Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~9 min read
“Absolutely not.”
Sage stared at the dress Iris was holding up. It was green—Mitchell green—and covered in so many ruffles it looked like a cabbage.
“It’s traditional,” Iris said.
“It’s hideous.”
“All bonding dresses are a little hideous. It’s part of the charm.”
“There is no charm in that dress. That dress is where charm goes to die.”
Iris sighed, setting the offending garment aside. They were in Sage’s childhood bedroom at the Mitchell estate, surrounded by what felt like every bonding dress from the last three generations.
“You have to wear something,” Iris said. “You can’t show up to your own bonding ceremony in jeans.”
“Watch me.”
“Sage.”
“Fine. But I’m not wearing anything that makes me look like I lost a fight with a craft store.”
They sorted through more dresses. Sage rejected each one—too frilly, too traditional, too green, too old-fashioned.
“What do you want?” Iris finally asked, exasperated.
Sage thought about it. “Something that feels like me. Like us. Not just Mitchell tradition.”
“So something with Thorne elements too?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. I just want to feel like myself, not like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s life.”
Iris studied her for a moment. Then she smiled. “I have an idea. Come with me.”
She led Sage to the estate’s seamstress, a witch named Coralie who’d been making coven robes for decades.
“Sage needs a bonding dress,” Iris announced. “But not traditional. Something unique. Something that represents both covens.”
Coralie’s eyes lit up. “A Mitchell-Thorne blend? Oh, that’s a challenge. I love a challenge.”
She circled Sage, taking measurements and muttering to herself.
“Green and purple,” she said. “Earth and shadow. But not competing—complementing. Flowing fabric for Mitchell earth magic, structured elements for Thorne discipline. Simple lines so the bond marks show. Yes, yes, I can work with this.”
“When do you need it by?” Sage asked.
“The ceremony is in five days. I’ll have it ready in three. Come back for a fitting.”
Sage left feeling lighter. One problem solved.
She found Thorne at the Thorne estate, in a similar state of dress-related panic.
“They want me in full formal robes,” he said, gesturing to a monstrosity of purple fabric and silver buttons. “I’ll look like a deranged eggplant.”
Sage couldn’t help it—she laughed.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
Thorne pulled her close, and despite his frustration, she felt his amusement through the bond.
“We’re a disaster,” he said.
“We’re having our own clothes made. Mine will be green and purple. Yours should match.”
“You’re having a custom dress made?”
“Coralie from my coven. She’s brilliant. I bet she could design something for you too.”
“Would she? I’m a Thorne.”
“You’re also half of the bond that saved everyone. I think she’ll make an exception.”
They went to Coralie together, and she was delighted by the challenge.
“A matched set!” she exclaimed. “Him in purple and green, you in green and purple. Perfect symmetry while being individuals. Oh, this will be beautiful.”
Over the next few days, Sage and Thorne were pulled in a dozen directions.
Venue planning—they chose the Council chambers, neutral ground that belonged to neither family.
Guest lists—both entire covens plus Council members. Over two hundred witches.
Vows—they wrote them separately, wanting to surprise each other.
Food—a collaborative effort between Mitchell and Thorne coven chefs that resulted in three tasting sessions and more diplomatic negotiations than the actual peace treaty.
Flowers—Sage insisted on growing them herself using magic. The garden behind the cabin exploded with blooms overnight.
Music—traditional Mitchell instruments and Thorne chanting, somehow blended into something that didn’t make everyone’s ears bleed.
Through it all, Elder Mitchell and Thorne’s father circled each other like wary predators, trying to cooperate without actually admitting they were cooperating.
“Your father’s stubborn,” Sage told Thorne after one particularly tense planning meeting.
“So’s your grandmother.”
“They’re perfect for each other. We should bond them next.”
Thorne choked on his coffee. “That’s terrifying. Never say that again.”
But Sage noticed—the families were talking. Not warmly, not like old friends. But talking.
Younger members were actually making connections. Her cousin was chatting with Thorne’s cousin Rowan. Iris had struck up a conversation with Thorne’s aunt Lydia about protection wards.
Small steps.
But steps nonetheless.
Three days before the ceremony, Sage and Iris returned to Coralie for the final fitting.
The dress was perfect.
Deep forest green fabric that flowed like water, with purple embroidery climbing up from the hem like shadow vines. The neckline was simple, showing the bond marks clearly. The sleeves were sheer, allowing more of the marks to be visible.
“It’s beautiful,” Sage breathed.
“You’re beautiful in it,” Iris corrected, tears in her eyes. “Thorne’s not going to know what hit him.”
“You haven’t seen his outfit yet.”
“If it’s half as good as this, you’re both going to be stunning.”
Sage studied herself in the mirror. The dress felt right—not too Mitchell, not too Thorne. Just balanced. Just them.
“I’m really doing this,” she said quietly.
“Getting bonded? Yes, you are.”
“No, I mean—changing everything. Ending the feud. Starting something new.”
Iris came to stand beside her. “You’re scared.”
“Terrified. What if it doesn’t work? What if the families can’t actually coexist and we’ve bonded ourselves together for nothing?”
“Then you have each other. That’s not nothing.”
“But the families—”
“Will figure it out or they won’t. You can’t control that, Sage. All you can control is you and Thorne. And from where I’m standing, that’s going pretty well.”
Sage touched the bond marks on her arm, feeling Thorne’s presence in the back of her mind. He was with Rowan, being fitted for his own outfit, feeling nervous about something.
Everything okay? she thought at him.
Rowan’s trying to convince me to wear a flower crown. Send help.
Wear the crown. I bet you’ll look cute.
I will absolutely not look cute. I’ll look ridiculous.
Ridiculously cute.
I hate you.
No you don’t.
No, I don’t.
Sage smiled, and Iris noticed.
“Talking to him through the bond?”
“How did you know?”
“You get this look. Like you’re somewhere else. Somewhere happy.”
“I am happy. Even with all the stress and planning and family drama. I’m happy.”
“Good. You deserve to be happy.”
Sage hugged her sister tight. “Thank you. For supporting this. For not telling me I was crazy for bonding with a Thorne.”
“Oh, I definitely thought you were crazy. But I also thought you were brave. And right. And exactly what both families needed.”
“No pressure then.”
“None at all. Just, you know, ending a hundred-year feud and reshaping supernatural politics. Totally casual.”
Sage laughed. “When you put it like that, it sounds insane.”
“It is insane. But it’s the best kind of insane.”
Two days before the ceremony, both families gathered at the Council chambers for a rehearsal.
It was awkward.
Mitchells on one side, Thornes on the other, a very visible line down the middle of the room.
“We’re supposed to be blending the families,” Sage muttered to Thorne.
“Give them time. A week ago, they thought we were enemies. Now they’re in the same room without hexing each other. That’s progress.”
The rehearsal itself went smoothly. Sage and Thorne would enter from opposite sides, meet in the middle, exchange vows, and complete the ceremonial binding that would publicly acknowledge their bond to both covens.
Simple in theory.
In practice, Elder Mitchell and Thorne’s father argued about every detail.
“The vows should be spoken in the traditional Mitchell format,” her grandmother insisted.
“Thorne vows are recited, not spoken,” his father countered.
“Both,” Sage said loudly. “We’ll do both. I’ll speak mine, Thorne will recite his. Problem solved.”
They glared at her.
“Or we could elope,” she added cheerfully. “Just bond in private and tell you all about it later.”
“You wouldn’t,” Elder Mitchell said.
Sage smiled sweetly. “Try me.”
Her grandmother actually smiled back. “You’re more Thorne than you want to admit. Stubborn to the core.”
“And you’re more stubborn than I’ll ever be. Wonder where I get it from.”
After the rehearsal, as people were leaving, Elder Mitchell pulled Sage aside.
“Your grandfather would have loved this,” she said quietly.
“The bonding ceremony?”
“The peace. The bridge you’re building between families. He always said the feud would end when someone was brave enough to choose love over hate. I think he would’ve liked Thorne.”
“You like Thorne.”
“I’m getting there. He’s stubborn and protective and entirely too clever. Reminds me of you.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about him.”
“Don’t expect me to repeat it.” But her grandmother’s eyes were warm. “I’m proud of you, Sage. Even when I don’t understand your choices, I’m proud of who you’ve become.”
Tears pricked Sage’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“Now go. You have a bonding ceremony in two days. Get some rest.”
Sage found Thorne waiting by the truck.
“Your grandmother looked happy,” he observed.
“She approves. Of us. Of the bond.”
“My father does too. He told me earlier. Said I chose well.”
They climbed into the truck, and Thorne drove them back to the cabin in comfortable silence.
Two days.
Forty-eight hours until they stood in front of everyone they loved and declared their bond publicly.
Until the Mitchell and Thorne covens officially acknowledged that two of their own had chosen each other.
Until everything changed.
“Nervous?” Thorne asked as they pulled up to the cabin.
“Completely. You?”
“Terrified.”
“Want to run away together? Fake our deaths, start over in a different country?”
“Tempting. But I actually want this. The ceremony, the families watching, all of it. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
“Possessive much?”
“Only about you.”
Sage kissed him. “Good. Because you’re mine too.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
Two more days.
And then the real adventure would begin.
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