Marcus crossed the distance between us slowly, as though afraid that if he walked too quickly, I might disappear.
His eyes searched my face with quiet reverence before he stopped in front of me.
"You are beautiful," he said softly.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, unable to help the smile in my lips.
"I fear that was the intention."
Even Quintus allowed himself a grin.
Marcus never looked away from me.
"It was."
He reached for my hands, turning them gently in his own.
Just as one of the older officers stepped forward, carrying a small wooden writing tablet and a scroll. Beside him stood the camp's scribe, ready to record the union.
"Before these witnesses," the officer began solemnly, "we gather to affirm the lawful marriage of Marcus Valerius Corvus and Elena...Wright, entered freely by their own consent."
Marcus's fingers tightened around mine.
The officers looked first to him. "Marcus Valerius Corvus. Do you willingly take this woman into your household as your lawful wife?"
"I do."
Then the officer turned to me. "And you, Elena...Wright, do you willingly accept Marcus Valerius Corvus as your lawful husband?"
Every pair of eyes settled upon me, but my gaze found Marcus's.
There was no Imperator standing before me, only the man I love. The very man, who had loved every broken piece of me. Who protected me, put me above everything at all cost.
"I do," I answered, those words coming easier than I had expected.
The officer inclined his head.
"Then let these witnesses remember what has been spoken here."
Marcus reached beneath his cloak, his hand emerging with a simple gold ring.
My breath caught.
"I had intended to give this to you in Rome," he revealed, a faint smile touching his lips. "But it seems Rome can wait."
Carefully, he slid the ring onto my finger.
My breath caught, because it fits perfectly.
Livia stepped forward next, placing a length of crimson wool gently over our joined hands before tying it into a loose knot.
"A reminder," she said warmly, "that from this day onward, your fortunes are bound together."
"Then before these witnesses," the older officer continued, "and under the eyes of the gods, let it be known that you are husband and wife."
A murmur of approval spread through the pavilion.
Quintus was the first to smile. "Congratulations, Imperator."
But Marcus never took his eyes off me, as he lifted our joined hands.
"My home is yours," he announced, his voice lowered. "My name is yours."
Then, softly only I could hear, "My heart has been yours for far longer than either of us realized."
The knot in my throat tightened.
"But I have nothing worthy to give in return," I whisreped.
"You already have," he breathed, resting his forehead briefly against mine. "You chose me."
The world beyond the pavilion seemed to disappear then. The war, the uncertainty, the impossible future waiting for us.
None of it mattered for that single heartbeat.
Marcus cupped my face with one hand.
"May I kiss my wife now?"
A smile broke through my tears. "You may."
He smiled first, before finally kissing me.
Not with urgency, not with desperation.
But with quiet certainty, as the witnesses erupted into warm applause, breaking into laughter around us, yet I scarcely heard any of it.
All I knew was the warmth of his lips, the gold resting upon my finger and the undeniable certainty that whatever history demanded of us next—
We would face it together.
Hours later, the celebrations continued beyond the tent. Marcus's men were outside drinking watered wine, laughing too loudly, clashing cups and raising triumphant cheers into the night since none of them knew whether they would live to see the sunrise.
While I found myself exactly where I had always felt the safest: in Marcus's arms.
Our clothes lay in gently disarray, discarded in the wake of our intense lovemaking shortly after the ceremony. My braid had long since come undone, strands of hair spilling over his chest as he carefully plucked the tiny flowers from it one by one, dropping them onto the floor beside us.
For a little while, it had been easy to forget the war. The impossible future waiting for us beyond the walls of the encampment.
But as the last flower slipped from my hair, reality slowly stitched itself back together around us, and neither of us could pretend any longer that the world outside had stopped turning.
Marcus was the first to break the silence.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, his fingers still absentmindedly combing through my hair, "you will leave the encampment."
I lifted my head immediately.
"No."
He smiled faintly, though there was little amusement in it.
"I knew that would be your answer."
My hand rested against his chest. "I am not leaving you."
"You are," he insisted, though his voice remained gentle. "I have already given the orders."
His fingers intertwined with mine.
"Quintus will escort you south before dawn with a small detachment of cavalry. They will avoid the main roads and follow the military routes toward the coast."
"The coast?"
He nodded.
"There is a Roman supply port where transports are waiting. If the battle turns against us..." He paused. "You will board one of the ships and cross to Gaul."
My stomach tightened.
"And you?"
A shadow crossed his face.
"I will remain with my legion."
"Marcus."
"I am its commander."
The words were simple, like he was simply stating facts. "This is a battle between him and I. It is time we finally end this."
I pushed myself upright, searching his face.
"You've already planned all of this."
"I had to."
His gaze drifted toward the flickering lamplight, the warm glow dancing across his features. "My duty is to Rome," he said quietly. "It always has been."
After a long moment, he looked back at me. His hand rising to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing gently across my skin. I couldn't help but lean on his touch.
"But before I am Rome's Imperator..." he murmured, "I am your husband."
His expression softened.
"My first duty is to see that you live." He held my gaze without flinching. "Even if I do not."
I slowly pushed myself to face him fully, resting my elbows on the mattress as I searched his face for any sign that he was joking. But there was none.
So I simply shook my head. "No."
A faint crease appeared between his brows. "No?"
"I am not leaving."
"Elena—"
"You married me today," I bit out, the words coming out more firmly than I intended. "You keep reminding me that you are the Imperator, then let me remind you of something."
I reached for his hand, intertwining my fingers with his, his expression unreadable.
"I am the Imperator's wife now."
Though the title still felt unfamiliar on my tongue, it felt...surprisingly right.
"What sort of wife would I be if I fled while your men bled for you?"
His jaw tightened.
"You would be a living one."
"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you," I said quietly, drawing in a slow breath to push away every terrible possibility my mind insisted on conjuring. "Besides...you need Quintus beside you."
I shifted closer, leaning my head against the crook of his shoulder.
"I'll stay, husband," I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. My thumb tracing the rough stubble along his jaw, savoring the familiar feel of it beneath my fingertips. "I'll help Livia tend to the wounded, just as I always have."
"You've seen me work," I added. "You know I can keep men alive long enough for Livia to save them."
His hand closed around my wrist, his thumb resting over the steady beat of my pulse. He closed his eyes, wrestling every instinct in him that screamed to lock me away where no blade could ever reach me.
"You always make it impossible for me to refuse you," he murmured.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"I learned from the best."
A quiet laugh escaped him, weary but genuine, before he opened his eyes once more, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss on my head.
"I will never forgive myself if anything happens to you," he whispered.
I cupped his face in both hands.
"Then make sure your legion wins," I said firmly. "And I'll make sure there are as many of them alive as possible when you return from the battle."