* * * *
Marcus was not ready to be rejected. He ran after Nayeli, though if this was her answer to the question he had wanted to ask, he would not force her to go against her own will. He followed her, but she was fast. Her sandals were well made, of course, but they were not that easy to run in as one might think. He bounded after her as fast as he could muster. He went through the trees and, coming out on the other side, he saw Nayeli standing in the center of the meadow. Her hair was down, not braided, not in the fashionable hair-do’s of the Roman style, just plain, and extraordinarily beautiful. A slightly stronger breeze shook the branches, wild flowers, and blades of grass. The scene seemed so perfect it couldn’t be true: as the breeze came, the white fluffs on the white dandelions let loose and seemed to encircle Nayeli as she put her arms straight out to her sides and began twirling around, her face raised to the heavens, her eyes closed, and the most angelic smile he had ever seen in his life plastered on her lips. She looked to be as though she were a painting that danced, for only the artist’s skilled imagination could think up something so… perfect.
As the breeze began to die down, Marcus strode to the center of the glade and, to Nayeli’s obvious surprise, took her hand, and forced her to look at his eyes as he knelt on one knee. He had seen this done once before in the market place by a man to his lady.
Marcus lowered his head as he spoke, “Nayeli, I know that this has been an awful experience for you in the time that you have learned who you are and that the empire wants you more as an asset than a queen,” he raised his head and looked at Nayeli’s eyes, hoping to see just a small glint of affection, “Nayeli, I know that you know nothing about me, and I don’t expect you to want to agree to my acquisition, however I wish for you to be willing, of your own accord, in compliance to this arrangement. What I mean to say is, I, Marcus Jarlath Aloysius Vespasian, am formally asking, personally seeking, and hoping that you, Nayeli Francesca Caesar Isis Ammon, would accept my offer of my hand in marriage to be my wife.”
* * * *
Nayeli was speechless. It seemed as though it had been an eternity since she had heard her full name used. There was a so much power to be heard in one name. Her ancestors and relatives, Cleopatra, queen and last pharaoh of Egypt, and her lover and liaison Emperor Gaius Julius Caesar, both of their cultures highly present in her time defying name: her Roman roots with Julius Caesar and her Egyptian roots with Cleopatra. For Marcus to know her name, he truly must have delved deeply into her life’s history. There was little known about the girl named Nayeli, also called Rose. Most people just assumed that she was an unwanted child, and her birth came from a consummating action outside of wedlock. There was so much to be said of her dark hair that went past her waist, and her amber eyes, which seemed to glow in the process of defiance. These were some or the many things she heard whispered after her in the market place whilst she had still worked in the Deangelo household.
She looked into Marcus’ eyes and saw those gentle green windows to his very soul looking back at her. There was so much kindness and tender understanding within them that Nayeli knew immediately that she would be able to spend the rest of her life with him. This man would be—but, Nayeli, don’t forget, Thanos will always haunt you. You belong to him, you are his, and will remain such. It will not be Marcus’ face you will see on your wedding night, but Thanos’. You are his.
Nayeli’s countenance dropped and she looked down, “I cannot ask you to marry a broken vessel. You deserve a woman who will see your face, and not the face of her past torments on the night of your wedding.”
She felt Marcus lift her chin. He had his forefinger under her jaw and his thumb resting on the front of her chin. As he brought her face up to be equal with his own, Nayeli kept her eyes downcast.
“You are no prostitute of the temples, a harlot for hire, and you most certainly are no slave of mine, so, my dear, Nayeli, look at my eyes, for I long to see your own,” Marcus said forlorn.
Nayeli had no choice. The mere tone of his voice was heart shatteringly miserable. Were she not to look up, she would forever regret it, she was sure of it.
As she gazed in to his eyes, they looked as though they were searching for something, let it be hope, love, or a return of affection, Nayeli did not know. However, what she did know was that he was being as kind about this as possible. Marcus and she both knew, even if she were to reject the offer, they were still betrothed to be wed, there was no way out.
He was so desperate to find something, “Marcus, what is it you seek to understand. You are searching my eyes as though you were a child wandering, hopelessly, through the streets of my memories.”
He stopped and looked away. Marcus looked as though he has just been sent away from the feast of food if he were a beggar. He was dejected, and Nayeli couldn’t bear to see, even a complete stranger, in such a mood.
“I’m looking for you,” Marcus said quiet and raw.
Nayeli was beyond confused. Looking for me? What does that even mean?
Marcus obviously picked up on her look of confusion for he said, “I’m looking for the girl behind the wall and behind the shell of unresponsive emotions. Where is she? Are you buried so deep that you cannot even feel this?”
At that moment, Marcus whooshed forward, encircling Nayeli’s waist with an arm and cradling her jaw with his opposite hand. Before she knew what was happening, however, she felt tender lips softly caressing her own. Marcus had caught her completely off guard. Nayeli was stiff from the encounter.
* * * *
Marcus pulled back. He hadn’t known how else to get across to her but with a physical interpretation. The first moment he had seen her, gaping out the side of the wagon at the colossal mountains surrounding them, he had known she was his and he wanted to be only hers. She would be at his side for the rest of his life, and she would be his lover and friend. Her eyes were walled off from her soul. In order for him to scale that wall and find her soul beneath the ashes. He would find her and he would love her. Cherish every moment they were graced.
The kiss, for Marcus was even stunned. Yes, indeed, that was what it had been. It had kindled a flame so deep within him. It came from somewhere that had been sleeping his whole life. As soon as it had been lit, it grew until it warmed every inch of him, body and soul. There was so much for him to say, but he kept silence. What was he supposed to do anyways other than wait for Nayeli’s response? Any second now, he would either feel a slap across his face or kind words, or maybe—no that’s not possible.
His ran his hand through his hair and looked away, his face and eyes downcast. He was so disappointed. He had been impulsive and had acted without using his brain.
He began to turn away, but a hand placed softly on his arm made him stay put. The words that quickly followed the interaction drew his eyes to a desperate face. Nayeli’s eyes were so sad. They yearned to love and be loved. They also held the precious innocence of not knowing how.
“Marcus, I know that you are a good man. You are kind and, whether or not I understand it, fair, even to Apollo,” Nayeli started. He felt her hand, unclenching along his face, kindly pushing him to look toward her, “Marcus, I know you have the best intentions in mind and also know that, whether I agree or not, we will be married,” there’s a blow, “I wanted to say, that, no I do not agree with this rushed and coarse way of forcing two people into a bind that is unbreakable and steadfast; however, I know that you are honorable and that I can learn to trust you. I will marry you, however, I must still learn to love you in the way that you wish for me to.”
That was the blow he had been—wait! Did she just say yes?
He gave her a look of disbelief and utter shock.
“What?” Nayeli asked flatly.
“Did—did you just say yes?”
“Indirectly, but—“ Nayeli started, but was cut off by an enveloping bear hug from Marcus.
She groaned involuntarily as he tightened his squeeze.
“Marcus, let go, I cant breathe,” Nayeli gasped.
Oops! Marcus let Nayeli go immediately. Nayeli stood coughing for a moment, her hands on her knees, bending at her waist.
“Thank you, Nayeli. Thank you,” Marcus said jubilantly.
He reached to hug her again, but he was met by Nayeli’s hand, vertical, in front of her face, followed by, “We both know how that ended last time.”
Marcus couldn’t help but blush a little bit. The circumstances were so absurd that he almost chuckled. Instead a wry smile wormed its way across his face. He must have looked like a fool, but it was worth redoing over and over again: Nayeli giggled lightly as a side smile spread across her face. Her smile made him go weak in the knees and Marcus had to concentrate extra hard as to not go weak in the legs, taking Nayeli down with him.
She must have this affect on all men, after all, look how beautiful she is, Marcus thought, bewildered.
“You look as though you’ve been hit in the gut with a plank of wood,” Nayeli said playfully.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marcus said totally refuting the concept.
“So you say.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re blushing.”
Marcus felt his cheeks got hot and he almost shied away from the playful poke of fun.
“I wasn’t until you said that,” Marcus declared.
“Mhmm, I’m sure…” Nayeli said, raising an eyebrow.
“What?” Marcus said defensively.
* * * *
“Oh, nothing…” Nayeli said teasingly.
I’m going to have fun with this, if nothing else.
Nayeli began to walk away from Marcus, purposely slightly over exaggerating her hips as she walked. As she walked past him, Nayeli flicked her hair in Marcus’ direction. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away and couldn’t help a small smile from twitching at her lips.
As soon as she reached the thin ring of trees, Nayeli turned, leaning her back against the tree, looking over her left shoulder at Marcus with wide, amber eyes. It was the first time she saw Marcus. A gentle breeze rustled the air and his dirty blonde hair rustled in the air, dancing in the sunlight. The way the sun hit his hair made him seem to wear a halo; he was magnificent. His gentle green eyes peeking through the beams of light as though they were thin, translucent curtains.
He was walking towards Nayeli and each curtain of light fell away from him one by one, until he stood in front of her, and there were no more curtains to push aside. Nayeli let her visage drop as he stood but a few inches away from her. Nayeli could feel his body emanating heat as it reached her and was soaked in.
“Nayeli, I—“ He started. Nayeli stopped him with her left forefinger over his lips.
“Wait,” The way her voice sounded even surprised Nayeli: it was raw and whispered. She could barely even hear herself. She could, however, tell that Marcus had heard her for as soon as the syllable left her tongue; Nayeli felt a hand on her neck. Marcus put his forehead against hers.
“This is my vow: I will not kiss you again until it is of your choosing that I do so. I will wait as long as I have to, Nayeli, and don’t underestimate the power of one simple touch such as this,” Marcus promise left a surprising drop in Nayeli’s countenance.
“Milord, Marcus, we must go. If we do not leave now, we will not make it to Verona before nightfall,” Apollo called in urgency.
“Come, let us go,” Marcus said, almost excited.
He grabbed her hand like a friend would, not intertwining his fingers with her own, leading her back to the procession.
As soon as they got back to the caravan, Nayeli turned to Marcus, she had her own business to take care of.
“Be quick,” was Marcus’ only reply.
Nayeli knew who she was looking for, but did not know the face. She began walking, aimlessly, through the camp. She found a simple horse blanket of a shawl and pulled it over her shoulders, concealing her white and purple underneath.
As she walked, Nayeli came across a group of Roman legionnaires gathered around a single man who they seemed to listen tell a story.
“What did you say she was again? I love your description of her, Brenden,” a man in the circle called.
“Oh, she was a—“ the man in the center of the circle, Brenden, started to say. He was cut short as he watched Nayeli approach.
Nayeli put on her most queenly heir and walked forward, her eyes locking on Brenden’s, though her eyes held no charm or kindness, only anger.
Brunden did not shrink from the challenge she presented.
“Well, boys, looks like Apollo has sent a gift to us of good faith,” the monster said, boldly staring back at Nayeli.
The other men in the circle whistled and cooed. They opened the circle and allowed her to approach Brenden, unhindered. She approached him, stopped, and continued to stare daringly at, in his eyes.
“Don’t presume that you will get away with this later,” Brenden whispered roughly in her ear, noting her looking him in the eye.
“Oh, Brenden, I do believe I will,” Nayeli answered, defiantly.
Brenden pulled her in closely, his hand on her back, beginning to wander downward. His voice gave her a hair-raising feeling, like that which one experiences when he knows there is imminent danger, like a spider crawling on her skin. His touch was sickening, reminding her of molds, slimes, and other things better left untouched. Now Nayeli understood why he had been capable of such violence against such a tender soul as Neorah’s. He’s awful. He’s a monster. He has no conscience.
“You will repeat those same words, again, my dear, I promise you that,” his voice was menacingly disgusting and seductive.
“Unhand her!”
Nayeli’s plan had worked. She knew Marcus wouldn’t leave her alone. He was still worried she would make a dash for it and run.
“She is a slave and the property of the state,” Brenden said, flatly.
“All the same, unhand her. She is not who you think.”
Brenden squinted at Marcus as if trying to discern who was really speaking to him.
“Who are you to give me such a command?” Brenden demanded, due to his high rank.
“Who am I? I am Marcus Jarlath Aloysius Vespasian, your prince, and nephew to the emperor,” as Marcus spoke, his posture became regal: he stood tall and straight, his eyes locked on to Brenden’s, not allowing Brenden’s to wander away, and his tone of voice was noble and made his persona inflate, giving him an edge Nayeli had seen from few men.
Marcus was truly noble. Nayeli could tell from the way he carried himself now. She had known many nobility in her short time, though few of them had the ability to control the way others treated them with the way he moved, spoke, and carried him self.
Brenden’s eyes grew and his expression was incredulous. He immediately let Nayeli go and bowed at his waist, and, upon returning to his upright position; he brought his right fist to his heart with a dull “thud”.
“Who, may I ask, Milord is this girl?” Brenden asked, his eyes downcast.
At that moment, Nayeli threw off the blanket, saying, “I am his betrothed, descendant of Cleopatra and Julius Caesar, and a lady to you,” Nayeli paused looking at Marcus with large eyes, pleading him to remain silent, “and, Brenden, do not pretend that I do not know what you have done to my lady in waiting, and closest friend.”
“Who do you mean, Milady?” Brenden asked, honestly confused.
“She may well be pregnant because of you, and your hideous decisions against her. Even if she is not,” Nayeli looked at Marcus pleadingly, “I demand that you marry her. She is a kind soul and possessed a treasured innocence, which is scarce these days, until you forcibly, stole it from her. She will be your wife, and you will be faithful to only her.”
“You still haven’t given me a name, ma’am.”
“Neorah.”
The name looked as though it were a blow in the gut to Brenden. He was utterly speechless. There was nothing he could do but stare at her, hopelessly.
“You know what you did to her, and you know what the consequences of your actions may be, from here on out,” Nayeli took on an even stonier visage, “she may very well die because of your brutality!”
Brenden gasped, as though he had been struck; however, this time, he had been struck, in the stomach, by none other than Marcus himself.
“You dare to force yourself upon any other woman, you will have Hades to answer to, boy!” Marcus spit at the end of his sentence.
“My prince,” Brenden bowed lowly, and returned to stand upright, “is my betrothal sealed to that, that, soiled dove?”
Nayeli would not contain her anger a moment longer. She stepped forward and swung her hand, fast and hard, slapping Brenden fiercely across the face. The blow sent him reeling from the force. He was taken by surprise and spoke to Marcus, as though he were firmly in the right, “You need to keep better control of your wife-to-be. She may get the idea that she has more power than you.”
Nayeli watched Marcus’ eyes narrow, dangerously, immediately followed by a solid clout in Brenden’s jaw.
“Do not think to speak of such a woman in any such manner as that again. She is more powerful than me due to her sires and bloodline. It is only through her good graces that she has accepted my offer of marriage,” Marcus’ words sent Nayeli’s stomach somersaulting and she had to turn away from Brenden to avoid allowing him to see her cheeks turning red. However, Marcus did see and a playful glint entered his eyes, immediately extinguished: he had other business to attend to.
“You will be marrying Neorah the eve prior to Nayeli’s and mine, do you hear me, Brenden? You are betrothed, and will follow such conduct as to foreshadow such an event is forthcoming,” Marcus’s tone was disallowing of any wanting argument from Brenden and stopped him in his tracks: Brenden was not so dim witted as to think he stood a chance against a prince of the empire.
Brenden’s façade crumbled and his head hung in shame, “Yes, my prince, I hear and will obey your words.”
“Good man.”
Marcus gave Brenden a friendly smack on the arm. He took Nayeli’s hand in his own and walked away.
* * * *
As soon as they were out of sight and earshot, Nayeli stopped in her tracks, halting Marcus in his tracks as well.
She continued to hold his hand, however, she changed her grip from a friendly hold, to, both their palms facing inboard, and intertwining their fingers. She put her other hand on his cheek, gently, and the feel of her hand on his skin was soothing and well welcomed after such a confrontation. There would be consequences for men who did such things in the future, to such grizzly extents. Marcus would not stand by and watch these men, many of whom were his friends, become an oversized band of hooligans, it was not how a noble Roman man should act, especially one who represented the empire so heavily.
“Marcus, you were incredible back there,” Nayeli’s words shook him out of is enraged daze, “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me that you would support such a venture as this.”
Marcus put his free hand over the one she had placed on his cheek, savoring the feel of her skin against his own, “I will always support you.”
Nayeli’s eyes were large and thankful; her cheeks bloomed, slightly, giving her the youth that she had lost so long ago. To Marcus, it seemed as though she had even forgot how to be young and innocent. There was so much lost; however, there was also much gained.
“You know that I meant what I said back there, don’t you?” Marcus asked in earnest.
He watched her eyes fill with premature tears and was worried he had done something wrong.
“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quickly, hoping to make any unknown amends.
Nayeli, however, didn’t speak. She was merely silent, however, though her voice did not sound, her eyes said everything that Marcus needed to perceive. Her eyes betrayed kindness and vast gratefulness. It was almost as though she had forgotten what kindness really was, what it could do to someone’s heart.
Marcus felt Nayeli withdraw the hand on his face. Once it was back by her side, he raised the hand, which still held his own, to his lips, gently brushing it, and releasing it.
Nayeli’s cheeks became rouge and she looked radiant.
“Thank you, Marcus, for what you did,” Nayeli said, tears brimming on her eyelids.
“You already said thank you.”
“I know, but I didn’t know what else to say. You’re so good. You will make a fine leader someday,” Nayeli’s eyes were wide and affectionate as she spoke, and there was a smile on the edges of her mouth that made her look even more exquisite than ever. She was young again. Nayeli’s eyes were full of innocence and honest kindness. Her cheeks were still slightly scarlet and her grip and muscles were relaxed and trusting.
“With you by my side, of course,” Marcus asked, almost desperate.
Nayeli’s youth disappeared in a flash and she lowered her gaze, looking away. Her hand loosened its grip, and she walked away, Marcus didn’t try to stop her, though his heart longed to do so.
* * * *
Hermun glanced back over his shoulder. They had been traveling for days, and, still, he retained that nagging feeling he should be going after Warick, not to his home.
Now, really, think rationally, why would you want to go anywhere but back to your home? Warick is long gone by now. There is no hope of ever getting him back to the Chatti. Go forward. You know where to go, Hermun thought.