You rode off into the woods in the wee hours of the morning. The anger in your chest burned brighter than the cold, damp air biting at your cheeks. You had just been informed that your parents intended to marry you off to a wealthy lord—a man twice your age and thrice as dull.

No daughter of theirs would be allowed to remain a spinster, they had said, as if that was the worst possible fate.

Nothing was going to make you marry that man so you took matters into your own hands.

The first drops of rain began to fall, cold and sharp against your skin, but you pressed on, getting farther from the estate. Thunder cracked overhead, startling your horse. Before you could calm him, he threw you to the ground. Pain shot through your ankle as you landed hard, and you cried out.

Your horse ran into the distance, leaving you alone in the downpour. Panic set in as you tried to stand, only to collapse back to the ground.

Moments later, the sound of hooves approached. A man on a dark horse emerged through the curtain of rain, his cloak billowing behind him. A musketeer.

"My lady," he said, his voice low but steady, as he dismounted and knelt beside you. Without hesitation, he took your hand, his grip firm but gentle, and helped you to your feet—or at least as close to your feet as your injury would allow.

"My horse... he got spooked by the thunder," you said, your voice trembling as much from the cold as from the embarrassment of your predicament.

"I can see that," he replied with a faint smile, his dark eyes studying you. He then removes his cloak, wrapping it around you. Your words get caught in your throat as your face begins to heat up.

"We should find shelter, this rain is showing no signs of letting up." He says as he helps you onto his horse.