Bewitched by the Wicked Witch- Chapter 2 Callum’s POV

The problem with sacrifice, I reflected as I stared at my phone with something approaching desperation, is that it makes one prone to questioning every decision. Particularly when said decisions involve ignoring increasingly frantic text messages from the woman you love more than your own life.

You were joking, right?

My thumb hovered over the screen. I wanted to type back Yes, of course I was joking. I love you. I'll always love you.But Marcus's voice echoed in my mind: "Break it off completely, Renshaw. No contact. Or we'll make sure the Blackstone girl has an unfortunate accident. You know how unstable her magic can be. So many things could go wrong."

The worst part? My ability had confirmed every word as truth. Marcus hadn't been bluffing or posturing. He would hurt Sage if I didn't end things.

I set the phone down before I could do something stupid like tell her the truth.

You didn't mean it. We should talk.

My chest constricted. Every message was a fresh wound, salt rubbing into the gaping hole where my heart used to be. I'd done what I had to do—walked into her dorm room and delivered the most clinical, emotionless breakup speech I could manage. Watched her face crumble. Watched confusion turn to hurt turn to desperate hope that I was somehow joking.

I hadn't been joking. I'd been dying inside with every word.

This isn't funny.

I started typing. Stopped. Started again. The three dots appeared on her screen, disappeared, appeared again. Minutes stretched by as I wrote and deleted a dozen different responses. Each one brought me closer to telling her everything—about Marcus, about the threats, about how my family had made it clear that my relationship with her was "incompatible with Renshaw family interests."

My fingers trembled over the keyboard. I miss you already. This is killing me. Let me explain—

No. I deleted it and forced myself to type something else. Something final.

"I know this is hard. It's killing me too, but it's best if we stop all contact, Sage. I will always love you, but I can't be with you."

I hit send before I could reconsider, then immediately wanted to take it back. I will always love you. At least that part was true. That part would always be true.

My phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

I couldn't look. If I read one more message, if I saw her pain written out in desperate texts, I would break. I would tell her everything, and then Marcus would make good on his threats. The photos they'd shown me—Sage walking to class, Sage at the library, Sage sleeping in her dorm room, completely unaware she was being watched—had made my blood run cold.

I picked up the phone anyway, my hands shaking.

Please just tell me what I did wrong. I can fix it.

Nothing. She'd done nothing wrong. She was perfect. That was the problem—she was too perfect, too powerful, too much of a threat to the careful political alliances my family had spent decades building. A Blackstone witch with her kind of raw talent? They couldn't control that. Couldn't manipulate it. So they'd forced my hand.

I threw the phone across the room before I could respond. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor, screen thankfully still intact.

The boxes I'd packed yesterday sat in the corner of my dorm room, mocking me. We were supposed to leave tomorrow—spend the summer at that bed and breakfast on the coast we both loved, then head to Old Hollows so I could meet her grandmother. I'd been terrified and excited in equal measure. Had the ring picked out and everything, hidden in my desk drawer. A moonstone set in silver that I'd spent months enchanting to complement her magic.

I'd planned to propose on the coast, with the ocean as our witness.

Now the boxes just reminded me of everything I'd lost.

An hour passed. Then two. My phone continued buzzing periodically from where it had fallen. Each notification was a knife to the chest. I paced my small dorm room, running my hands through my hair, trying to convince myself I'd done the right thing.

My mage abilities hummed beneath my skin, restless and agitated. Truth-sensing was supposed to be a gift, but right now it felt like a curse. I couldn't even lie to myself about why I'd done this. Couldn't pretend it was for any reason other than fear—fear of what Marcus and his associates would do to Sage if I didn't comply.

I retrieved my phone from the floor, unable to stop myself from checking. Eighty-three messages now. I scrolled through them without opening the threads, watching the progression from confusion to hurt to anger.

I don't understand. Things were so good.

Did I do something wrong? Please just talk to me.

This doesn't make sense. You said you loved me yesterday.

Why won't you answer?

Fine. If you want to be a coward, be a coward.

That last one made me flinch. She wasn't wrong. I was being a coward. A coward who chose her safety over her happiness, but a coward nonetheless.

Three hours since the breakup. The sun had set outside my window, campus growing quiet as students settled in for the evening. Somewhere out there, Sage was probably packing, getting ready to leave tomorrow. Would she cry herself to sleep? Would she hate me by morning?

I hoped she would hate me. It would make this easier for her.

My phone buzzed again. I looked down, and my heart stopped.

You know what? You're right. This IS for the best. I hope you have a great life, Callum.

The words felt like a goodbye. A real one. Final.

I typed back immediately, panic overriding common sense: Sage, wait—

But I deleted it before sending. This was what I wanted, wasn't it? For her to move on, to let go, to be safe?

Then why did it feel like someone was ripping out my ribcage?

I set the phone on my desk and sank onto my bed, head in my hands. My ability whispered that I was making the biggest mistake of my life, but what choice did I have? Let her stay with me and put a target on her back? Watch Marcus's people hurt her just to prove a point?

No. Better this. Better heartbreak than her blood on my hands.

A strange sensation washed over me then—a prickling at the back of my neck, the kind of awareness mages developed after years of magical training. Someone was casting something nearby. Something with weight to it, with intention.

I stood, moving to the window, but saw nothing except the dark campus grounds beyond. Probably just another student practicing for exams. Nothing to worry about.

The prickling intensified.

I frowned, reaching out with my senses, trying to identify the source. The magic felt familiar somehow, like something I'd encountered before but couldn't quite place. It was moving closer, seeking something—

Seeking me.

My eyes widened as recognition hit. This was Sage's magical signature. I'd felt it enough times, wrapped around me in gentler moments, to know it anywhere.

But this wasn't gentle. This was fury and pain and betrayal all woven together into something that felt almost predatory.

"Sage?" I whispered, moving toward the window.

The magic hit me like a wave crashing against a shore.

It didn't hurt at first. Just a strange warmth that spread through my body, concentrating in my chest before sliding lower. I frowned, trying to identify what kind of spell this was. A hex? A curse? It felt too deliberate to be accidental magic, too focused to be anything but intentional.

The warmth pooled in my lower abdomen, then moved even lower.

Oh no.

"Sage, what did you—" I started to say, but the words died as the sensation intensified.

Heat flooded through me, uncomfortable now, concentrating in a very specific area. I looked down in confusion, then growing alarm as I felt pressure building. Not painful yet, but wrong. Very, very wrong.

I fumbled for my phone, thinking maybe I could call her, talk her down from whatever she'd done. But as I reached for it, the pressure increased sharply, and I gasped.

My pants felt tighter. I looked down and watched in horror as the fabric began to strain. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't possible.

But it was happening. The swelling continued, slow but relentless, and I could feel every excruciating second of it. The pressure was immense now, building like water behind a dam.

"Sage, please—" I choked out, though she couldn't hear me.

Another minute passed. Then another. The swelling didn't stop. My belt cut into my waist. I fumbled with the buckle, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but it didn't help. Nothing helped.

The fabric of my pants began to tear at the seams.

I stumbled toward my desk, thinking maybe I could find something in my notes about counter-curses, but my center of gravity was completely off now. Whatever was happening to me had grown to an impossible size, and the weight of it threw me off balance.

I crashed into my desk chair, sending it skittering across the floor. Papers scattered. My phone fell again, screen cracking this time.

The pressure was agonizing now. I looked down and immediately wished I hadn't. What I saw was anatomically impossible, medically horrifying, and growing larger by the minute. It had to be the size of my leg now. Maybe larger.

"Oh gods," I gasped, bracing myself against the desk. "Sage, what did you do?"

Another wave of pressure crashed through me, and this time I did scream. Couldn't help it. The pain was excruciating, like my body was trying to accommodate something it absolutely was not designed for.

My bookshelf crashed over as I stumbled backward, trying to find something to hold onto, some way to ground myself against the agony. Books scattered across the floor. My lamp shattered.

The swelling continued. I could barely stand now, the sheer weight and size of it pulling me down. My pants had torn completely, fabric shredded beyond repair. And still it grew.

"Please," I whispered, tears streaming down my face from the pain. "Please, Sage, make it stop."

But she couldn't hear me. She'd probably already left, thinking she'd taught me a lesson with what she assumed was a temporary hex.

Except this didn't feel temporary. This felt very, very permanent.

Another scream tore from my throat as the pressure reached a crescendo. My vision swam. The room tilted. I tried to reach for something, anything, but my legs gave out.

I hit the floor hard, the impact sending another shock of pain through my body. My head cracked against the hardwood, and stars exploded across my vision.

Somewhere far away, I heard someone shouting. Footsteps running. Someone pounding on my door.

The last coherent thought I had before consciousness fled was that I absolutely deserved this, and that even cursed and in agony, I still loved Sage Blackstone more than anything in the world.

Even if she'd just hexed my dick into an elephant trunk.

Everything went black.

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Ten Years Later

Rosemary

The morning sun bathed our cottage in hues of honey and gold, its rays streaming through the open windows, inviting the first warm breeze of spring. Over ten years, our simple home had transformed into a living fairy tale, with climbing roses framing each doorway and herb gardens flourishing in organized abundance. Childish laughter floated from the kitchen, where our four-year-old daughter was ‘helping’ Elias prepare breakfast.

"Mama!" Posey's voice rang out like silver bells, followed by the rapid patter of her small feet across wooden floors. "Papa says the honey cakes are almost ready, and Aunt Briar is coming today!"

I turned from where I'd been tending the morning glory vines that climbed our bedroom wall, my heart swelling at the sight of my daughter. Posey was a perfect blend of her parents, with my strawberry-gold hair but Elias's eyes, like churning storm clouds. She had my love of growing things but his mischievous grin. She wore a simple green dress that would undoubtedly be stained with garden soil within the hour, and her feet bare as always.

"Is she now?" I asked, scooping her into my arms and spinning her around until she giggled. "And what makes you so certain?"

"Because I dreamed about golden butterflies," she said seriously, her small face scrunched with the concentration of someone delivering important news. "They told me a queen was coming to visit."

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, marveling not for the first time at the way magic seemed to flow through our daughter as natural as breathing. At four years old, she already showed signs of inheriting both seelie and unseelie gifts, an unprecedented combination that had scholars from across the unified realm writing excited letters requesting permission to study her development.

"Well then," I said, setting her down and smoothing her wild curls, "we'd better make sure everything is perfect for Aunt Briar's visit."

Hoofbeats echoed down our lane, heralding the royal procession as Elias stepped out of the kitchen, flour dusting his dark hair and an apron tied around his waist. A decade of domestic life had only enhanced his charm. His eyes now twinkled with happiness, his shoulders had broadened from building and gardening, and contentment radiated from him like warmth from a hearth.

"Right on time," he said, pulling me close for a quick kiss that tasted of honey and promises. "I swear your sister has supernatural timing when it comes to fresh baking."

Through our front window, I watched Briar dismount her white mare with a fluid grace that carried the confidence of a woman seasoned by a decade of wise and compassionate rule over the unified courts. Her pale hair bore a simple circlet of silver and emeralds, and her riding dress was practical, reflecting a queen who chose to be among her people rather than above them.

Darius followed close behind, his darker presence a perfect complement to Briar's light. They moved together with the synchronized ease of mates who had found perfect balance in each other, and I felt a familiar warmth at seeing my sister so completely, radiantly happy.

"Aunt Briar! Uncle Darius!" Posey burst through our front door like a tiny hurricane, launching herself into Briar's waiting arms with the fearlessness of a child who had never known anything but love and safety.

"My darling girl," Briar laughed, spinning Posey around just as I had done moments before. "Look how you've grown! Soon you'll be taller than me."

Posey stood, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous pride as she recounted her father's words. "Papa says I'm getting too big for my boots," she declared, her voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. She glanced down at her wiggling toes, then shrugged with a playful confusion. "But I don't wear boots, so I don't know what he means."

Darius chuckled, ruffling Posey's hair with gentle affection. "Your papa means you're growing wise and strong, little princess. Speaking of which..." He exchanged a meaningful look with Briar. "We have a proposition for you."

I raised an eyebrow as we all moved into the cottage's main room, which had expanded over the years to accommodate our growing family and the frequent visits from students, dignitaries, and friends. "What kind of proposition?"

"The kind that involves a certain young lady coming to stay at the castle for a few days," Briar said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "We're starting a new program for gifted children, teaching them to control and channel their abilities safely. Posey would be our first student."

Posey's eyes went wide with excitement. "Really? I get to stay in the castle? Where Cook Nonnie makes the special sweet treats?"

"With sweet treats and everything," Darius confirmed. "And gardens that change with the seasons, and a library with books that read themselves, and stables full of horses that might be willing to take a certain little girl on rides if she asks politely."

Elias's hand slipped into mine, our fingers intertwining with the ease of a decade's practice. The thought of Posey being away from home, even briefly, ignited my protective instincts. Yet, I understood the wisdom in their offer. Our daughter's magic was strong enough to require proper guidance, and who better to provide it than the rulers of the unified realm?

"What do you think, love?" Elias asked quietly, his voice pitched for my ears alone. "She'd be safe with them, and it might be good for her to see more of the world than just our cottage and gardens."

"I want to go, Mama," Posey said, her small hands clasped together in unconscious mimicry of a formal petition. "I promise I'll be good and eat all my vegetables and not put frogs in anyone's bed."

"You put frogs in people's beds?" Briar asked with delighted surprise.

"Only Papa's," Posey admitted. "And only because he said frogs were slimy when they're actually quite soft if you pet them properly."

The adults exchanged amused glances, and my last reservations crumbled in the face of my daughter's obvious excitement and my sister's genuine affection for her niece.

"All right," I said, and I was immediately tackled by an enthusiastic four year old. "But only for three days, and you must promise to mind your aunt and uncle."

"I promise, I promise, I promise!" Posey chanted, bouncing on her toes with excitement.

The next hour passed in a flurry of packing and last-minute instructions, though Briar assured me repeatedly that the castle was fully equipped for a young guest. As the royal party prepared to depart with their precious cargo, I felt the familiar bittersweet ache of watching my child take another step toward independence.

"She'll be fine," Briar said softly, embracing me as Darius helped Posey into the special child's saddle they'd brought. "More than fine; she'll be extraordinary. Just like her mother."

"Just don't let her talk you into letting her sleep in the stables," I warned. "She's been fascinated by horses lately, and I wouldn't put it past her to try."

"Noted," Darius said with a grin. "Though I make no promises about the library. If she's anything like her aunt, she'll want to read every book we have."

As they rode away, Posey's delighted laughter floating back on the spring breeze, Elias's arms circled my waist from behind. For a moment we stood in comfortable silence, watching until the procession disappeared around the bend in our lane.

"So," he murmured against my ear, his breath warm and familiar, "what should we do with three whole days to ourselves?"

I turned in his arms, struck suddenly by how rare such moments of complete solitude had become since Posey's birth. Much as I adored our daughter, there was something to be said for the luxury of uninterrupted time with my mate.

"I have a few ideas," I said, reaching up to brush flour from his hair. "Starting with finishing those honey cakes you abandoned in the kitchen."

"The honey cakes can wait," he said, his voice dropping to that husky tone that still made my pulse quicken after all these years. "I have better ideas for how to spend our first morning of freedom."

He swept me into his arms with the same easy strength that he had exhibited all those years ago when I’d fallen ankle-first out of a tree, carrying me toward our bedroom while I laughed and protested halfheartedly about the propriety of such behavior in broad daylight.

“The neighbors will see,” I murmured, though our nearest human habitation lay miles away and the warding runes around our home shimmered with silent assurance of privacy.

“Let them,” Elias said, his voice low and steady as he kicked the door closed. “Let the whole world know I’m hopelessly, desperately, utterly in love with you.”

He guided me to the bed, and for a long moment, we drank each other in without words. Ten years of marriage and of the joys and trials of parenthood had altered us both. Motherhood had smoothed some of my sharper edges while hardening the core of who I’d become; fatherhood had awakened in Elias a gentle protectiveness that had softened his fierce spirit. Yet the magnetic pull that first drew us together in that moonlit courtyard when we were but children still hummed between us.

“I love you,” I whispered, each word heavy with a decade’s worth of laughter and tears, triumphs and defeats. “I love the man you were when we met and the man you are now. I love watching you teach our daughter to whittle horses, and how you bring me fresh blooms from the garden each sunrise.” 

His broad palms pressed into my cheeks, thumbs tracing the delicate creases carved by years and joy at the corners of my eyes. “And I love you,” he breathed, voice husky with feeling. “I love that you wrestle with stubborn ivy, and that you weep when a student achieves the impossible. I love that you chose this life, chose me, over duty and convenience.” 

Slowly, his mouth sought mine, lips feather-soft at first, as if tasting a memory. My pulse fluttered and desire stirred in the hollow of my belly. He deepened the kiss, tongues brushing in a slow dance of exploration, each caress kindling a brighter heat within me. His hands slid down from my face to my shoulders, then over the gentle swell of my breasts. Fingertips brushed my taut nipples through the linen of my shift, coaxing a hard peak that ached for his mouth. 

I arched into him, offering more of myself, and he obeyed, slipping one hand beneath the hem of my skirt. His palm swept over the softness of my hip, then traveled upward to cup me, boldly, reverently, discovering the slick warmth that had gathered between my thighs. A shiver cascaded through me as his thumb found the tender nub of my clitoris, circling it in slow, deliberate strokes until I gasped against his lips. 

Threading my fingers through his dark hair, I tugged him closer, heart thunderous. My other hand brushed over the hard planes of his chest, sliding lower to the waistband of his trousers. With a gentle groan, he rolled to one side, freeing his hips, and I sank down onto him in one smooth motion, guiding the length of him to my entrance. Heat and hardness filled me, each inch a delicious stretch, and I rode him, hips lifting to draw him deeper, pressing my breasts against his collarbone, our breaths ragged hymns in the morning light. 

When his lips closed over my nipple, flicking and sucking with expert hunger, I nearly shattered. My body quivered atop him, every nerve alive to exquisite tension. He held me there, softly sucking, even as one hand coaxed me to deeper pleasure, the other braced on the mattress beside us. Then, without pause, he slid back inside in a single slow, perfect stroke. 

I gasped, clinging to him as he filled me wholly. He began to rock, first in gentle, deliberate motions, then with mounting urgency. Each thrust sent sparks through my flesh, the press of his chest against mine and the slick friction within driving me toward release. I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him faster, tilting my hips to meet the rhythm of his body. 

The room filled with the soft rustle of linen and our mingled moans. His golden gaze never wavered from mine; we spoke only in breathless sighs and the silent communion of shared bliss. With my fingers entwined in his hair, I led his lips to mine for fleeting kisses amidst our intense desire, savoring the mix of salt and longing.

When the tremors overtook us, we collapsed together with him still inside me, both of us trembling as a wave of release rolled through our bodies. I clung to him, nails grazing the strong curve of his back, as life’s fierce echo pulsed in our veins. Finally spent, we lay entwined, foreheads pressed together, the aftershocks ebbing like a whispered prayer. 

Later, wrapped in lavender-scented sheets, I nestled against his chest. My fingers traced lazy loops along the fine line of his collarbone, following the dark lines of his tattoos while his hand worked through my hair. We drifted in peaceful wakefulness, two souls still discovering one another, even after all these years. 

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked softly, voice muffled against his skin. “Giving up your title, your place in the great tapestry of history for this quiet life?”

"Never," he said without hesitation. "I found something here that no throne could give me. Peace. Purpose. A love so deep it still takes my breath away." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "This cottage, this garden, this life we've built with our own hands... this is my kingdom. You and Posey are my crown jewels."

"Even when I wake you up at dawn to help with the difficult births in the goat pen?" I teased.

"Especially then," he confirmed with a laugh. "Though I draw the line at helping deliver fairy horses. Last time one of them bit me."

"That's because you kept calling him a pony," I reminded him. "Fairy horses are very particular about proper terminology."

We dissolved into familiar laughter born from years of shared inside jokes and joyful memories. Outside, the garden settled into its daily rhythm. Bees hummed among flowers, birds called from the fruit trees, and in the distance, our students busied themselves at the expanded healing center serving the entire unified realm.

It wasn't the life either of us had been born to expect, but it was the life we had chosen. And in choosing it, we had found something rarer than any crown: perfect, simple, enduring happiness.

The End

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