Another week passed, and the entire camp seemed to rise and fall with Marcus's moods. The more tense he became, the more restless his men grew.
Conversation quieted whenever he walked past. The patrols had been doubled. Officers came and went from the command pavilion at all hours, their expression grim. Even Livia had grumbled that the Imperator had become impossible to reason with.
We had not truly spoken since that night, either.
At least not properly.
Marcus climbed into our bed long after I had fallen asleep, still gathering me into his arms as if nothing had changed between us. Yet when morning comes, he was always gone. If it were not for the crease left behind on the sheets, I might have convinced myself I had imagined his presence altogether.
The soldier's agonized scream jolted me from my thoughts. He bit down the cloth we had tied across his mouth, something to keep him from biting through his own tongue while Livia tried to stitch the deep cut on his leg closed.
I was holding him down by his shoulders as he thrashed against the cot, his body jerking with every pull of the needle. It was a natural reaction, especially when the only thing that could dull his pain was wine.
"I am afraid we might have to saw off his leg," Livia said softly, shooting me a look through the chaos of his screams.
My lips parted, but I forced myself to take a steadying breath and nodded. "I will get the equipment."
The soldier was muttering something in Latin toward Livia.
She must have told him what she was about to do, because the moment I gathered the saw and bandages she would need, he began to wail all over again. The other soldiers in the neighboring cots did not even look up, as if this were nothing unusual.
Livia accepted the aw from me with a grim expression.
"Hold him," she instructed.
Immediately, two legionaries stepped froward. One climbed onto the cot behind the soldier, pinning his shoulders and arms against his chest while the other held down his remaining leg. I took my place beside Livia, gripping the soldier's hand.
He was young, no older than twenty. He had his whole life ahead of him, and if he had been born in my time, with hospitals and modern medicine, he would not have had to lose his leg.
His fingers crushed mine the moment Livia positioned the saw against the mangled flesh.
I did not look away, not even when the screaming began. Or the way his body arched so violently even the legionary holding him nearly lost his grip. Not when Livia ordered more wine poured between his lips.
By the time it was over, my apron were soaked with his blood, so were my hands.
I stumbled out of the medical tent sometime later, desperate for fresh air after hours of screaming.
The cool afternoon breeze struck my face immediately, and I could not help but close my eyes, drawing in a long, steadying breath.
"It had better not be your blood."
Marcus's voice made my eyes fly open.
He stood only a few paces away, flanked by several members of his guard. Judging by the way he had halted, he looked as though he had been about to enter the tent.
His gaze swept over me slowly. From my blood-stained hands, to my apron, to the dark splatters staining the front of my dress. I must've looked like I had just walked out of a slaughterhouse.
"No," I said, releasing a breath. "It belongs to one of your soldiers."
Something dark flickered across his expression.
Without taking his eyes off me, he spoke a brief command in Latin.
The men behind him immediately obeyed, moving toward the medical tent. As they passed, each dipped his head respectfully.
"Domina."
It was not until they had disappeared inside that Marcus finally approached me.
While I remained where I was.
Too exhausted to run, too exhausted to argue.
Too exhausted, perhaps, to deny how much I wanted him to simply hold me.
He stopped only a foot away.
"You are provoking Gwrgenau," I said quietly.
"Yes."
Marcus's expression did not change.
"At what cost, Marcus?" I asked. "I just sawed off a young man's leg."
"He and his family will be compensated fully," he replied matter-of-factly. "And do not forget, Elena, that I am provoking him because he provoked me first. He threatened your safety."
His jaw tightened.
"I will not hand you over, nor surrender Roman territory, to that fucking Briton."
I took a step closer.
"But you know how this ends," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "You've seen it through me. Through my world. Your empire falls, Marcus."
Something dark flashed across his features.
In two strides, he closed the distance between us. His fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
"Not under my command. That is what matters," he bit out, his voice low and dangerous as his thumb brushed my skin, though there was nothing gentle in the gesture. "And you forget something, wife."
"I am not your wife."
His eyes held mine, ignoring my remark.
"We are no longer observing history." He glanced toward the command pavilion, the fortifications beyond it, the thousands of soldiers under his command. "We are living in it."
A chill ran through me, as Marcus leaned closer.
His thumb brushed my skin, though there was nothing gentle in the gesture.
"We are in the past, Elena. We possess knowledge no one else does," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "As long as we remain here, we have the power to change everything."
Just then, two of his men emerged from the tent and nodded to him.
He nodded back, before continuing. "And as for officially being my wife, that can be rectified easily," he said, the corner of his mouth curling, though there was no amusement in his eyes.
I bit the inside of my lip, my hands curled into fists as I tried to keep my expletives at bay while he turned and walked away with his men, two of them trailing behind him as they exchange words in Latin.
How had we strayed so far?
I released a slow breath, still staring after Marcus's retreating figure. A part of me wanted to follow him, to continue our argument until one of us finally yielded. But another part simply felt exhausted. We had been circling the same questions for weeks now, and neither of us seemed willing to compromise.
I turned, intending to retreat back into the medical tent before I said something I would regret.
I had barely taken a step when a horn sounded in the distance.
Everything froze.
The long, mournful note echoed across the encampment, carrying over the hills and rolling through the valley.
It sounded once, then again.
And again.
The hairs on the back of my neck immediately stood on end.
All around me, the camp seemed to freeze. Legionaries stopped mid-conversation, men sharpening weapons looked up sharply. Others abandoned whatever task they had been performing altogether, instinctively reaching for swords, shields and helmets.
Even Marcus stopped.
For the briefest moment, he stood perfectly still.
Then the commander in him resurfaced, as orders began flying from his lips in rapid Latin. The officers around him springing to action, relaying commands I couldn't understand, as the entire camp transformed before my eyes.
Horses whinnied from the stables, armor clattered, men breaking into a run, their faces grim while I remained rooted on the spot.
A hand suddenly caught my arm.
I spun around to find Livia standing behind me. She must have emerged from the tent moments earlier, because she still wore her blood-stained apron. Her grip on my arm was tight.
Her face had gone pale, terrified.
My lips parted.
She did not need to say a word, the look in her eyes told me everything.
They are coming.