Gwendolyn stared in dismay at the trees that surrounded her. She’d been on the run for three days now, and she was almost out of the food she had packed in the small bag which was the only thing she’d had on hand when she’d decided to leave home.

Her husband had always told her that if she tried to leave him, she would end up hungry and penniless. He’d said it with a smirk, knowing that she would never be able to survive without him. That no matter how terribly he treated her, she was dependent on him for a roof over her head and food in her belly. Knowing that, he’d been able to push the limit of what she would put up with.

The worst part about it all was that he’d been right, too. She had objected in the beginning, when his kindness fouled into rude demands. As he broke her down though, it became the new normal for him to yell at her when dinner wasn’t cooked to his liking, or to throw things when he’d had a rough day at work and needed someone powerless to take it out on.

She’d born all that with a brittle smile, far longer than she should have. But the final straw was when she found him with the milkmaid. The poor girl had come by to deliver their milk for the week, and Damien had followed her out.

Gwendolyn hesitated only a moment before following as well. She had little more than a sick feeling in her gut to go on, but it was enough to compel her to leave the house.

She touched the bruise on her cheek. Part of the punishment she had received for spoiling his fun. Whatever happened now, whether she was able to find her way out of the forest or not, it was better than continuing the life she’d had. Every step away from the house felt like a reclamation of her dignity, and if she died now, at least she died free.

Her belly rumbled with hunger. She dug through the bag and pulled out a hunk of bread. It was hard and stale now, a far cry from the fresh loaf she’d started with, but her standards for sustenance had faded. She chewed it slowly, doing her best to trick her body into believing it was more food than it was.

If she’d prepared longer, she might have studied the local foliage and learned what sort of things were edible. She could be foraging right now instead of eating solely into her dwindling supplies.

Gwendolyn straightened her back. But if she’d waited, she may never have left. There was an endless amount of preparation that she could have done, and if she’d gone down that rabbit hole, the preparation itself would have been comforting enough to hold her there for longer.

She was here. And she would do everything in her power to stay alive. She just had to keep moving, and she was bound to find something, a town or a traveler or something.

Somehow, she would survive this.

***

Tristan the Great and Powerful Wizard of the Forest sank to the floor with his head in his hands.

Another failure.

What should have been a simple spell was giving him no end of grief. How hard could it be to wave your wand and have butterflies emerge? Sure, it had never been done before, but that was more likely because nobody had ever tried than because it was any great difficulty. The concept of the spell was simple, no more challenging than sending forth a stream of water or fire or any other element.

If all he did was make the illusion of butterflies, the spell was laughably easy. Creating real, living butterflies was another matter entirely, as there was only one way to create life and he didn’t have the equipment for that. But he should be able to find success somewhere in the middle, where the butterflies weren’t exactly alive, but were more tangible than an illusion. They could discorporate after a minute and he would still be satisfied.

The trouble was, he could make functional butterflies that were mere illusions, or he could create tangible creatures that were unable to move.

“I need to take a break,” he grumbled into his hands.

“Meow.” His cat, Solvent, agreed.

He stood up and stretched. As he did, his belly rumbled with hunger.

“Hmm,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “How long has it been since we ate?”

“Mrowww.”

“Too long, then. Let’s go downstairs and make something.”

The wizard’s workshop was in the highest rooms of his tower. It was something of a safety measure, so if he made a mistake drastic enough to blow out one of the walls it wouldn’t collapse the whole building. But that was such an unlikely event that the real reason was, he thought it probably looked cool from outside the tower, to see bursts of light and magic shining through the windows of the top room as he practiced his magic.

That was the sort of thing Tristan thought about, and he took pride in it. Being a Great and Powerful wizard was about more than technical skill and ability, it was also about the pageantry. The whole package.

He understood the sort of understated wizards who progressed their skill so far without thought to the appearance of it, but Tristan valued completeness. And a powerful spell without an impressive aesthetic was just incomplete. Not wrong or bad, but incomplete.

Which is also why the stairs in his tower ran in a spiral around the edges of the rooms. Some wizards used tight spiral staircases at the center, placed teleport pads on each level, or (gods forbid) ladders, but, well. He had a hard time articulating it, but there was something just more satisfying about the the wide spiral that spanned the entire tower.

And the walking kept him in decent shape, which was a very convenient side benefit. Staying in shape was another aspect of completeness, and he very much preferred the passive workout of walking up and down stairs compared to setting up an entire room for the purpose.

“Now let’s see,” he said to himself and to Solvent. “We have some fish left over from yesterday, how do we feel about that?”

“Meow.” The cat scampered up the wizard’s robes and found purchase on his shoulder. All these tiresome stairs didn’t enter into Solvent’s definition of completeness, and it was far more preferable to let Tristan do all that work for the both of them.

Tristan’s kitchen was on the first floor of the tower. All the windows were enchanted to be sealed as far as bugs and weather were concerned, but they allowed for the smell of cooking to pass through.

Completeness. And aesthetic. If one were passing outside the tower, the smell of fish and vegetables would give the tower a homey, inviting presence. Not always what he was trying to convey, but there was a time and place for everything. The workshop was for flashy intimidation, but the wizard was a complex man, and he enjoyed his cooking as much as his spellwork.

Solvent was particularly fond of the arrangement and settled onto his favorite windowsill perch while Tristan busied himself at the stove.

A knock on the door startled them both. It was so soft and hesitant at first that both occupants wondered if they had imagined it, but then it came again, more insistent.

Tristan wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and cast a quick stasis spell to make sure the fish didn’t burn while he was preoccupied.

When he opened the door, he found a young woman. She wore fine clothes, but they were tattered and dirty, like she had gone camping in them. Even her shoes were fine, more like slippers than anything else, and she was wearing them more through an effort of will than by any effort of the battered shoes themselves.

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It wasn’t lost on him that she was beautiful. Even in disrepair, her dress clung to a body that was toned by a life of hard work, and her long, auburn hair fell across her shoulders in a way that, however disheveled, was most becoming.

The Great and Powerful Wizard reigned in his surprise and put on his most hospitable smile. A damsel in distress must never be turned away. That was high up on his list of how a wizard ought to behave.

“Yes? What do you want?”

The woman trembled before him. He was still wearing his workshop robes, after all, and he exuded the presence of a powerful and dangerous spellcaster.

She knelt before him. “I smelled your cooking,” she stammered. “I am sorry to impose, but I have run out of food of my own, and I wondered if you would be so kind as to help me. I have some money, or I could clean or do the laundry if it suits you.”

Her eyes were downcast, but the wizard could tell that they were full of hope. It was in her voice, in every inch of her body language. He sighed at the realization that there was only one fish on the stove, but perhaps he could turn it into an opportunity to practice his duplication spell.

With that thought, he gestured discreetly behind his back to cast the spell. Solvent was the only witness to the second fish that appeared beside the first.

“You may as well come in,” he said. “I’ve put too much food on the stove anyway.”

She entered gratefully and did a slow spin to take in the whole room. The half near the door was the dedicated kitchen, and the other half was the dining room. He occasionally hosted large dinners for the other wizards, so the room boasted an oak table large enough to comfortably seat twelve —or, uncomfortably, sixteen, as they’d discovered one particularly challenging dinner.

“Oh!” she gasped. “What a beautiful room.”

But as she turned back to face him, her shoes betrayed her at last. Scraping against the stone floor was enough to tear the last of the stitching, and she stumbled.

Tristan caught her before she hit the ground. Her soft brown eyes met his, and his breath caught for a moment. She was beautiful. That could be a problem.

He cleared his throat and set her back on her feet. “We’ll have to do something about your shoes,” he said. “Just sit at the table for now, and I’ll bring you the food when it’s done.”

Gwendolyn crossed the room as directed, still shaking somewhat from her encounter with the wizard. She had removed her shoes to prevent further accidents, and felt shameful as she sat in a tall, expertly carved chair. The cushion alone was finer than anything she had ever personally owned, and she hesitated to sully it with her dirt-stained bottom.

She plucked at her sleeve. This had been a nice dress, once. One of her better ones. She had thought it a final act of defiance, to leave in the most expensive clothes Damien had ever purchased for her, knowing as she did that he would be as incensed by the loss of the garment as he was the loss of her. Perhaps even more so.

Tears welled in her eyes at the thought. When she first met him, he made her feel like a queen. He lavished money and praise upon her, and she felt loved. But when they were married, she became just another possession to be flaunted in front of others and tossed aside in private.

The way the wizard looked at her reminded her of those early days, and that frightened her. He was clearly a powerful spell caster. Though he looked only a few years older than her, she wondered if he had some magic that kept him youthful. There were stories of wizards like that, ancient and powerful creatures who had such command over the universe that they could appear however they chose.

Seeing him in person, she could believe the rumor. The robes did little to hide the broadness of his shoulders, and when he caught her as she fell, she had felt the hard muscle of his arms. And his eyes… There was no one color that could describe the man’s eyes. They were a delicate mixture of blue and green and brown, and she felt as though she could look into those eyes forever.

Not that she should. That was not why she was here. She’d stumbled upon the tower just as she was about to give up hope entirely, and the smell of the cooking had been enticing enough to overcome her fear of magic.

She was just lucky he was willing to feed her, and she would continue on her way as soon as the meal was done. Then, she would do her best to forget the way her heart sped up when he held her. And the feeling of perfect safety she’d felt in his arms.

That was not why she was here, and if he so much as suggested any kind of romance she would have to politely decline.

Not that he would. Oh, what a mess! A man didn’t live out in the middle of the forest on his own because he was interested in romance, and he especially wouldn’t find interest in the first woman to fall upon his doorstep.

Which was a good thing. She pinched herself. The last thing she needed, on the run from her husband, was another man.

Tristan plated the fish and vegetables and carried them over to the girl, realizing as he did that he hadn’t thought to ask her name. Perhaps that was for the best, though, as he would have to ask her to leave immediately. Already he found himself wondering if he had any sewing spells, or what it would take to craft a woman’s dress from some of the materials he had upstairs.

She presented a distraction, and he could not afford such a thing, not when he was so close to completing his butterfly spell. He was inches away from a breakthrough, he could sense it.

“Here you are. Eat slowly, or you’ll have indigestion.” He sat across from the woman, rather than at his normal seat at the head of the table. Solvent’s dish, he placed beside his own.

“Meow,” the cat said smugly, noting the wizard’s choice of seating.

“Oh hush,” said the wizard, “or I’ll eat your fish myself.”

The young woman stared at them. “You let your cat sit on the table?” Her eyes widened and she clamped her lips shut, as though immediately regretting the question.

Tristan frowned in displeasure. Not because of her question, but because of the fear in her eyes. Something had happened to this poor woman to make her fear the consequences of an honest question, and he wasn’t sure if it was her past or his own demeanor.

“Solvent is my constant companion,” he said. “As such, he always has a seat at my table.”

“Of course,” she murmured. She took a bite of the fish and closed her eyes in rapture at the taste. “Oh, this is so good.”

Tristan coughed to cover up a smile. “Hunger is the best seasoning,” he said, waving away her compliment. But internally, he was dancing. He liked to think he was a good cook, and Solvent certainly didn’t complain, but there was little more satisfying than knowing someone else was enjoying the result of his labor. “I’ll send you off with a basket of rations for the rest of your journey.”

“Ah, yes. My journey.”

“Where are you headed?” he inquired.

“I’m… not sure, actually. What is the nearest village?”

Was this normal? For someone to journey unprepared, with no destination in mind? The wizard had been out of society for long enough that he wondered, but in case it was impolite he kept the question to himself. There was a reason he kept to himself so much, and it stemmed from his intense discomfort around societal rules.

“Greenville is the nearest.”

“Not there!” she said immediately. “That’s where I come from, I mean. Where else? And how do I get there?” She speared multiple vegetables on her fork and closed her eyes again at the taste, chewing slowly as he had instructed.

“Ah. Then, Blueville is the next town over. You would have to travel southwest for, oh, five days. Is the journey important to you, or would you like for me to teleport you?”

Her jaw dropped, and Tristan winced. There he went, accidentally causing offense. Social conventions were so weird, and the longer he was away the more he feared he lost touch. “Nevermind,” he said quickly. “That would be a bad idea.”

A sharp banging on the door startled the two of them. The wizard’s instinctual discomfort with visitors warred with his relief to have a reason to exit the conversation, and he rose to his feet. “Excuse me,” he said. “It looks like I have more visitors today than I expected.”

The wizard opened the door and found the point of a sword at his neck.

“Return my wife to me this instant, you fiend!” shouted the man holding the sword.

Tristan leaned back, pretty sure this wasn’t a normal greeting. “What do you want?” he said, leaning metaphorically on a greeting he was more sure of.

The man snarled. He had the look of a brute, all muscle with no care for his overall aesthetic. “I tracked Gwendolyn here, so you can’t pretend you haven’t seen her. That fool doesn’t know the first thing about traveling through the woods, and she left a more obvious path than a hundred pound boar. Whatever magic you used to draw her here, I demand you release her back to me.”

Tristan looked back inside the tower at the young woman. She was only barely visible, crouched behind the table and chairs.

“What’s your name?” he asked, once again kicking himself for not asking sooner. That was the sort of thing, he now recalled, you were supposed to do at the beginning of a conversation.

“Gwendolyn,” she called back. “But please don’t make me go with him.”

The wizard was ignorant of social customs, and sometimes that made him look foolish. But one did not become the Great and Powerful Wizard of the Forest by being an idiot. And suddenly, the situation made a whole lot more sense. The bruise on her cheek. The redness of this man’s knuckles, and the fury that raged in his eyes. The woman’s fear and timidity.

He drew himself up in the doorway and put on his most imposing expression. “This woman is under my protection,” he said. “And as she has no wish to depart with you, she will not. You may go.”

The brute brandished his sword once more. “She is my wife, mine! She belongs to me and you have no right to keep her from me.” He leaned to the side so he could see past the wizard. “Gwendolyn! I know you’re in there, and I’ll get you back. Even if you go to Blueville, or Purpleville, or even so far as Yellowville, I swear it on my sword that I will find you.”

The young woman whimpered, and that was enough for Tristan. He slammed the door shut on the angry young man. Immediately they heard vicious pounding on the door, but the wizard knew that he had enchanted the door well enough during its construction that nothing would damage it. Still, the noise was irritating so he cast a silencing spell around it with a twitch of his fingers.

“Well,” he said, “perhaps Blueville is not such a good idea for you.”