Marin had just finished her errands, her arms overflowing with bundles of herbs, parchment, and a suspiciously lumpy pastry she'd bartered from a vendor who'd mistaken her for someone more important. The late afternoon sunlight slanted between the market stalls, and she soaked in the warmth as she weaved through the cobbled streets, humming to herself. For once, everything seemed perfectly normal.
Then someone put a bag over her head.
"Wha—HEY!"
She kicked out instinctively, catching someone in the shin.
"Don't damage her," someone hissed. "The General'll kill us if she's bruised."
"General? I'm well... yes! And I'm very bruiseable!"
A cloth was shoved over her mouth, gagging her before she could tell them about her rare allergy to being abducted. She was bundled off her feet and slammed—none too gently—into the back of a cart that smelled of onions, old canvas, and regret.
Marin squirmed in the dark, muffled and hooded, trying to wiggle her wrists free. Her bindings weren't too tight—probably because whoever tied them had never met someone who once undid a braid with her toes out of boredom. She wriggled and twisted, elbowed someone in the gut, and managed a headbutt that made her captor swear.
Then she heard it.
The unmistakable sound of reins snapping.
"Oh, you idiots," she mumbled through the gag.
The horses screamed. The cart lurched. Barrels tumbled and cracked. Something squelched unpleasantly beneath her hip.
The bandits screamed louder.
"You broke the reins!"
"No, she did—she hooked it with her foot!"
"Who does that?!"
"She's supposed to be a noblewoman!"
"She threw an onion at me!"
"You were trying to grab her leg!"
"She bit me, okay?!"
"Of course she bit you, you tied the gag too tight!"
"Is she crying or laughing?!"
"I think she's doing both!"
The cart careened off the road and plowed directly through a fruit vendor's stall. A volley of apples pelted the air. A cabbage hit someone square in the face. The wheel struck a pothole and with one final, dramatic shudder, the cart flipped.
Marin rolled free, covered in produce and rope burns, dazed but triumphant.
"I told them I was clumsy," she muttered, spitting out a leaf of parsley."
Kael had been halfway back from a training review when the tremor hit him—not of earth or magic, but of instinct. A gut-deep dread that clawed at his ribs like cold iron.
By the time he returned to the castle and learned Marin had gone to the market alone—and hadn't returned—he was already icing the air with each breath.
"She said she'd be back before tea," one guard muttered helplessly.
Kael didn't answer. He was already moving. His boots pounded the flagstones like thunder, and the temperature around him began to drop, breath frosting in the air.
Before he even reached the market, rumors were already swirling.
"I swear the cart exploded!"
"No, no, she threw a barrel! Like, on purpose!"
"I heard she summoned a cabbage elemental!"
Kael paid no attention to the nonsense. His magic pulsed low and sharp beneath his skin, tugging him east—toward something broken.
When he reached the shattered remnants of the produce cart, Kael took in the chaotic aftermath: fruit mashed into the cobbles, cabbage leaves plastered to shop windows, a busted wheel still spinning with a slow, eerie creak. Two bandits lay groaning on the ground, one with a tomato smeared across his face like war paint. A group of locals, wide-eyed and gesturing wildly, pointed down a narrow alleyway.
Kael's pulse sharpened. His gaze followed the direction of their fingers—and locked instantly on the last conscious kidnapper.
The man was half-dragging, half-hauling Marin into the shadows. She was slumped awkwardly, her hair a mess of vegetable debris, her wrists bound. Even unconscious, she looked vaguely insulted by the indignity.
With a flick of his wrist, Kael sent a spear of ice whistling through the air. It slammed into the stone inches from the kidnapper's foot, the impact cracking the cobbles and sending a gust of cold through the alley.
The kidnapper stumbled back, cursing, still clutching Marin like a sack of potatoes. His eyes met Kael's—and went wide.
Kael's voice rang out, low and glacial, carrying the kind of threat that left frost in its wake:
"Put. Her. Down."
The man dropped her like she was on fire. Very quickly. And very carefully. He even raised his hands in surrender, shaking slightly as frost crept up his boots.
Kael was already striding forward, magic crackling at his fingertips, his entire focus locked on the figure slumped at the man's feet.
Marin's hood was halfway askew, her hair a tangle of onion skins and apple peels, bruises already beginning to bloom along her arms. She blinked blearily up at Kael as he approached, hands already glowing with the familiar chill of his magic.
"Hi," she croaked hoarsely. "I broke their cart."
Kael didn't speak at first. His breath was short, his chest rising and falling with a storm barely contained beneath the surface. He dropped to his knees beside her and gathered her into his arms with a growl that was part frustration, part aching relief.
"You're freezing," she mumbled, her fingers brushing his chest. "Or is that me?"
"I told you not to go alone," he muttered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "No more errands. No more markets. No more walking into danger like this."
"Wasn't planning on repeating this part," she whispered weakly, trying to lift a hand and failing. "Though the apples were surprisingly soft."
Kael let out a shaky laugh, but his eyes were already scanning her for signs of serious injury, brushing his fingers along her jaw, her wrists, her ribs. His hands glowed faintly blue, not with the destructive ice he was feared for, but the gentler pulse of healing.
A groan from nearby drew his attention. One of the bandits was attempting to crawl away, dragging himself through a pile of crushed tomatoes.
Kael's jaw tightened. Without looking, he raised a hand—and froze the man's legs to the cobblestone, ice crawling up with a sound like cracking glass.
"You're lucky that's all I'm freezing," he said darkly.
He turned back to Marin, who blinked slowly up at him. "Kael," she murmured. "You came so fast…"
He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closing. "Always."
Marin was cleaned up, wrapped in a blanket, and given hot tea with honey and Nyssa's questionable tonic. She winced as Kael fussed over her, brushing a strand of damp hair from her temple.
"You're mad," she said, voice hoarse.
"I'm furious," he replied, checking a scrape on her elbow with a gentle but tense hand.
She sighed. "They thought I was your lucky charm."
"You are."
She blinked at him, cheeks flushing despite the sting of her wounds. "You mean like a mascot?"
"I mean that," he said, quieter now. "You've saved this kingdom twice by tripping."
"I knew my clumsiness was a tactical advantage," she said with a weak smirk, though her heart gave a funny flutter.
Kael gave her a dry look but softened as he pulled her gently closer, resting his forehead against hers. "I don't care if they call you luck or magic or chaos," he murmured. "You're mine. And next time anyone lays a finger on you, I won't stop at ice."
Marin bit her lip, her chest tight with warmth and fear all tangled together. She hadn't realized how close she'd come to not making it back.
Then, in a small voice: "So… does this mean I don't have to go to the next tea party with Alendra?"
Kael smirked. "Consider yourself excused." He reached for the teacup again and added, "Although Alendra might freeze me if I cancel on her without a good reason."
Marin snorted a laugh, then winced and leaned back into the pillow. "Tell her I was abducted by idiots and defended myself with vegetables. That should count."
Kael chuckled, brushing a finger down her cheek. "You're unbelievable."