The fury in Marcus's voice was unlike anything I had ever heard.
Gen simply smiled.
"Come and take her, Roman."
I thrashed against his grip, desperate to stop whatever madness was about to unfold. The last thing I wanted was for them to fight.
But Gen was too strong.
His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me more firmly against him while the dagger remained pressed lightly against my throat.
I had no choice but to go still.
Marcus's eyes never left Gen.
"Are you truly that desperate, Cavarinus?" he drawled, deliberately using Gen's family name. "Have the women of Britannia finally grown tired of you, that you must resort to stealing another man's wife?"
Gen's expression did not change.
Only the arm around me tightened.
"Stealing?" he repeated softly. "An interesting choice of words, considering she was in my prayer altar long before she ever found herself in your bed. It was like the gods themselves had sent her to me."
Marcus took a step forward.
"Careful, Briton," he said quietly, his voice more dangerous for its calm. "You stand inside a Roman camp, surrounded by my men. You are wounded, outnumbered and bleeding pathetically onto my floor."
Gen smiled.
"Yet somehow," he murmured, lowering his head slightly beside mine, "I still have your wife."
My stomach dropped.
"Stop it," I whispered.
But neither man listened, their eyes remained locked on one another.
Waiting for one wrong move away from bloodshed.
So I drove my heel down as hard as I could onto Gen's injured thigh.
He cried out, the sound raw and involuntary.
The moment the dagger loosened at my throat, I twisted immediately, shoving against his wrist with both hands and stumbling free.
"Marcus, no—"
But it was already too late.
Marcus had crossed the distance between them in a single strike, his sword cutting through air.
Gen barely managed to throw himself backward. Marcus's blade sliced through the leather cuirass covering his shoulder, tearing through his fabric and flesh.
Blood spattered across the map table.
Gen staggered but did not fall. With a grimace, he unsheathed his sword, keeping the dagger clenched in his other hand.
Then he laughed, actually laughed.
"You would kill me in front of her?" he asked, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Marcus advanced slowly, his sword still raised.
"I would."
Gen raised his sword.
I did not think, I simply moved.
Before either of them could react, I threw myself between them, placing myself squarely in Marcus's path. My back facing Gen, my arms outstretched as I faced Marcus.
"Stop!" I shouted, the word tore out of me before either man could move.
Marcus froze immediately.
He did not lower his weapon, but something in his expression shifted. The fury remained, burning bright within those dark eyes, but beneath it was something else.
Betrayal.
"Elena," Marcus said, his voice dangerously low. "Move."
I shook my head. "No."
"Do not be foolish," Marcus bit out. "He held a knife to your throat."
"And you were about to kill him."
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"If either of you takes another step," I said, forcing my trembling voice to steady, "you will have to go through me first."
Silence.
Behind me, I could hear Gen's quiet laugh.
"Do you see now, Roman?" he murmured, his voice rough with pain and amusement alike. "Even now, she cannot bear to see me harmed."
Marcus's expression darkened immediately.
"Do not mistake her compassion for affection," he said coldly.
Gen smiled.
"Is that what you tell yourself at night?" he asked softly. "Because from where I stand, it seems your wife still cares very much whether I live or die."
I stiffened.
"Gen, stop."
But he ignored me.
"I wonder," he continued, his eyes fixed on Marcus, "when she lies in your bed, does she ever think of my hall? Of my hearth?" His voice lowered. "Of the child she might have carried for me?"
Marcus went utterly still.
For one terrible moment, I thought he was truly going to kill him.
"Enough," I pleaded. "Please—"
Neither of them listened.
Marcus moved first, shoving me aside. Not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough that I stumbled against the table. By the time I regained my footing, steel had already met steel.
The clash rang through the tent.
Gen fought like a cornered wolf, while Marcus fought like Rome itself.
Their swords flashed in the dim candlelight, sparks flying as blade struck blade. Gen was far more skilled than I had ever imagined, but he was wounded. Blood continued to seep from his thigh and shoulder, slowing him with every passing moment.
Marcus pressed the advantage mercilessly.
He drove Gen backward across the tent, forcing him to give ground step by step.
"Marcus, stop!" I shouted.
Neither man heard me.
Gen lunged.
Marcus parried.
Then, with a savage twist of his wrist, Marcus knocked the sword from Gen's hand.
Gen refused to yield. With a snarl, he swung the dagger he had stolen from me, the blade catching Marcus across the jaw. Blood immediately welled from the cut, but Marcus did not falter.
If anything, it only made him more dangerous.
Before Gen could strike again, Marcus drove into him with brutal force, slamming him to the ground hard enough to shake the entire tent.
Marcus's knee pressed into Gen's chest, pinning him as his sword settled against Gen's throat.
Both men were breathing hard.
Gen looked up at him and smiled, but it was not the frightened kind.
It was triumphant.
"Go on, Roman," he said, blood staining his teeth. "Kill me."
Marcus's expression remained cold. "Gladly."
"Marcus, no!"
Gen laughed. "You fool."
Marcus's grip tightened on the hilt. "What game are you playing now?"
"Not game." Gen's blue eyes flicked toward me. "Kill me, and our dear Elena here, will never return home."
The tent fell silent.
Marcus froze.
I could feel the blood drain from my face.
But Gen only smiled wider.
"Because if you wish to send her home, Roman, you will need me. And I think we both know you no longer want that."