Slowly, I approached him, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my skirts as my eyes drifted over Gen.
Stripped of his armor, he sat slumped against one of the tent's wooden poles, his hands bound behind his back. His clothes were torn, his hair damp with sweat and matted with dirt. Scratches, bruises and dried blood marked every patch of exposed skin visible through the rips in his tunic.
He looked a far cry from the powerful lord I had once known.
And yet, despite all of this, there was still something commanding about him, something dangerous.
He gazed up at me expectantly, as though he were the host receiving a guest rather than a prisoner awaiting judgment.
"So," he said at last, his voice rough but steady, "what brings you here, Elena?"
A faint smile touched his lips, but the sadness in those eyes were unmistakable.
"Though now that I know your real name," he added, "I must admit it suits you far better than Helena ever did."
I walked over to him and withdrew the small jar of salve Livia had given me for Marcus's scar. Now that he no longer needed it, I had slipped the bottle into the pocket of my dress before leaving our tent.
Gen straightened the moment I approached, his blue eyes widening slightly.
"What are you doing?" he asked warily. "I have heard stories about the Romans poisoning their prisoners. If this is to be my punishment—"
"For fuck's sake, just shut up for a moment," I blurted, unscrewing the lid.
He immediately fell silent.
Then, to my annoyance, the corners of his mouth curled upward.
"You were always so meek and compliant while under my care, Elena," he murmured. "I must admit, I rather like this side of you."
I ignored the remark.
Scooping some of the salve onto my fingertips, I reached toward the ugly wound stretching across his chest.
"This is a healing salve," I said. "Despite everything, I do not have it in me to let someone suffer when I can help them."
I carefully spread the ointment over the wound.
Gen hissed through his teeth as the salve touched the raw flesh.
"Especially," I continued coolly, "when that someone possesses information I need."
"Ah."
He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"And here I thought you must still harbor some affection for me," he said softly. "At the very least enough to want me alive."
I refused to meet his inquisitive eyes.
"Do not flatter yourself."
"Too late," he said, his smile widening. "You came."
I looked down at the wound across his chest, at the way it had healed poorly, unevenly. It needed proper stitches, antiseptic, sterile instruments. Things this world simply did not possess.
Coming here alone to speak with him had already been difficult enough.
Offering to tend to his wound felt like crossing an entirely different line.
I did not know why, exactly, but despite everything he had done, I found that I did not want him to die.
"When did you know?" I asked, screwing the lid back onto the salve.
Gen was silent for a moment.
"The moment I found you beside my prayer altar," he said softly. "Dressed in strange garments, murmuring the name of my enemy."
A faint smile touched his lips as he recalled the memory.
"It was a strange night. The sky was brighter than I had ever seen it. The moon shone so fiercely that I thought dawn had come early."
"Then why did you not say anything?" I asked. "Why did you let me lie to you?"
"Because I wanted you to be comfortable," he said simply.
I frowned.
Gen shifted against his restraints, his gaze never leaving mine.
"Take it from a man who has spent most of his life alone. There is a certain blessing in the unknown." His voice softened. "People lower their guard. They reveal themselves more easily, even when they are lying."
I stared at him.
"I was not trying to manipulate you."
"No?"
A ghost of a smile crossed his face.
"No," he repeated quietly. "I was allowing you to build your new reality."
His eyes searched mine.
"And, perhaps selfishly, hoping you might choose to remain in it."
"How will I know that you are telling the truth?" I asked. "You said yourself that I would need you if I ever wished to return to my world."
"I assume you encountered Mildred," he said. His expression darkened. "Before your Roman have her killed. She was my seer, and a talented one at that."
I remained silent.
"The only way for you to return to your own time," he began, and I immediately felt my chest tighten, "is through the same way you arrived here. A head wound. My prayer altar. Possibly inflicted by someone of my bloodline."
His gaze drifted briefly to the ropes binding his wrists.
"Given that I am currently a prisoner and would never have hurt you, I doubted you shall be returning anytime soon."
I swallowed.
"She also said that people can only return to the time into which they were born."
"Yes," he said slowly. "Why? What does it matter? Unless—"
But it was already too late.
He had seen my expression. The fear in my eyes, the dawning realization, the grief. Everything, he had seen it.
Understanding flashed across his face.
"So," he murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips, "you were born here after all."
My stomach twisted.
Gen leaned back against the wooden pole, his blue eyes gleaming.
"That," he said softly, "is beautiful news to me."
Seconds later, the tent flap flew open.
I stumbled forward, struggling to breathe, one hand pressed desperately against my chest as if it might somehow hold me together. Somewhere behind me, I heard Marcus calling my name, but i could not find myself to turn around.
My vision swam, the ground already tilting dangerously beneath my feet.
My knees buckled.
Just as I thought I would hit the ground, strong arms caught me.
I was lifted effortlessly into the air.
Instinctively, my hands flew to Marcus's shoulders, clutching him as I buried my face in the crook of his neck, drawing in the familiar scent of leather, smoke and him.
"What is it?" Marcus whispered against my hair, his voice taut with concern. "What did that bastard say?"
I shook my head.
I couldn't speak, couldn't even think.
"Then just breathe, Elena," he murmured softly. "Breathe."
I let his voice anchor me instead. His presence.
The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear as he carried me across the camp. I did not need to look up to know where he was taking me.
He was taking us back to our tent, back to the only place that had begun to feel like home.
And somehow, that realization only made me cry harder.