Page 24 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

I woke to Octavia's hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. The light through my window suggested mid-morning—later than I'd slept in months.

"Livia," she murmured. "Time to get up. Marcus is here."

I blinked away sleep, certain I'd misheard. "Marcus? Here? Now?"

Octavia nodded, a conspiratorial smile playing at her lips. "He's waiting in the sitting room. Says he's come to steal you away for the day."

I sat up, suddenly wide awake. "But I have flight plans to finish, and Magister Corsus wanted my notes on—"

"It's Rest Day," Octavia interrupted. "Even academy students are allowed to rest sometimes."

Rest Day. I'd completely forgotten. The academy observed it nominally—no formal classes were held—but most of us simply used the time for research and private study.

"What does Marcus want?" I asked, running a hand through my tangled hair. I’ll admit, my heart leapt at the thought of seeing him. It had been at least two weeks since I’d seen him, and even then, that had been at a resistance meeting.

I couldn’t remember the last time we’d actually spent time together alone, and I’d missed him.

Instead of answering, Octavia laid a dress across my bed. Not one of my usual academic robes, but something simpler—a sleeveless linen dress in a soft blue, with a plain leather belt and sandals beside it.

"What's this?" I asked, running my fingers over the light fabric.

"Marcus brought it. He thought you might want to just feel like yourself today. Said you'd need to leave through the servants' entrance though.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest, and I suddenly felt lighter. When was the last time I'd been just Livia? I couldn't remember.

"Will you help me dress?" I asked, already pulling my sleeping tunic over my head.

Octavia moved quickly, helping me into the simple dress. It felt strange against my skin after months of heavy noble robes and tight dragon leather armour—light, almost as if I were wearing nothing at all. The leather belt cinched at my waist, and my arms were left bare.

"Your hair?" Octavia asked, brush in hand.

I considered for a moment. "Just a simple braid. Nothing elaborate."

As she worked, I found myself wondering what Marcus had planned. I couldn’t wait to see him.

"There," Octavia said, tying off my braid with a leather cord. "You look lovely."

I looked at my reflection in the polished silver of my hand mirror, and for a moment, I didn't recognize the woman staring back.

The girl in the mirror wasn't a noblewoman or a soldier.

She was just... Livia. The blue of the dress brought out the gold flecks in my eyes, and without the weight of formal robes, I felt lighter, freer.

A nervous flutter started in my stomach.

"Thank you, Octavia," I said, my voice softer than usual.

She just smiled. "Go on. Don't keep him waiting."

I took a deep breath and walked into the sitting room.

He was standing by the window, gazing out at the training grounds, his back to me.

He wasn't wearing his usual dusty labourer’s tunic but a clean, dark grey one that fit him well across the shoulders.

He looked less like a fugitive and more like the man he might have been if our lives hadn't been torn apart.

He must have heard my soft footsteps on the rug because he turned.

A slow smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"There you are," he said, his voice a low rumble that did strange things to my insides.

"I was beginning to think you'd decided to spend Rest Day with your books after all. "

"And miss a chance to see what trouble you've planned?" I countered, my heart beating a little faster. "Never."

He closed the distance between us, his eyes drinking me in.

His gaze swept over me, from the simple braid to the hem of the dress, and a look of pure appreciation settled in his eyes. “The dress suits you.”

“Thank you for bringing it,” I said, feeling a warmth spread through my cheeks. “And for coming.”

“I missed you,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought we could escape for a while. No resistance, no academy. Just a day in the city. What do you say?” He offered me his arm. "Shall we?"

I slipped my arm through his, the rough fabric of his tunic a familiar, comforting texture against my bare skin. "We shall," I said, a genuine smile blooming on my face for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Following his lead, we bypassed the grand main corridors of the academy and navigated a maze of servant's passages I'd never known existed.

The air grew warmer, scented with baking bread and laundry steam.

It was another world, hidden just beneath the polished surface of noble life.

When Marcus pushed open a heavy, unmarked door, the bright sun and the cacophony of the city hit me all at once.

We were in a narrow alley behind the academy walls, spilling out into a bustling market street.

The air was thick with the smells of roasting meat, fragrant spices, and unwashed bodies.

Merchants hawked their wares, children chased each other underfoot, and the sheer, chaotic vitality of it all was overwhelming and wonderful.

Marcus kept his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the throng.

For the first time since coming to the capital, I felt anonymous.

I wasn't Lady Cantius, the promising student.

I wasn't the resistance fighter. I was just a woman in a simple blue dress, walking through the city with a man I cared for.

The weight I carried daily seemed to lift, replaced by a giddy sense of freedom.

I found myself looking at everything with new eyes, a tourist in my own life.

"So, where are you taking me, mysterious man?" I asked, leaning my head against his shoulder for a moment as we walked.

"I thought we'd wander," he said, his hand covering mine where it rested on his arm. "See the market. Maybe find that stall with the honey cakes you like."

"You remembered?" I looked up at him, surprised. We'd passed it once, months ago, and I'd only mentioned it in passing.

He gave me a sidelong glance, a teasing glint in his eye. "I remember everything you say, Livia."

The words, spoken so plainly, were more disarming than any flowery compliment from a courtier. A heat that had nothing to do with the sun bloomed across my chest. I squeezed his arm, unable to form a reply, and he simply smiled, accepting my silent answer.

The vibrant chaos of the market was a welcome assault on my senses.

A vendor shouted the price of sun-ripened figs, his voice competing with the clang of a nearby blacksmith’s hammer.

A woman draped in brightly coloured silks swept past, leaving a trail of jasmine and spice in her wake.

Marcus pointed out a stall selling intricate silver jewellery, the kind the Talfen were rumoured to craft, his expression unreadable for a moment before he steered me toward a different scent.

He found the honey cake stall tucked between a seller of dyed wools and a potter. The old woman running it recognized Marcus, her wrinkled face breaking into a wide smile as he purchased two of the sticky, golden-brown treats. He passed one to me, our fingers brushing.

“Eat,” he commanded gently. “Before I’m tempted to steal it.”

I bit into the cake, the sweet, rich honey bursting on my tongue, and I couldn't suppress a hum of pleasure. Marcus watched me, a genuine, unguarded smile on his face. “Good?”

I nodded, my mouth full. He was still watching me, a look of such profound contentment on his face that it made my breath catch.

“What?” I asked, a little shy under his scrutiny.

“You have a little…” He reached out, his thumb gently brushing the corner of my mouth.

The touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt straight through me.

The roar of the market seemed to dim, the entire world narrowing to the space between us.

His eyes were dark, serious, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me right there, amidst the chaos of shouting vendors and jostling crowds.

Instead, he took my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice slightly rough. “I know a place we can get some real food. And wine.”

We finished our cakes as we walked, letting the river of people carry us along.

Further on, the crowd thinned near the administrative buildings.

I saw them before he did—two Imperial Guards, their crimson cloaks a bloody slash against the pale stone, harassing a street vendor whose ears were just slightly too pointed.

The vendor kept his head bowed, his hands trembling as the guards overturned a basket of his fruit, the bruised globes rolling into the dusty street.

A cold knot of anger tightened in my stomach.

I felt my posture shift, my muscles tensing for a fight I knew I couldn’t have.

But Marcus’s hand was instantly on my arm, his grip firm, his expression a quiet warning.

He turned me away, guiding me down a quieter side street without a word.

The silent command was clear: Not here. Not now. Today is ours.

He led me away from the main thoroughfare, down a winding side street that smelled of lavender and baked bread.

The tavern was small, its entrance almost hidden by a cascade of blooming bougainvillea.

Inside, a quiet courtyard was shaded by an old olive tree, the tables scattered beneath its dappled light. It was peaceful.

“I thought we could have some lunch,” he said, pulling out a chair for me. “Away from the crowds.” Away from the guards, he didn’t need to say. I sank onto the bench, the warmth of his hand lingering on my arm, grateful for his quiet strength that knew when to fight, and when to simply seek peace.