Come Back

"Blanc," Marinette repeated.

He spread his arms. "Suits me more, don't you think?"

She swallowed against the lump choking her throat. This was wrong. Everything about him was wrong. The harsh white, the eyes that were like deadened lumps of ice. It was like winter had come and taken all of his warmth—all that made him Adrien—and smothered it under a prison of snow.

"What did your father do to you?" she whispered.

He smiled. It made the hairs on the back of her neck shiver. "I'm fine, Marinette. And you're going to be fine, too." He held out his hand for her to take. "Don't worry. I'm here to protect you."

She took another step back, her heart fluttering like a bird trying to stay aloft in a storm.

"What's wrong?" he asked, tilting his head. "You don't have to be afraid."

She shook her head. "You're not yourself."

"Now that's just rude." He stepped closer, his tail slipping out from his robe and swishing back and forth. "Am I not your husband?"

Her heart thumped and thumped. "Don't."

"Don't?" His brow creased and he reached for her with his clawed fingers. "I'm just trying to keep you safe. Is that such a terrible thing?"

"Don't make me fight you."

He paused.

"Please," she said, holding his gaze—searching for any trace of him inside the shell of snow and ice.

His hand was a hairsbreadth from cupping her face, but now his fingers curled into his palm. "No, Marinette," he said softly. "I should be saying that to you. I just want to keep you safe. I'm trying to protect you." His eyes narrowed. "But if you're not going to cooperate, I'll do what I must."

She reached for the staff attached to her hip. "If you really want to keep me safe, you'd destroy the tree. You'd help me stop Carmine and your father now."

"It's too dangerous to destroy the tree, and Father has promised that you won't be harmed if I help him."

"You know that's a lie. He's just using you. He doesn't care what happens to either of us!"

"I won't risk you dying!"

Her fingers tightened around the staff.

His gaze flickered to her hand, then back to her face. "You're really going to fight me?"

"If that's what it takes to undo whatever he's done to you."

Ice hardened his expression. "Then you give me no choice."

He lunged. Heart jumping for her throat, she thrust the staff out in a rush of extending metal. The tip caught him hard in the chest and a grunt escaped him as he was knocked back, heels skidding against the ground.

"I see you haven't forgotten your training," he said.

Her gut twisted, heavy and churning like an ocean. It hurt to be reminded of those lessons—every conversation, every promise, every kiss.

They were supposed to have faced this day together. He was supposed to have fought at her side.

He charged for her again, white hair streaking out behind him like flurries of snow. Instinct took over as she dodged, parried, and pushed back with the staff. His staff. It was a clumsy dance, desperate and more a scrabble for breathing space on her part. He was too good. Sweat gathered on her brow. The thundering beat of adrenaline pulsed in her ears and throbbed through her veins.

This couldn't go on. She needed to figure out a way to stop him. To save him.

He caught the staff with both hands, and she found herself chest to chest with him. Her heartbeat stuttered. Meeting his gaze was like staring into a frozen wasteland—no warmth, no sign of the god she loved.

Where are you? she wanted to scream. Please tell me that you're still in there!

"It's over," he said with no emotion.

Hot tears stung her eyes. The lump in her throat got tighter—more choking. There was no point in running. He would catch her. There was no point in trying to wrench the staff free. He was stronger. But she couldn't give up. Even if it was hopeless. Even if he had become a stranger sheathed in winter.

She had promised to free him from his father's control. She never broke her promises.

Tears blurring her vision, and still holding the staff with him between them, she surged up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. It was a final, desperate attempt. The stories had often spoken of how true love's kiss could break any enchantment. Maybe it could break his, too. Maybe he would come back to her.

It was like kissing ice. Unresponsive. Unyielding.

The ocean roiling in her gut heaved. She kissed him harder, tears spilling down her cheeks. Come back. One hand let go of the staff and moved to his neck. Please, please come back …

He pulled away, his brow creasing. "What are you doing?"

Blue. His eyes were still frozen blue.

Something shattered in her heart, little bits of despair catching on her ribs with every thump, thump, thump. She let go of the staff and slumped to her knees.

How? How was she supposed to fix this?

"Ah," Hawkmoth said as he entered the courtyard. "I see you have subdued her. Good work, son. Now we can keep her safe."

Blanc placed his hand on her shoulder. It was a gesture Adrien had done a hundred times before, and it had fresh tears welling to her eyes. "And what of Carmine?" he asked. "What happens when she wakes?"

"Don't worry. I have a plan for that." Hawkmoth smiled and glanced at the tree, which had grown a lush, green crown. "All we have to do now is wait."