You May Now Bite the Bride (Witchfully Wed #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

ELIZABETH

BEFORE

Elizabeth Miranda Moonwhisper Thornwick was finally about to enjoy a nice bowl of stew without interruptions, explosions, or unexpected omens when the messenger sprite arrived.

She sat at the oak table dominating the center of her kitchen, her emerald gown glistening in the hearth’s golden light.

Bundles of herbs hung from the rafters, and the scents of lavender, rosemary, and moonbell filled the air with floral-earthy perfume and the very distracting scent of her bubbling stew. Her belly rumbled.

Silver trinkets and polished copper pots gleamed from multiple shelves, while tall windows showed the sprawling manor gardens outside the estate where she’d been born and she assumed she’d one day die. Not too soon, however. She had so much she still wanted to do.

Her tabby cat companion, Grimble rouses from where he sat on a windowsill, his tail twitching. Something is— His thought sent to her was interrupted.

A tiny sprite zipped through her open window in a blur of light, leaving a trail of sparks that spelled out symbols in the air before fading. Elizabeth caught the sprite gently, and it flickered before settling on her lifted palm with a heavy sigh.

“A message from the witchy council,” the sprite said in a voice like tinkling bells.

“The magical barrier is weakening in the outer territories. Crops in the vicinity are failing, and healing spells are sputtering. The old wards are breaking down and if not repaired soon, we risk not only exposure to the nonmagical world but the bleed of the very power sustaining our world.”

“Oh dear. That’s terrible news. Hold on, my stew’s boiling over. Can’t save the world if my meal burns.”

The sprite blinked, clearly debating whether to continue the apocalyptic report or give her time to rescue her dinner.

A flick of her hand cut the flames beneath the pot. It would be cool enough to serve soon.

So, magic was failing, and the boundary barriers were weakening?

She’d suspected as much. Her self-stirring spoon had been sluggish for weeks, and last night her broom refused to sweep until she bribed it with a splash of potion polish. Honestly, the household magic was becoming as temperamental as a council meeting on a full moon.

“They estimate we only have a year before the wards collapse,” the sprite squeaked. “The council hopes you have a solution.”

“Me?” she sputtered. But then she started thinking. “What about romantic bonds? There’s nothing more uplifting than love matches.”

“They didn’t say they were hoping for a romantic—”

“Nonsense. Romance makes everything better. Do they have any suggestions of their own?”

“No.”

“Then romance it’ll have to be. Thank you, little one.”

The sprite darted back into the night.

Elizabeth remained still for a moment, her stew forgotten, as the weight of the message settled over her.

Magic was crumbling, the wards were collapsing, and honestly, the state of her granddaughters’ love lives was even worse.

What to do?

If the wards failed, their world would be as protected as a pixie at a vampire banquet. The magical creatures who’d thrived here for ages would see their powers fade into nothing more than folktales.

Healing magics would fall first, followed by the everyday enchantments that made life such a joy for her people. Eventually, the barrier between their worlds would dissolve completely, leaving everyone creatures of magic with no magic left to protect them.

Elizabeth twitched at the thought. Their entire civilization could collapse. Everything they were and everything they’d built over centuries might fade away like morning mist under a harsh sun.

That would never do.

“Could matches between witches and our monster communities restore the balance?” she asked softly, frowning at her clasped hands lying on the wooden table.

Grimble’s silver fur bristled. The enormous cat’s eyes, as green as spring leaves, fixed on her. His tail swished back and forth. You’re contemplating meddling, he said in her mind, the only way companions could communicate.

She, naturally, could speak her thoughts and he’d understand. “Meddling is such an unkind word. This would be facilitating destiny.”

With rosemary and emotional blackmail.

“Exactly.” She beamed. “And perhaps a dash of nutmeg for charm. I cannot ask others to do what our family should do first.”

Oh, dear, Grimble said. Their arranged marriages won’t just be about tradition anymore, will they?

He meant her granddaughters of course. Normally, this was a task reserved for the elders. But they deserved only the best matches, and who but Elizabeth could make sure that happened?

“You’re right.” She stood and rushed to the butcher block counter and started pulling jars of rare ingredients from her highest shelf. “To restore the wards, we need to create unity between the monster and witchy communities. What creates stronger unity than love?”

Elizabeth began adding moonflower petals to the pot she placed on the stove.

A flick of her finger, and the burner lit, flames licking along the bottom of the pot.

“These are my granddaughters. I raised them after they lost their parents. I won’t see them married to anyone except their perfect match.

” Her frown grew. “Cyrene first, I think, though she’s been resistant to the idea of marrying anyone.

I have no idea why. Everyone welcomes the chance to meet their fates’ given mate. ”

Just not Cyrene.

Time for emergency matchmaking, then, Grimble said.

“Indeed.”

The wooden spoon stirred faster under her magical command as Elizabeth added clarity root and truth sage to her potion. Steam began to swirl upward in patterns that would have looked like random wisps to anyone but her.

“This is vital, Grimble. I’ll insist on quick unions, of course, though I won’t be able to explain why.”

Elizabeth leaned closer to the steam, studying it. To her experienced eyes, the steam told stories of possible futures. Few witches possessed this particular gift of divination through cooking. Why stare into a boring crystal ball when one could season destiny with salt and sage?

Tonight, she would cook up not only romantic salvation for her most stubborn granddaughter, but the magical salvation of their entire world.

Find the right match, and he’ll fall, Grimble said. Your granddaughters are as lovely as you. Cyrene especially, with that gorgeous hair of hers.

Elizabeth chuckled, her gown rustling as she reached up to touch the elegant silver coil pinned at the nape of her neck.

A few strands had escaped their pins and dangled across her shoulders.

“You flatter me, old friend. Though my hair was once that same mahogany brown shade as Cyrene’s.

” She tucked the loose pieces back into place, her wrinkled hands showing her age and years of magical work.

Grimble settled himself on the windowsill with a sigh.

His bones were getting old, like Elizabeth’s, though he was still spry enough in his own mind.

Are you sure about matching her first, rather than one of her more pliable sisters?

She has a drake companion, which is not only unusual but could prove a problem for some monsters.

“Cyrene needs a match who can appreciate her light, and the sooner, the better,” Elizabeth said. “She’s been dimming herself, and I can’t determine why.” She whispered an incantation and waved toward the pot. “Maybe I’ll find the answer here.”

The steam shifted, and images began to form.

Ah. A young vampire prince who’d taken over after his parents’ death and cleaned up their mess admirably. Tall. Muscular. Handsome, if a touch brooding. That, however, could be corrected with the right love match.

Staring at him a bit long, aren’t you? Amusement came through in Grimble’s voice.

Elizabeth fanned herself with her hand and pursed her lips. “I’m studying him for research purposes only.”

The vision expanded, showing the vampire’s domain, a somber castle constructed ages ago from dark stone.

Since the prince had been crowned king, the vampire kingdom’s traditions had calcified into rigid customs. Serious-faced vampires in formal attire glided through shadowy corridors.

Their council was so focused on decorum and propriety that they’d forgotten how to celebrate life’s simple joys.

Elizabeth nodded. This vampire king would be the perfect match for Cyrene’s natural exuberance and warmth.

Her granddaughter would transform that gloomy fortress with her sunshine nature, bringing light to dark corners and coaxing smiles from its stone-faced council.

These vampires needed Cyrene’s joy magic just as much as their king did.

“Excellent,” Elizabeth said, easing back from the stove. “A vampire king who needs joy, and a witch who creates it. Really, sometimes the universe makes this too easy.”

Grabbing more jars from the shelf, she added rosemary for remembrance. She nearly dropped her stirring spoon spell when she spied what the steam revealed next.

“Oh my stars.” She leaned closer, watching misty figures dance through a scene from six years ago. The steam formed into shapes more vivid than any she’d seen before, as though the memory itself insisted on being brought to the surface.

A magical festival beneath autumn trees.

A handsome vampire prince with lighter eyes than most of his kind, disguised as a wizard, sneaking away from his royal duties.

Cyrene, younger but with that radiant smile that no longer shone on her face, selling glowing memory lanterns from a booth draped in colorful silks.

He saw her and was unable to resist approaching.