The battlefield had been fierce, but Marcus Acacius fought with the unwavering strength that only love could inspire. After the skirmish, he returned to their small villa, his heart heavy with worry. His wife, Y/n, had been tending to the wounded, when a stray arrow struck her arm.

He found her in their home, sitting on a low bench, her face pale but calm as she tried to stop the bleeding. Without a word, Marcus knelt beside her, his calloused hands gentle as he took her injured arm.

"Hold still," he murmured, his voice steady despite the panic swelling inside him.

Y/n smiled weakly. "I've handled worse, my love."

But Marcus wasn't reassured. He carefully cleaned the wound, his touch tender but firm. He worked in silence, focused on her, his only thoughts on her safety and well-being. His brow furrowed as he bound the injury with cloth, the weight of his love for her clearer than ever.

When he finished, he met her eyes, his own filled with concern. "You mean everything to me, Y/n. I can't lose you."

Her smile grew, a warmth spreading in her chest. "You never will, Marcus. We'll face everything together."

With the wound tended to and the night settling around them, Marcus held her close, vowing silently to protect her for as long as he could. And in her arms, he found peace, knowing their love would always endure, no matter the battles ahead.