"Because if you wish to send her home, Roman, you will need me. And I think we both know you no longer want that."
Gen's words continued to echo in my mind long after Quintus burst into the tent, flanked by several legionaries with their swords drawn.
They dragged Gen away despite his struggles.
While I remained rooted to the spot, gripping the edge of the table so tightly my knuckles turned white. As the legionaries dragged him past me, Gen turned his head just enough for me to catch the faint curve of his lips.
He was smiling, even in chains.
Marcus did not look at me, not once.
He spoke briefly to Quintus, demanding updates on the attack while wiping the blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. Then, sheathing his sword, he turned toward the entrance, clearly intending to inspect the camp himself.
"I will go with you," I said, forcing myself to straighten. "Livia will need help tending the wounded."
Marcus stopped.
Slowly, he turned toward me, and my breath caught.
I had never seen him look so angry, it was like his expression was carved from stone.
"You will do no such thing."
"I am not some fragile ornament to be hidden away."
"You are my wife," he bit out, crossing the distance between us in a few long strides. He leaned down until we were nearly nose to nose. "And for once, Elena, you are going to listen to me."
I met his gaze stubbornly.
"People are hurt."
"And you were nearly taken from me."
"But I wasn't taken."
"I give no fucks, Elena," Marcus said, his voice dangerously low as he extended an arm toward the entrance. "By all means, leave if you wish. Take one step out of this tent, and I will have my men chain you to my bed."
"I can't simply stay here and do nothing."
Marcus's gaze swept over me slowly, taking in the blood staining my dress, my hands, my face. "Then clean yourself."
He turned sharply, clearly intending to leave.
Something inside me snapped.
Before I could think better of it, I snatched one of the wooden figures from the map table and hurled it at him.
Striking him squarely between the shoulders.
The tent fell silent.
Marcus stopped.
Then slowly, very slowly, he turned around.
Outside, Quintus and the others had gone utterly still.
Marcus stared at me for a long moment, his eyes darkening.
Then, without taking his eyes off me, he addressed his men, "Leave us."
"My lord—" Quintus began.
"Outside," Marcus repeated.
A moment later, the tent flap closed behind them.
I swallowed.
Fuck. Perhaps I had gone too far.
"Elena," he said quietly, "I have spent weeks trying not to lock you away."
I opened my mouth.
He crossed the tent before I could speak.
"What are you—"
He caught my wrists easily.
"Today, that Briton infiltrated my camp, held a dagger to your throat and nearly escaped with you." His jaw tightened. "Forgive me if my patience has worn thin."
"That does not give you the right to imprison me!" I argued, trying to wrench my wrists free.
I shoved him away.
He caught me again.
"I am not one of your fucking soldiers!" I shouted, thrashing wildly against his grip. "You do not get to command me!"
To my utter outrage, he barely moved.
So with all the strength I had left, I shoved him again, harder this time.
"Marcus!"
"This is for your own good, Elena."
Before his words could fully register, he had already swept me off my feet.
I shrieked. "Put me down, you fucking Roman!"
"Fuck no."
I kicked. Twisted. Even managed to drive an elbow into his ribs.
He grunted. "That one actually hurt."
"Good!"
"Glad that you are enjoying this, Elena."
"I hope it hurts!"
"It does."
I blinked, surprised by his blunt admission.
Then yelped, when he practically dropped me onto the bed.
I quickly scrambled onto my elbows, about to swing my legs over to the other side when he caught my wrists and dragged my arms back against the wooden post, binding them to the bedpost while fought him.
"Why are you doing this?" I hissed.
"Because I want you to stay."
I glared at him, yanking uselessly against the restraints.
He ignored me, stepping closer until I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
"You are the wife of the Imperator," he said, his hand coming up to grip my chin. Not gently. "You do not throw yourself into danger because you think you can save everyone."
"I need to help Livia."
"You only get to help her because I allowed it."
My mouth fell open.
He leaned down and kissed me before I could forma a proper protest. Hard, brief and infuriatingly certain. I hated how quickly my body reacted to his touch. It had been awhile, for fuck's sake.
When he pulled back, his thumb still held my chin in place.
"You will remain here," he said, his voice low and unyielding. "You will not leave this tent. And you will remember that I am not asking you, Elena. I am telling you."
I glared at him with all the fury I could muster.
Marcus only looked back at me, unflinching.
"I only let you help Livia because I said so," he added. "It is not your job, as the wife of an Imperator, to play healer. Do not mistake my patience for permission."
Then he released my chin and turned on his heel.
"I am not your wife," I said quietly, causing him to stop in his tracks. Ignoring the way my wrists ached against the restraints, I continued, "At least not officially. There was never a wedding."
For a moment, he stood perfectly still.
Then he turned, his lips quirking. "That is easily rectified, Elena."
I narrowed my eyes.
He took a step closer, his dark gaze holding mine.
"All the more reason to bind you to me now," he said, "while that Briton remains my prisoner."
My temper flared instantly.
"You cannot be serious."
"Oh, I am entirely serious."
There was something dangerous in the certainty of his voice, something that reminded me all too much of Gen.
Marcus looked at me for another long moment, as though he was committing this sight of me into his memory. Furious and disheveled, tied to his bed like some lunatic.
Then, without another word, he turned and left.
The tent flap fell shut behind him, leaving me bound to the bed, abandoned and angrier than I had ever been in my entire life.
Marcus had not returned when the servants he sent entered the tent.
They cleaned up while I remained tied to his bed like some unruly child. Though the knot they had used was crude compared to Marcus's. Simple enough that, once they were gone, I managed to work one wrist free and untie the rest myself.
By the time I was loose, my fury had cooled into something far more dangerous: curiosity.
Which was how I had found myself here, concealed beneath the shadows cast by the surrounding tents, watching the solitary tent at the far edge of the encampment where they were holding Gen. Four legionaries stood guard outside, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. It had not taken much prying to learn where they were keeping him.
Because if you wish to send her home, Roman, you will need me. And I think we both know you no longer want that.
His words had replayed endlessly in my mind ever since.
So had Marcus's promise to find a way for us to go back home.
Now, for the first time since finding Marcus again, I did not know which man I believed, and I hated myself for it.
Taking a steadying breath, I stepped out of the shadows and walked toward Gen's tent.