Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~6 min read
The cabin felt different when they returned.
Sage stepped inside and realized: the wards were gone. No more honesty field, no more magical restrictions.
They didn’t need them anymore.
The bond provided all the honesty they could handle.
“It’s quiet,” Thorne said, closing the door behind them.
“Too quiet. I got used to the ward hum.”
“We could set up new ones. Different ones. Privacy wards maybe, so our families can’t drop by unannounced.”
Sage smiled. “Planning to hide from them?”
“Planning to have time with my wife that doesn’t involve crisis management.”
There it was again. Wife.
The word still sent a thrill through her.
“I like that,” Sage admitted. “Wife. Husband. Us.”
“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
They stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by weeks of research materials and hastily abandoned books. Evidence of their desperate search for answers.
“We should clean up,” Sage said.
“We should.”
Neither moved.
“Or we could just… not,” Thorne suggested. “Leave it for tomorrow. Take one night where we’re not solving problems or fighting curses or convincing families we’re not traitors.”
“What would we do instead?”
He pulled her close, and through the bond, she felt his exhaustion. His relief. His love.
“Sleep,” he said. “Just sleep. Together. Without nightmares about who’s dying next.”
Sage wrapped her arms around him, feeling safe for the first time in weeks. “Best plan you’ve ever had.”
They migrated to the bedroom—her room that had become their room somewhere along the way.
No more Thorne sleeping on the floor. No more careful distance.
Just them, the bond, and a bed big enough for two.
Sage changed into pajamas while Thorne waited in the hallway—some habits died hard. But when she called him in, he wrapped around her immediately, like his body knew where it belonged.
“This is nice,” Sage murmured against his chest.
“What is?”
“Quiet. Peace. You.”
“I’m nice?”
“You’re better than nice. You’re perfect.”
“I’m really not. I’m moody and overprotective and I make terrible jokes.”
“Like I said. Perfect.”
Through the bond, she felt his smile.
“Sage?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For choosing me. For seeing past the feud. For loving me even when you were raised to hate me.”
Sage propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. “I never really hated you. Even before I met you. I think part of me was just waiting for you to prove my family wrong.”
“And did I?”
“Spectacularly. You’re nothing like what they taught me. You’re kind and brave and you held me when I cried. You threw yourself in front of a cursed blade for me. You trusted me with your family’s secrets.” She touched his face. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”
Thorne pulled her back down, holding her tight. “We’re sappy.”
“We’re bonded. We’re allowed to be sappy.”
“Fair point.”
They lay in comfortable silence, the bond a warm presence in the back of both their minds.
“What happens after the ceremony?” Sage asked eventually. “Do we live here? At the cabin?”
“We can live wherever you want. The Thorne estate has space if you want to be close to my family. Or we could stay near your family at the Mitchell estate.”
“Or we could find our own place. Something that’s just ours.”
“I like that idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Somewhere we can start fresh. No family history, no old grudges. Just us building something new.”
Sage thought about it—a house of their own. Maybe with a big garden where she could grow things. Space for Thorne’s books. Room for the family they might have someday.
“I want a greenhouse,” she said. “A big one.”
“Done. What else?”
“A library. With comfortable chairs and good light.”
“Obviously. I’m not a barbarian.”
“And a kitchen where we can cook together.”
“We cook together now. You’re terrible at it.”
“I’m learning!”
“You burned toast yesterday. Toast, Sage. It’s bread in a box. How do you burn that?”
“Magic doesn’t make me good at everything!”
He was laughing now, and through the bond, she felt his joy. Pure and uncomplicated.
“We’re going to be a disaster,” Sage said, but she was smiling.
“The best kind of disaster. The kind that changes things.”
“We already changed things. We broke the curse.”
“We broke more than that. We broke the cycle. A hundred years of hatred, ended because we fell in love.”
Sage kissed him, soft and slow. “We’re dramatic.”
“We’re witches. Dramatic is our brand.”
“Fair.”
They settled again, Sage’s head on Thorne’s chest, his arms around her.
“One week until the ceremony,” Thorne said after a while.
“Nervous?”
“Terrified. Your family is going to cry. Mine is going to stand there stoically. And we’re going to have to stand in front of all of them and declare our love.”
“We already love each other. The ceremony is just showing them.”
“What if I mess up my vows?”
Sage sat up to look at him. “You’re worried about your vows?”
“I want them to be perfect. You deserve perfect.”
“Thorne.” She cupped his face. “You jumped in front of a cursed blade for me. You took a killing curse into your soul to protect both our families. You could recite the alphabet for your vows and I’d still be the luckiest witch alive.”
“The alphabet is a low bar.”
“You know what I mean.”
He did. She felt it through the bond—his fear of not being enough, of disappointing her.
“Hey,” she said softly. “I love you. Messy vows, terrible jokes, overprotective instincts and all. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”
“What if ‘me’ isn’t enough?”
“It is. It always has been.”
Thorne pulled her back down, kissing her like she was precious. Like she was everything.
“I love you,” he said against her lips.
“I love you too.”
They fell asleep tangled together, the bond humming contentedly.
And for the first time in weeks, Sage slept without nightmares.
No curses lurking at the edges of her dreams.
No fear of who would die next.
Just peace. And Thorne. And the future spreading out before them like an open road.
Together.
Always together.
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