chests in a salute as the officers passed. Quintus glanced in my direction, and for a moment, something that looked suspiciously like amusement crossed his face.
"Best of luck, domina," he said.
My brows lifted. "That does not sound encouraging."
"It is not meant to be."
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"The Imperator is in a mood."
Before I could ask what that meant, Quintus continued on with the others, leaving me staring after them.
Just fucking wonderful.
I released a slow breath before turning to the two soldiers behind me.
"You may retire for the night," I said. "The Imperator's tent is only a few steps away."
"Yes, domina."
They struck their chests once more before turning and heading back into the camp.
And just like I was alone, with the command pavilion ahead of me. Its entrance illuminated by the glow of oil lamps from within.
For some reason, my heart began beating a little faster, which was ridiculous because I had done this almost every night.
Steeling myself anyway, I stepped toward the entrance and lifted the flap.
"Marcus," I called as soon as I stepped inside.
He didn't look up immediately.
Both hands were braced against the edge of the large wooden table, the same table where the map of Britannia lay spread beneath dozens of carved figures marking roads, forts and settlements. His attention was fixed on one particular place near the northern border, his dark brows drawn together in concentration.
The flickering lamplight cast sharp shadows across his face, making him look every bit the commander his men feared.
"Is something wrong?" I asked softly.
Crossing the tent, I placed a hand on his shoulder.
His gaze finally shifted toward me.
"You needn't handle me so carefully, Elena," he said, his voice sharper than usual, though exhaustion lingered beneath it. "I may be in a foul mood, but I am not a man who strikes women."
Well, he truly was in a mood.
"I know that," I said, my hand remaining on his shoulder. "I simply did not wish to provoke you."
Something flickered across his expression.
Perhaps it was guilt, or frustration with himself.
I took a slow breath. "I'm simply concerned."
For a moment, there was silence until Marcus released a long sigh and closed his eyes briefly. The tension in his shoulders easing just enough for me to notice.
"It is Rome," he admitted at last, his gaze returning to the map. "The Emperor's summons arrived with more information."
My stomach tightened.
"Is it bad?"
Marcus let out a humorless laugh. "That depends on whether you consider being ordered to leave Britannia immediately while half the province threatens to revolt again as bad news."
He straightened and rubbed a hand across his face.
"Because I do."
I studied his face for a moment before reaching for his wrist. His pulse beat steadily beneath my fingers as I wrapped both hands around his.
Marcus turned toward me.
For a brief moment, I was reminded of the man I had first met in the hospital. The one who always carried the weight of the world between his shoulders. Only now, the lives of hundreds rested in his hands.
Including mine.
"Then we should solve one problem before facing the next," I said quietly, tightening my hold on him. "If you're being recalled to Rome."
His expression softened. "Elena—"
"Because if you're being recalled to Rome, and we're meant to search for answers, and somehow undo whatever damage we've caused..." I swallowed. "Then I need to know whether we're running out of time."
For a moment, he simply looked at me.
Then he gently freed his hand from mine and crossed the tent.
He poured himself a cup of wine from a clay jug before filling another.
I followed him with my eyes.
"How bad is it?" I asked as he handed me the second cup.
"The rebellion?"
"No."
My gaze drifted toward the map spread across the table.
"The part you're not telling me."
Marcus was silent for a moment, before reaching beneath a stack of reports and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. Without a word, he tossed it onto the table between us.
My stomach tightened.
"What is this?"
"The reason I have been in a foul mood all evening."
I unfolded the parchment, feeling my heart starting to drop.
The message was brief.
Far too brief.
Rome may summon you away, Roman.
But your wife is mine.
Return Elena willingly, and I shall spare your men unnecessary bloodshed.
Refuse, and I shall come for what belongs to me.