"Elena," I breathed, reading my real name out loud in Gen's letter.
Not Helena, but Elena.
My fingers tightened around the parchment.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze to Marcus. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle ticked beneath his skin.
"Only six men knew Rome had recalled me," he said, his voice hard as steel. "Which means someone in my camp is speaking to Gwrgenau."
The tent suddenly felt much colder.
"Marcus..."
The wine in my hand had turned bitter, as I looked down at Gen's letter, my heart pounding against my ribs.
A chill crept down my spine.
"How?" I whispered.
Marcus shook his head. "I do not know."
"But if someone truly is feeding him information..." I trailed off, my stomach twisting. "Could it be one of...the six?"
"No," Marcus answered without hesitation. "We had fought battles together, rose through the ranks, there was no way the six of my men would betray me like this."
Silence settled between us.
"I don't wish to accuse anyone without proof," I said carefully, folding the parchment and placing it back on the table. "But neither do I think we should dismiss the possibility."
Marcus studied me for a moment.
"Look at you," he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the tension in the room. "Already thinking like a Roman."
"I am merely reminding you, Marcus," I replied. "I know enough to know that men do not rise through the ranks of Rome simply by winning battles."
His expression darkened once more.
"I know," he said, his words carrying the weight of experience.
Not to mention the betrayal of his Emperor's own son, a man Marcus had grown up with, who had supplied armies and revealed their plans to Gen in the battle that had ultimately sent Marcus to my time.
It made me wonder just how many times Marcus had been forced to learn that lesson the hard way.
"You never told me what happened to the Emperor's son," I said quietly. "The one you grew up with. The one who betrayed you."
Marcus let out a slow breath and took a long sip of his wine.
"Tiberius," he said, almost absently. "I must admit, I have scarcely thought of him since my spies informed me of your presence in Britannia."
His gaze drifted to me, softening.
"I was rather occupied with having you back into my arms."
My expression softened in return.
Setting my cup aside, I moved closer and rested my head against his shoulder.
"What happened to him?" I asked, eyeing the wooden figurines on the map.
"He was tried before the Senate, found guilty of treason and executed."
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine, but I reminded myself that such brutality was normal in this world. Human life matters so little.
"My Emperor has no surviving heir now," he continued, swirling the wine in his cup. "Which is one of the reasons he has summoned me back to Rome."
I slowly lifted my head from his shoulder.
His dark eyes met mine. "Do you understand what that means, Elena?"
I knew exactly what it meant.
An emperor without an heir was dangerous. But an emperor without an heir who had just lost his son to treason was even worse.
And Marcus, being a decorated general, favored commander, adopted son and trusted soldier of the imperial family...suddenly seemed far too close to the line of succession for my comfort.
"Do you want it?" I asked quietly.
Marcus frowned.
"The throne."
He looked away, uncertain.
But that alone was answer enough.
"You do."
His gaze snapped back to mine immediately. "It is not so simple, Elena."
"No," I agreed softly. "It isn't."
I stood and walked toward the map table, staring down at the tiny carved figures scattered across Britannia. The men, the forts and the roads. They were all real things, real people. An entire world that Marcus had spent his life fighting for.
"I think..." I paused, struggling to find the words. "I think all this time, I have been so focused on getting home that I never stopped to consider what going home would mean to you."
Marcus remained silent.
"You were born here," I continued. "This is your world. Your people and your history. Rome is not simply where you live, it is who you are. And if we somehow find a way back to my time..." I turned to face him. "You would lose all of this."
Marcus crossed the distance between us in only a few strides.
"I would lose none of it if I still had you."
"But you don't know that," I whispered. "Not really."
My eyes burned.
"What if one day you resent me for it? What if years from now, you wake up beside me and wonder what would have happened if you had answered Rome's call? If you had become the man history expected you to become?"
Marcus cupped my face. "I have already answered that question."
I shook my head. "No, Marcus, you haven't. At least not really. This is the throne, the ultimate seat of power."
Because for the first time since arriving in Britannia, I was forced to confront a truth I had spent months avoiding. Returning home would not simply mean leaving this place behind, it might mean asking Marcus to abandon his identity.
And I wasn't certain I had the right to ask that of him.
Marcus's hands remained on my face.
"I have already made my choice," he said quietly.
"Have you?" I whispered.
His brows furrowed.
"Elena—"
"You told me yourself that refusing the Emperor means death. You are being summoned back to Rome because there is no heir left." I shook my head. "And when I asked whether you wanted it, you couldn't answer me."
"Because it is complicated."
"Exactly."
Silence settled between us, as I stepped away from him.
Marcus belonged here.
Not merely because he had been born in this century, but because this world had shaped him into the man he was. Rome lived in him. In the way he commanded men, the way he carried that responsible. The way he spoke of duty as though it were as natural as breathing.
The thought of asking him to leave it all behind felt unbearably selfish.
"Elena."
I looked up at him.
"I need time," I said softly. "To think about all of this."
Something shifted in his expression.
"Time?" he repeated.
"Marcus—"
"You are thinking of leaving me."
I stared at him.
"I did not say that."
"You did not have to." He let out a humorless laugh. "You ask whether I want Rome, whether I want the throne and now you need time."
"Because this changes everything."
"No," he said quietly. "It changes nothing. I chose you the moment I crossed centuries and found you."
"And if one day you regret that choice?"
His jaw tightened.
"I would rather regret choosing you than spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been," he bit out, the certainty in his voice only made my chest ache more.
He would regret choosing me?
"I still need time," I said, swallowing hard. "If I'm going to do this, I'm giving up the only life I've ever known just to stay here with you."
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he gave a single nod.
"As you wish."
I hated how detached he sounded, and I hated even more the way he had already begun to pull away. So without another word, I stepped away from him too.
"Elena."
I looked up as Marcus dragged a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable.
"If you decide to leave," he said quietly, setting his untouched wine aside, "tell me yourself, at least. Do not simply disappear."
My heart cracked.
How do I tell him, that that wasn't my intention?
But before I could answer, he had turned away and strode toward the entrance of the tent.
"Marcus," I called.
He paused only briefly, his hand resting against the flap.
"I need some air," he said, not looking back.
Then he stepped out into the cold night, leaving me alone in the tent.