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Pippa adjusts the flower crown upon her head with shaking hands--anger and fear and uncertainty course through her. Dark kohl smudges her waterline and her lips are painted a breathtaking and enticing red: she looks beautiful and dangerous and perfect.
It is her wedding day and she doesn’t know the person who waits for her at the end of the aisle. She knows Hecate Hardbroom waits for her. But the color of her hair, her favorite tea, her temperament, her interests, her favorite color, her greatest fears, the things she loves most are all mysteries to her.
Her father had simply told her on her twenty-first birthday that the Pentangle family needed political and magical strengthening and that marriage--the oldest tradition of witches and wizards and non-magical people alike--was the quickest way to do so.
“The Hardbroom family is one of the oldest and most ancient houses in our society, little one.” Her father’s eyes had pleaded with her, stroked her hair and begged for her cooperation. “We need this to survive. Their daughter--Hecate--is making quite the name for herself, her magic is unparalleled, and her father agrees. This union between our houses would secure our future.”
With his pleading eyes and his gentle, imploring hands stroking her hands, she could not refuse. That day, her fate was sealed and tied to Hecate Hardbroom.
A knock at the door shakes her and her father’s face peers at her from behind a thick oak door, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, Pippa. You look beautiful.”
She returns his smile and takes one last look at herself in the mirror. For a moment, she wonders what her life could have been if she had been given the choice. Perhaps she would have finally plucked up the courage to approach the dark-haired witch who frequented her favorite teashop--always buried in a book, finger twirling in circles and lazily commanding her teaspoon to stir and swirl her tea. Perhaps she could have been her future.
“Little one?”
She closes her eyes and steels herself, gathering her gown and bouquet in her hands. For the family.
Her father takes her hand in his and presses a kiss to her cheek, a murmured thank you and ready? accompany the squeeze of his hand. She nods, too terrified and nervous to speak, afraid the rolling in her stomach will result in her being ill.
The gentle music swells and filters into the hallway beyond the doors that lead to her future wife. She stands before the doors, her father at her side, and waits to begin her journey to the rest of her life. Pippa wonders what her wife looks like, wonders if she will be kind and open or aloof or cruel or kind or--
She swallows hard, hot tears pricking at the edge of her eyes. For the family, she reminds herself. It’s the only thing that matters.
The music drops to a soft melody and the doors swing open with a twist of her father’s hand and a short aisle strewn with pink and white rose petals winds its way through the Pentangle and Hardbroom families who gathered to witness the union.
Pippa’s eyes, however, are glued to the woman waiting for her beneath the arch. The breath leaves her body and she cannot do anything but stare at the absolute beauty waiting for her. Her father leads her down the aisle, smothering a laugh as Pippa picks up the pace, eager to get a closer look at her future wife.
Riots of dark, wavy hair tumble across Hecate’s shoulders, bright green vines and purple passion flowers interwoven throughout. Dark eyes track her every step, travel over Pippa’s form, and she feels pleasantly warm at the thought of Hecate intrigued by her body. Hecate’s own body--tall and slightly curved and so, so elegant and proud--is encased in a structured, shimmering dark purple gown that catches the light with her movements.
Attraction, she thinks wildly, will not be a problem at least.
The officiant greets Pippa warmly and her father passes her hand to Hecate’s. Cool, slim fingers wrap themselves delicately around Pippa’s, hold them reverently and carefully as if terrified she will break Pippa.
Up close, Pippa can see the true beauty of Hecate: all sharp edges with a soft mouth and softer eyes. There’s something familiar about her and Pippa can’t quite place it--something about the concentration on her face, the set of her mouth and--
“Cackle’s!”
The realization hits her like a ton of bricks and Pippa wants to double over with laughter and shock. Hecate looks startled, hand tightening over Pippa’s. The officiant stops in the middle of his opening ceremony, bewildered. “Miss Pentangle?”
She beams at the officiant and then at Hecate, leaning close. “You’re my witch from Cackle’s Teashop.” Surprise melts into pleasure across Hecate’s face and she nods once, lips twitching.
“I am.”
Pippa shivers at the sound of her voice--deep and velvety and smooth. She strokes her fingers absentmindedly over Hecate’s and the grin has yet to leave her face. Perhaps fate is letting her live the life she dreamed, anyway.
Chai, she thinks to herself. My wife’s favorite tea is chai. I know my wife’s favorite tea. This settles something inside of her, a fear allayed. Hecate had recognized her, too, she’s sure. Hecate had taken notice of her in Cackle’s, as well.
A small cough startles her and she realizes she’s been staring at Hecate with lovestruck eyes for the better part of the last minute. “Miss Pentangle, if you’re ready...”
The officiant looks concerned but Pippa nods at him and returns to Hecate’s face who is staring at her with something akin to wonder and fear. The rest of the ceremony is a blur and she doesn’t quite hear the words being spoken--can only think, breathe, smell, hear, drink in Hecate: the lines around her mouth, the jut of her brow and the top of her lip, the way her dark eyes never leave Pippa’s and her hands never stop holding her own like they are something precious and sacred.
The union ribbon is blessed by the attending Pentangle and Hardbroom family and the fabric glows with pink and green and purple light. It’s handed to Hecate who reverently and slowly wraps it around their joined hands. The magic pulses against her wrist and Pippa gasps in part from the power of the magic and from the feel of Hecate’s fingers against the inside of her wrist.
“With the blessings of their family unifying them, I now ask the witches to declare their intentions. Hecate Hardbroom, do you enter this union willingly and permanently; to love and protect your wife; to welcome her blood as your blood, her life as your life?”
Hecate is meant to say I do so enter this union.
Instead, Hecate stands tall and squares her shoulder, the fabric still pulsing around their joined hands, bright and glowing. “If Pippa so desires it, I do so enter this union.”
Pippa’s heart stutters in her chest and the rush of gratitude she feels at Hecate’s gesture warms her, flushes her cheek. Hecate has given her an out, a way to say no. I will not force your hand. I will not trap you. I will not trap you with me.
She tilts her head and takes the witch in before her: sees the hesitation and uncertainty, the fear, the attraction. This is a witch she wants to know better; a witch she would be proud to be unified with--not just for her family, but for herself. Hecate Hardbroom, she decides, is a woman she wants to know as intimately as possible.
Pippa nods and squeezes their joined hands reassuringly. “I do, Hecate, I do.”
Hecate’s shoulders sag in relief and shock and she nods once, turning to the officiant who waits for the traditional response. “I do so enter this union.”
The same words are repeated to Pippa who doesn’t hesitate with her answer: “I do so enter this union.”
The blessed ribbon that binds their hands explodes into a bright light, pulsing steadily. There are some gasps from the audience at the power of the light emanating from the union ribbon--a sign of a strong bond.
“With the union light bright and the blessings of Merlin and Morgana, I declare the Houses of Pentangle and Hardbroom unified under the bond of marriage.” Pippa’s heartbeat picked up at the words she knew were coming next, the budding bunch of butterflies erupting in her stomach, nerves coiling and rolling into knots.
“You may now kiss the other to seal this marriage for now and all eternity, until death do you part.”
Hecate took a deep breath and shuffled forward, her free hand coming up to softly cup Pippa’s cheek. Her palm is warm and calloused against her skin and Pippa sighs and presses further into her touch, anxious to feel more of her skin against her body, her lips against hers.
Hecate leans in close, lips a hair’s breadth apart, eyes dark and dangerous and beautiful. “May I, Pippa?”
Even now, Hecate asks for her permission at every turn and Pippa will have to learn about her new wife: about her tendency to second-guess herself, her uncertainty that anyone could desire her, her terror of being left behind.
But for now, all she can do is nod shakily and murmur, “Yes.”
The lips that press against hers are dry and chapped, soft and gentle and achingly tender. Pippa feels that Hecate kisses her with purpose and promise: To love and protect.
She returns the kiss with the same promise: To love and protect. Heat and magic rushes through her and the union ribbon, once loosely wrapped around their wrists, tightens almost painfully, causing them both to gasp into the kiss.
Power surges through Pippa and her magic sizzles and sparks at her fingertips before turning inwards and curling around her heart and spine, strengthening her, filling her with power and love and heat and then--
And then a new power: dark and sly and coy and immensely powerful filters in on the edges of her magic and somehow Pippa knows this is Hecate’s magic. Hecate’s magic lending itself to Pippa’s magic, merging seamlessly with the brightness of her own power.
The crowd and the officiant and the wedding all fade away. All Pippa can feel is Hecate: her power, her kiss, her body, her hands in her hair, her magic wrapping itself around Pippa’s and providing a cushion against the rest of the world. Love and protect.
When at last the ribbon loosens from their wrists, Hecate breaks the kiss, eyes wide and panting slightly, her hand--once on Pippa’s cheek--now buried into her hair and tangling with the flower crown there.
“Hi,” Pippa says breathlessly, still feeling Hecate’s magic deep within her, settling somewhere at the base of her spine.
Hecate grins at this and brings their joined hands to her lips, pressing another kiss to the place where their wrists and bonding ribbon press together.
“Hello,” she murmurs.
It’s their first words said as wife and wife and it becomes their greeting throughout the rest of their lives--the morning after, the words muttered at the end of a long day, the words that are loaned to the other in times of strength and sadness and happiness.
Their union is recorded as one of the most powerful--one of the strongest--in magical history. Few pairings have their magic bonded as well as their hearts and houses, but Pippa and Hecate find that together they can do anything.
It is later, when Pippa and Hecate spin around on the dance floor of their reception that Pippa realizes she no longer is scared of the unknown. Instead, everything about Hecate intrigues her and finding out her fears, her dreams, her favorite color, her favorite animal, her everything, will be their first adventure.
Together.