Page 4 of Wedded Witch

“Okay,” I finally say, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my heart. “I’ll do it. I’ll go through with the marriage, and I’ll do everything in my power to break this curse and ensure our family’s survival.”

My mother’s eyes soften with gratitude and relief. She reaches out to embrace me, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a sense of unity with my family.

That’s the most I can promise her, though – that I’ll do my best to break the curse – but I can’t promise them children. I really don’t want them. I don’t think. It’s hard to know for sure when the idea’s been forced on me my entire life.

But as I’m left alone for the final minutes before I’m due to walk down the aisle, I throw some things into a bag – my passport included –just in case.

OLAND

I’mno stranger to making sacrifices. Being born into a powerful family of Watchers and assigned to oversee the safety and protection of the Galdurs, has meant that my whole life, my wants, needs, and desires have always come second to safeguarding the witching family.

From childhood, the importance of this particular family has been drummed into me, but for the most part, since coming of age, I’ve had very little work to actually do to protect them.

It’s been frustrating. Like my whole life is on hold, stuck in limbo, waiting forsomethingto happen.

If I’d known the something I was waiting for was being forced to marry a girl more than fifteen years my junior, I would have done everything in my power to get out of it.

But my instructions have been crystal clear. I’m to marry the Galdur girl, the final fertile witch in their lineage, and to procreate with her. Apparently having a child, or children,just to be safe, is the only way to ensure her family’s safety and the survival of our community.

It’s not exactly what I signed up for. Metaphorically speaking of course, because I didn’t sign up for any part of this life.

But marrying a twenty-one year old as I turn thirty-seven doesn’t sit right with me, curse or no curse.

And I’ve never even laid eyes on the girl, having been stationed to guard a distant elderly relative who recently passed away. Yet, regardless of the fact that Swyn is a stranger to me, we’re getting married in the next half an hour.

Fuck. Responsibility sucks.

The chapel is eerily quiet, despite being full. It’s the kind of silence that presses in on your ears and heightens the sound of your own breathing. I stand at the altar, feeling the weight of my family’s expectations bearing down on me like a physical force.

The nearest pews are lined with our closest kin, their faces a mixture of relief and anticipation. Further back the rest of the community is also seated and watching. They’re all here to witness the union that is supposed to save us all.

I tug at the collar of my formal shirt, feeling uncomfortable, not just in the fabric, but in the role I’m about to assume.I’m almost old enough to be this girl’s father.

Fuck that thought makes me sick.

My eyes scan the room, landing on my parents in the front row. My mother gives me a reassuring nod, her eyes misty with emotion. My father, ever stoic, gives a curt nod, a sign of approval, that’s taken me years to earn.

As the minutes tick by, I can’t help but think of the Galdur girl I’m set to wed. She’s a mystery to me, a stranger whose life is now inextricably tied to mine.

The only thing I know about her is the enormous pressure she’s under, the same pressure that’s been my constant companion since birth – the weight of our families’ expectations.

The heavy wooden doors at the back of the chapel creak open, drawing everyone’s attention. A hush falls over the alreadyquiet crowd as the girl steps in, her black gown a stark contrast to the white and gold decorations adorning the chapel.

I can’t help but admire her defiance, her strength. It’s clear she’s not here by choice, and that makes two of us.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. There’s turmoil in her gaze, the same turmoil that resides in my own heart. This isn’t how either of us envisioned our lives, but here we are, bound by duty and legacy.

She walks down the aisle unguided and with measured steps, her face a mask of determination. As she reaches the altar, she takes a deep breath, her bright violet gaze is steady and unwavering.

I extend my hand, and she takes it, her grip firm and resolute. We turn to face the officiant, an ancient warlock who has served our families for generations.

The ceremony begins, a blend of ancient incantations and vows that seem more like a binding spell than a celebration of love – which is just as well really, as there’s no love between two strangers.

As we repeat the words, I can’t shake the feeling of inevitability, the sense that our lives are no longer our own. But within that inevitability, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to break this curse together and save everyone. If we do, perhaps we can go our own separate ways after and live the lives we’ve imagined.

When the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, the room erupts into applause. Swyn and I share a look, a silent agreement that this is just the beginning of our journey. We don’t have to like it, but we will lump it.

And then we kiss.

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