"I assume I do not need to spell it out for you, Elena," Lady Cavendish said calmly, setting her wine glass down with delicate precision. "You are an intelligent woman. So what would it be?"
The room felt suffocatingly quiet. So much so, that I could still hear Marcus's uneven breathing next to me. Still see the blood running down his skin.
"Then you already know my answer," I said, forcing steel into my voice despite the tears still burning my eyes.
For the first time that evening, Lady Cavendish's smile faltered slightly.
Beside the wall, Marcus stirred weakly at the sound of my voice. His head lifted with visible effort, bruised fingers flexing faintly against the restraints as his unfocused gaze searched for me through strands of dark hair fallen over his face.
"Elena..." he rasped painfully. "Why...are...you...here?"
The sound of him nearly shattered me.
But somehow, it only hardened my resolve further.
"I will stay," I breathed heavily, unable to tear my eyes away from him. "If he is set free."
"No."
The word came out rough and broken, but it still carried enough force to make the entire room fall silent for a moment.
Marcus lifted his head with visible effort, blood staining the corner of his mouth as his eyes finally found mine.
"No," he repeated more firmly, despite the pain twisting across his bruised face. "Elena...do not...please."
My throat tightened painfully. I made a move to reach for him but Garrick held me back. "Marcus—"
"You do not trade your freedom for mine," he bit out, struggling weakly against his restraints. "I forbid it."
A humorless laugh escaped Lady Cavendish then.
"Oh dear," she murmured, sounding almost entertained now. "How terribly romantic."
I ignored her completely.
"Marcus, please—"
"No." His gaze sharpened desperately on me. "You do not belong to them."
Lady Cavendish rose slowly from her seat.
"And yet," she said softly, "history suggests otherwise."
My stomach twisted.
She approached me carefully, elegant and composed even now while Marcus hung bloodied behind her like some conquered prisoner.
"You must understand our hesitation, Elena," she continued smoothly. "Your family made promises once before. Alliances. Engagements. Understandings between bloodlines." Her pale eyes flickered briefly toward Marcus. "And look where that led us."
Marcus jaw clenched visibly.
"The betrayal was not hers," he growled.
"No," Lady Cavendish agreed calmly. "But it was betrayal nevertheless." Her gaze returned to me. "You cannot possibly expect me to simply take your word after centuries of suffering."
I stared at her in disbelief.
"What more do you want from me?"
A faint smile curved her lips once more.
"Commitment," she said simply. "Something stronger than frightened declarations made out of love." Her eyes drifted meaningfully toward Garrick standing behind me. "After all...history has already proven what happens when your bloodline chooses Rome over us."
"She will do no such thing," Marcus rasped suddenly, his voice rough with pain yet still carrying enough command to cut through the room. "Send me back to Rome instead."
I stiffened instantly.
Marcus lifted his head again with visible effort, chains rattling faintly behind him as his gaze locked onto Lady Cavendish.
"You have what you want," he bit out. "I will return to my own time willingly. Release her from this madness."
For the first time, genuine irritation flickered across Lady Cavendish's composed face.
"You would still choose sacrifice over practicality," she murmured. "How very Roman of you, Marcus."
"Elena is not a bargaining piece," Marcus growled.
"No," Lady Cavendish replied coolly. "She is our solution."
"Now that I have both of you here," Lady Cavendish said smoothly, turning her gaze toward Marcus before looking back at me, "instead of forcing you to choose, Elena...perhaps we should simply proceed with both."
My stomach dropped.
Beside me, Garrick's grip tightened around my arm.
"Send him back to Rome," she continued calmly, as though she was discussing dinner arrangements instead of dismantling our lives, "and you will marry my son. Tonight."
My chest tightened so painfully I could barely breathe.
Marcus's eyes found mine immediately, softer now despite the blood streaking down his battered face.
"You will not bind yourself to him," he said firmly, each word strained through pain. "Do you understand me?"
Something inside me cracked at the sight of him like this. Broken, bleeding and yet, still trying to protect me nonetheless.
"Let me speak to him first," I said quietly to Garrick's mother. "Please."
She gave me an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes as though I were inconveniencing her.
"Very well," she said lazily. "And only because I am feeling generous.
Beside me, Garrick hesitated.
His grip lingered on my arm for a second longer before his mother's sharp look finally forced him to let go.
The moment he released me, I moved.
I didn't look back at them. Didn't care what they were whispering about amongst themselves as they returned to the group gathered near the fireplace.
I only saw Marcus.
I rushed toward him and dropped to my knees in front of him, my hands immediately cradling his face. My thumbs brushed shakily along his jaw slick with sweat and blood dripping from his temple.
My gaze dragged down, taking in the damage done to his body. Bruises darkening his ribs, fresh cuts streaked across his skin. Even the wound near his rib, the scar that had only recently healed, looked angry again beneath the abuse they had put him through.
My stomach twisted tighter and tighter with every mark I found.
"Elena," he rasped weakly, his voice carrying something dangerously close to helplessness now. Hearing it nearly shattered me. "Why did you come?"
"You disappeared," I whispered brokenly, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. "I simply had to find you."
"Not like this," he rasped, shaking his head as much as the restraints allowed. "Not while I must stand here and watch you sacrifice yourself to another man. Not when my presence forced you into their hands."
My chest ached painfully at the sound of it.
"I have a plan," I whispered softly.
Then I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. Careful, despite the split at the corner of his mouth.
For a brief second, he melted into it instinctively, his breathing rough against mine before I pulled away just enough to rest my forehead against his.
"Do not worry about me," I murmured. "Worry about getting yourself out of here. They are coming for you."
His brows furrowed immediately, realization slowly flickering across his battered features.
"You summoned help," he breathed.
I gave the faintest nod.
But instead of relief, something close to frustration crossed his face.
"I did not ask for this," he bit out weakly. "It would be better for me to return to Rome than have all of you risk yourselves like this."
"This is not a sacrifice," I whispered urgently. "Not if everything goes right."
"And if it does not?"
I swallowed hard. "Then we improvise."
Despite everything, despite the blood and bruises staining his skin, a faint disbelieving breath almost escaped him at that.
"Elena..." he murmured.
"Trust me."
"I trust you," he said quietly. "But even the most logical man can see the many ways this may end disastrously."
I leaned forward once more despite the tightness in my throat, kissing him deeper this time. Not desperate, but certain. Like I was trying to pour every ounce of reassurance I had left into him.
Marcus let out a rough breath against my mouth, his forehead falling briefly against mine as I threaded my fingers carefully through his hair.
"Then you'll simply have to trust me harder," I whispered softly against his lips.
He simply stared at me with those tired eyes. Bruised, bleeding and yet, there was still something unbearably tender in the way he looked at me then. Like I was the only thing tethering him together.
A faint shake of his head followed.
"Stubborn woman," he muttered beneath his breath.
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth lifted faintly.
Then I forced myself to pull away from him and rise back to my feet.
The warmth of him disappeared immediately.
I turned slowly toward the rest of the room, toward the Cavendish family and the men quietly watching us from beside the fireplace.
Waiting.