The morning dawned gray and damp, as if the sky itself had soaked up the mud below and decided to wear it. From the walls of Dravenhold, Marin could see the sprawl of soldiers moving like ants along the ridges. Smoke curled from fire pits, banners drooped in the drizzle, and the entire plain seemed scarred with trenches and half-built engines of war.
The smell was enough to make her wrinkle her nose—tar from the cauldrons, iron shavings from the smiths, pitch simmering for fire arrows, and the sour reek of wet leather left too long in the rain. Not exactly the silk-scented courts of nobility, she thought dryly, trying not to gag. But then, this is where wars are really fought, isn't it? In mud and sweat, not in polished halls.
Kael strode ahead of her, boots leaving neat prints in the muck as though the mire itself feared staining him. His cloak hung heavy but spotless, the faint shimmer of his frost magic repelling the damp. Officers marched in his wake, carrying clipboards and barked reports.
And behind them, soldiers worked double time, but not without whispers.
"Lady Luck's with the General again.""She found the Serpent cache last week.""They say when she's near, his orders cut sharper.""Maybe she's blessed."
Marin heard every word. Her cheeks burned hotter with each one. Saints, please let the mud swallow me whole. I never asked for this nickname. She kept her chin high, trying to appear as though the attention rolled off her. But inside, her stomach fluttered like a nervous sparrow.
Kael said nothing. But the slight curve of his mouth—the barest smirk tugging at one corner—betrayed him. He was enjoying this.
The inspection led them to the outermost defenses, where fresh trenches had been dug. The earth was churned into slick brown rivers, lined with sharpened stakes. Men hauled planks to bridge the mud, their boots squelching as they worked.
"Careful here," Kael murmured, glancing back as she picked her way down the slope. His hand brushed her elbow, steadying but fleeting.
"I can manage," Marin insisted. She lifted her skirts gingerly, balancing on the balls of her feet. One step at a time. Don't slip. Don't make a scene.
Then her slipper sank ankle-deep with a loud, sucking squelch.
She yelped, tugged free—and her balance betrayed her. Arms flailing, she tumbled down the muddy incline in a graceless roll.
"Marin—!" Kael's voice snapped like a whip behind her.
She slid all the way to the trench's bottom with a splash—straight into a figure crouched low in the reeds. Her weight knocked him flat with a grunt.
The man's head cracked against a stone. He groaned once and slumped unconscious, a satchel spilling from his shoulder.
Marin sat blinking, dazed, in a puddle of muck on the stranger's chest. "Oh. Hello?"
Soldiers above stared, then scrambled. One slid down the slope and yanked the satchel free. Another rolled the man over and swore. "Enemy courier!"
A third pulled a scroll loose, eyes widening at the coded marks. "Orders. Supply routes. Saints above—she's stopped a spy!"
The laughter came first, loud and infectious. Then the chant started. "Lady Luck! Lady Luck!"
It spread like fire in dry straw. Men along the ramparts raised tools and weapons, grinning as the chant rolled down the line. "Lady Luck! Lady Luck!"
Marin buried her face in her filthy hands. I'm going to die of embarrassment. They'll carve this on my tombstone.
Kael appeared at the trench's edge, pristine even against the chaos below. Arms crossed, he regarded her with unreadable calm. Only his eyes betrayed him—sharp as ice, but with a glimmer of mirth.
"I slipped," she called miserably up to him.
"You incapacitated a spy," he said evenly. "And intercepted critical orders."
"By falling on him!"
His mouth curved in that dangerous almost-smile. "Effective."
The soldiers roared louder, the chant now shaking the walls. Marin thought she might sink into the earth and vanish.
By the time she was hauled from the trench, her gown was plastered in mud, hair streaked with brown, and dignity entirely gone. The soldiers didn't seem to care. They passed the satchel hand to hand, retelling the story with embellishments.
"She dropped from the sky like an arrow!""Flattened him with one strike!""No, no—she wrestled him into the mud!"
Each retelling grew grander. Each laugh brighter. The men looked at her now not with skepticism, but with awe. Hope gleamed in tired faces, spirits lifted by her ridiculous accident.
Kael gave orders in clipped tones, but Marin noticed the way his men straightened, their fatigue eased. Her humiliation had become their rallying cry.
Maybe luck isn't useless after all, she thought faintly.
When the inspection ended, Kael guided her through the keep's inner halls. Mud dripped from her skirts, leaving a trail across the stone. She tried to brush it away, but only smeared it worse.
They ducked into a shadowed alcove away from prying eyes. Kael stopped her with a hand at her wrist. "Hold still."
She froze. "What are you—"
He plucked a streak of mud from her hair with careful fingers, then another from her cheek. His touch lingered, feather-light, smoothing the strand back behind her ear.
"You're a disaster," he murmured. But his tone was softer than the words.
Marin gave him a crooked smile. "A very lucky disaster."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "Lady Luck."
The name should have made her groan. Instead, warmth pooled in her chest. His eyes—cold steel to everyone else—held a spark now, one that made her pulse stutter.
"You're enjoying this too much," she accused, voice low.
"Perhaps," he admitted. His knuckles grazed her jaw as he brushed another smear away. The touch lingered just long enough to steal her breath.
For a suspended heartbeat, the world narrowed to the closeness of his hand, the smell of frost and leather, the steady thrum of her heart against her ribs.
Bootsteps clattered nearby. Kael withdrew his hand, mask slipping back over his features. "Come," he said. "There's planning to be done. Thanks to you."
As they walked on, the chants still echoed from the ramparts outside. "Lady Luck! Lady Luck!"
Marin groaned softly. "They're never going to stop, are they?"
Kael leaned close enough for his voice to ghost her ear. "Get used to it," he murmured.
And to her horror—and secret delight—she realized part of her already had.
As they passed through the inner gate, Marin caught the tail end of soldier banter drifting from the courtyard.
"Lady Luck'll win the war before we even march!""Careful what you say—she might trip on you next.""Then I'd count myself blessed!"
Laughter followed, good-natured and rowdy.
Marin winced. Wonderful. I've gone from political wife to walking punchline. She quickened her pace, skirts still dripping mud, cheeks burning hotter with every chant and cheer echoing over the walls.
When the noise finally faded into the distance, she muttered, "I hate it."
Kael glanced down at her, brow lifting. "Hate what?"
"Being called Lady Luck." Her words tumbled out in a rush. "They think it's a blessing, but it isn't. I don't do anything clever—I just fall into people, or trip, or ruin furniture. What if one day I fall the wrong way? What if my luck runs out, and all they remember is that I was clumsy?"
Her throat tightened as she stared at the stone floor. "I don't want to be a joke, Kael. Not when lives are on the line."
For a long moment, the only sound was their footsteps echoing in the corridor. Then Kael stopped walking.
Marin turned reluctantly, bracing for mockery. Instead, he was watching her with that rare, unreadable intensity—the kind that made her feel pinned in place.
"You're not a joke," he said quietly. His voice was softer than command, but firmer than comfort, as though it was truth carved in stone. "Every time fortune bends toward you, it bends toward all of us. You see opportunities where others see accidents. That isn't clumsiness, Marin. That's strength."
Her breath caught. "Strength?"
He stepped closer, close enough that the cool of his aura brushed her overheated skin. "They call you Lady Luck because they can't explain what you do. But I know. You make chaos into order. You turn chance into victory." His eyes searched hers. "And you steady me."
Her heart fluttered, too fast. She tried to laugh it off. "Steady you? I just landed face-first in mud."
His lips curved faintly. "And uncovered a spy. No officer could have done better."
She swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. "You make it sound intentional."
"Maybe it is," he said, voice low, dangerous, almost tender.
The silence between them stretched, heavy with words unsaid. Marin found herself staring at his mouth, treacherous thoughts racing.
Bootsteps echoed again at the far end of the hall. Kael pulled back just slightly, mask slipping back over his features. "Come," he said, offering his arm. "Let them call you Lady Luck. I'll know better."
Marin hesitated, then slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. His steadiness warmed her through the chill.
Maybe, she thought, being Lady Luck isn't the worst fate—so long as he's the one who believes in me.