They gathered around the small dining table, Marcus's sword laid carefully at its center.
It had been cleaned, freed from the dust and debris that once clung to it. Pippa had mentioned, almost in disbelief, how her colleagues found traces of dried blood along the blade. As though the weapon had been used recently, despite its unmistakably Roman craftsmanship.
To them, it was a discovery of a lifetime. To him, it was something else entirely.
I stayed quiet.
History had never been my field, so whatever conversation passed between them felt far beyond me. Even as Marcus's gaze occasionally drifted toward me, lingering and unreadable. I kept my distance from it all.
"May I speak with Marcus for a moment?" Victoria asked.
Her blue eyes lingered on him, something almost reverent in the way she looked at him, as though she was standing before a figure she had only ever heard of in stories.
Marcus turned toward her.
She switched to Latin then, her voice soft but urgent, the words slipping past me, incomprehensible. Like it wasn't meant for our ears.
Marcus answered in the same tongue.
And just like that, they left the living room, disappearing down the hallway toward what I assumed was her bedroom.
The door clicking shut behind her. The sound echoing louder than it should have. Like it was something final. And I hated that I felt this way.
"Okay," Pippa said, folding her arms as she turned to me, her gaze sharp with curiosity. "What's going on with you, Elena?"
"Nothing," I said with a shrug, brushing my hair back. "I'm just tired. It's been a long night. I could use some sleep."
I moved to slip past her, heading toward the small guest bedroom we were meant to share only for her to catch me by my shoulders, stopping me in my tracks.
"Did you sleep with him?"
"What makes you think that?"
Pippa only raised a brow.
"Elena," she said, "I know you. You wear your emotions all over your face." A small pause. "And I saw the way he looked at you."
My lips parted, more in shock than in defense.
"It was a long drive," she added lightly. "Not much else to do but notice things."
I blinked, trying to recover, feeling the heat creep up my neck. "It doesn't matter," I muttered. "He doesn't belong here, he said so himself. It was just...a one-time thing."
"He hasn't even decided to leave yet," she countered.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "I can't be tangled in something like this again. Not after Garrick."
"He's different," she said quietly.
"I know," I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "And that only makes it worse."
I exhaled, suddenly exhausted. "I'm going to bed."
Thankfully, she let it go this time.
"I'll join you later," she said. "I just need to pack the sword away."
I nodded, leaving her to it as I retreated to the bedroom.
The moment the door shut behind me, the silence pressed in.
I refused to let my thoughts wander there. Refused to picture Victoria standing too close to him, speaking in a language I couldn't understand. Speaking about a world I'd never know as intimately as they do.
I refuse to imagine the way he might look at her familiarly. Like she belonged.
Even as my chest tightened. Even as something restless coiled low in my stomach. I simply shoved it all away.
It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. It was a one-time thing, so it had to mean nothing.
Marcus was a Roman general, respected and powerful. A man like him would have had his pick of women, back in his time. If history had taught me anything, it was that men like him were never short of willing company. The Romans, especially, were notorious for it.
And I—I was nothing exceptional. I was just the woman who happened to be there. Who saved him, showed him kindness when not many were willing to do so.
Nothing could come out of this anyway. Nothing should. So whatever he had offered earlier, to bind myself to him, it wasn't real. Not here. Not now.
After all, he didn't belong in this world. And I certainly didn't belong in his.
By the time morning came, I had to hide my surprise.
Not just at the sight of Marcus, sprawled across the narrow sofa, his large frame barely contained by it, dressed in nothing but his boxer shorts, one arm thrown over his chest as he slept peacefully.
But at Victoria, moving around the kitchen as though nothing were amiss. She stood by the counter, dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans, pouring herself a cup of coffee like it was any other ordinary morning.
"Elena, you're awake," she said brightly the moment she spotted me. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Yes, thank you," I replied, stepping toward the kitchen, suddenly aware of how underdressed I was in last night's pyjamas.
She poured me a cup as I settled onto the stool across from her.
"Here."
"Thank you."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just sipping from our respective cups.
"Listen," she said suddenly, lowering her voice as her gaze flicked briefly toward the living room, toward the man still peacefully asleep on the sofa. "Woman to woman...is there something going on between you and him?"
"Why would there be?" I found myself murmuring, the words slipping out more on instinct than intention.
She smiled into her cup, taking a slow sip before her gaze flicked longingly, once again, toward Marcus.
"I was hoping you'd say that," she said lightly. "Because if there is...I'd rather not find myself entangled in another romantic complication. Not after everything."
"What happened, if I may ask?" I asked quietly.
She set her cup down between us.
"My brother," she began, her tone steady in a way that felt practiced, "married me off to an old man. A senator." A pause. "He raped me whenever he wished, desperate for an heir."
My grip tightened slightly around my cup.
"But I fell in love," she continued. "With one of his men. We had an affair." Her gaze lowered briefly. "He found out. Tried to have me killed. I begged for my life."
A beat.
"When I woke, I was here."
"I'm sorry," I said softly, looking down into my cup, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably in my chest.
"It was years ago," she shrugged, though the tightness in her expression betrayed her. "Some wounds...they do not leave. You simply learn to carry them."
I nodded faintly. "I can only imagine."
A brief silence passed between us, as we took another sip of our coffees.
"So," she said, her tone shifting lighter now, but her eyes grew sharper, more curious. "Marcus."
I stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"There's nothing between you two, is there?" she asked. "He seems...rather taken with you."
My pulse betrayed me.
"But men, especially men as powerful as Marcus once was," she added with a small, knowing smile, "can be swayed. Women, on the other hand..."
I shook my head, a little too quickly.
"No," I said, sharper than I intended.
Even as my mind betrayed me, flickering to the night before. To the way he had looked at me. The words he whispered into my ear, as he moved in and out of me. The way I had so easily surrendered all my control, all my logic, to him.
"What of women?" Marcus's voice carried from the sofa, low and still thick with sleep.
He stirred, then pushed himself upright, turning to face us. His movements were unhurried and controlled, despite having just woken. Those dark eyes of his blinking away the last traces of rest, sharpening as they settle on us.
"What discourse occupies you both so early in the morning?" he asked.
My stomach tightened.