His body is still thirty-two but his soul is old and withered by the time he is released from his hell. His rescuers are pitifully naive and he wants nothing more than to leave them behind. But he can't. She saved him and there is a debt to be paid. This is what he tell himself as he leads them towards the fields of Papay.

And so he remains with her, a half remembered thought constantly on the edge of his consciousness. He later tells himself it is because she was the long lost princess. He had to have known her name was Dorothy Gale at one time and the resemblance to her mother is quite strong.

No matter how often he tries to explain it away, the feeling remains.

It is not until he and Glitch find her in the Witch's prison that he finally understands. Up until that point, all the contact between them had either been his hand on her jacket or her hand on his coat. But at this moment with the crown of her head pressed against his jaw, he feels it: the burn of the mark and a tether to his chest that makes him want to press her more tightly to him.

His arms go slack with the realization and she steps away, a confused look on her face and idly rubs her shoulder as they plan their escape. When he changes into his duster later, he sees his mark for the first time in twenty two years.

He cries at Adora's grave, their story finally at an end. He wonders if he condemned her to this by spitting in the face of fate. It would have been better if he had just shown her the damn mark the very day it appeared and let her leave. She might still be alive.

He feels DG's hand on his shoulder and he wants to hate her.

But he can't and he doesn't.

It's over. The witch is gone and Lavender sits on the throne. He thinks he's home-free and planning to depart in a couple of days when she comes marching into the stables.

"How long have you known?" she demands with a face full of hurt that makes his heart ache and mark burn.

"Known about you or known that it was you?" he counters while brushing the white mare.

"Both," she replies and he thinks she is relieved he is not evading the conversation.

"I got the mark when I was nineteen and already married. I then spent the next twenty two years trying to forget about it. I knew it was you after we left the witch's prison but... if I'm honest with myself, I probably knew before. You?"

"I just thought it was a weirdly specific birthmark. Az explained what it meant and about a second later I figured it was you. Then I ran down here."

He nods and pats the mare before coming to sit on a bench just outside the stall. He takes out his handkerchief and rubs his hands on it before undoing his cuff and holding out his arm. She looks at it nervously before coming to sit next to him.

"A tornado?" she asks.

"A travel storm apparently. The sigil of the Gales, the only witches who could ever conjure them. And an apt metaphor for yourself, I suppose."

DG pulls the collar of her shirt down on her right shoulder revealing a five pointed start contained within a circle. The badge of the Tin Man.

He resists the urge to touch it and instead gives a strained smile.

"I had money on it being a gun," he tries to joke but she doesn't bite.

"What does this mean, Cain?"

He sucks in a deep breath, conflicted on how to proceed.

"You've got a lot on your plate right now and I'm not fit for anyone at the moment. I should go."

Her face fell slightly, the sting of rejection evident on her features, "If that's what you need to do..."

"I'll come back, DG. I've just got to sort some things first."

"You will?"

"I don't think I could stay away if I wanted to," he answers honestly.

He returns six months later and accepts a job as one of her personal bodyguards. He tells her he'll protect her, be her friend but that anything else is unwise. He knows she is disappointed but he is resolved. She is young and of a station so far above him, he can't help but think it is for the best. He limits their physical contact to brief gestures of friendship: a hand on the shoulder, a squeeze of the forearm, a palm on her upper back, and even then, only over cloth.

He wants to die the first time he has to put a hand up to stop her from hugging him, her blue eyes going watery before giving a resigned nod.

It is the night of DG's coronation when everything changes. It all appears to be going well when Cain's mark starts to burn like it hasn't in seventeen years. He pushes DG to the ground just as shots embed all around them and he manages to put a bullet in the assailant before dragging DG to a secure location. She is trembling and Cain can see that a bullet has grazed her left temple.

He brushes his fingers against it.

"Too close... too damn close," he mutters.

She leans into him then, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and burying her face in his chest. It is in that moment that Cain realizes he loves her, not because of the bond, not because of magic, but because she is someone deserving of his love. His brave, tenacious, kind princess... his beautiful, capable Queen.

The guilt nearly rocks him back a step and DG pushes away, an apology already falling from her lips.

"I'm sorry, Cain. I didn't mean to... I know you don't like me to touch you."

She is backing away, palms up as if placating a wild animal.

He grabs one wrist to halt her retreat and gently pulls her towards him. He presses her palm over his heart and runs the back of his free hand down her cheek, pushing away her tears.

"I'm sorry, DG. I never meant to make you feel unwanted or unloved. Neither could be further from the truth."

"But you did."

"I know. I was wrong. I got a lot to atone for. "

She steps into him then with a soft sigh and for the first time he allows himself to hold her as tightly as he wishes. And later when she lets him kiss her, he thinks he finally understands.

Mark or no mark, Azkadellia still would have been possessed, he still would have still been locked in the suit, and Adora still would have died. Nothing would have changed. Destiny knew the horrors that awaited and wanted to assure they would have each other to see them through to the other side.

And for the first time in his life, Wyatt is grateful to be a marked man.