Chapter 1: Banned from the Market Again
Sabrina Thorne had two rules when it came to mixing potions in public:
1. Never test a love elixir on a noble.
2. Always bring backup underwear.
Unfortunately, she’d broken both before lunch.
The potion stand she’d borrowed—technically “commandeered” while its previous owner was off chasing a cursed frog—was already sagging under the weight of questionable flasks and unlabelled vials. At least three were vibrating. One had begun to purr.
Sabrina, naturally, was thriving.
“Try the new blend!” she called out, holding up a vial of pink shimmer. “Makes your kisses sweeter, your moans louder, and your regrets temporary!”
A nervous dryad approached, blushing. “Does it work on wood?”
Sabrina winked. “It’ll work on anything with a pulse. Or bark. I don’t judge.”
Business boomed—until Lord Tempest showed up.
Dressed in noble garb and dripping with disdain, he stalked through the market like a storm given legs. Rumor had it he was the Fae King’s enforcer, a war mage with a temper and a sword made from lightning itself. Most people cleared a path when he arrived.
Sabrina? She offered him a free sample.
He’d barely sipped the truth serum—mistaking it for a confidence draught—before he blurted, at full volume:
“I’ve fantasized about marrying my brother and letting him ride me like a centaur in heat!”
The market went still. Like… magically, cosmically still. Even the enchanted duck stopped mid-waddle and stared.
Sabrina blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… bold.”
Then the nobles screamed. Tempest’s face turned a stunning shade of crimson. His magic surged like a thunderclap. And someone yelled, “Get the witch!”
She’d barely had time to grab her satchel before the guards swarmed. One even threw a net—enchanted, of course. She’d tripped, landed in a barrel of lustroot oil, and slipped three more times before they caught her.
Not her finest moment.
⸻
Now she stood at the edge of the fae borderlands—alone, oily, and deeply unamused. Her satchel was gone. Her record was stained. And her magically sealed ankle cuff shimmered like a smug little snitch every time she thought about running.
The guard beside her yawned. “You know, most people beg not to be sent here.”
Sabrina scoffed. “Most people don’t have my track record with dignity.”
He opened the rusty iron gate. It let out a tortured squeal, revealing a crooked forest path ahead—lined with weeping trees, glowing mushrooms, and one very judgmental crow perched on a sign that read:
“Welcome to the Borderlands. Behave.”
Sabrina adjusted her belt and marched forward. “How bad can it be?”
⸻
The cottage looked like a sneeze.
Moss-covered, slanted, and inexplicably damp in places it shouldn’t be. Vines clung to the roof like they’d lost the will to strangle it halfway through. A small gargoyle over the doorway stuck out its tongue when she approached.
“Charming,” she muttered. “I’ve lived in worse.”
She pushed the door open—
—and walked straight into a wall of muscle.
Well, not a wall. A man. A fae.
Lord Tempest.
He stood barefoot in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned halfway, a faint trail of moisture clinging to his collarbone like he’d just come from a very aggressive rainstorm. Or a rage bath. Probably both.
His silver eyes narrowed. “You.”
She blinked. “Oh gods. You’re that Lord Tempest?”
“You hexed my cock.”
There was no heat to his tone. Just pure, simmering hatred—and embarrassment. Which only made it funnier.
“I mean,” she said, tilting her head, “you drank a mislabeled potion. Technically that makes you the lab rat.”
“It swelled like a second arm.”
“In front of diplomats,” she added helpfully. “You forgot that part.”
Tempest’s jaw ticked. “Why are you here?”
She stepped around him, ignoring the static buzz that shot up her spine when their arms brushed. “I live here. Council sentence. Something-something reform and shared magical responsibility. Fun, right?”
He grabbed a scroll from the table and thrust it in her direction. It glowed ominously.
“In light of mutual magical misconduct, you are hereby sentenced to shared cohabitation in a controlled magical environment. Success requires tolerance, cooperation, and ideally, a dampening of sexual tension.”
Sabrina snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“No, you look like you haven’t smiled since birth.”
Then the scroll flashed. Magic sparked through the air like flint on stone.
Snap.
A glowing band of gold and pink light wrapped around their wrists, linking them in a pulsing magical tether. It felt… warm. And wrong. And a little too intimate.
Words burned into the ceiling above them in swirling script:
Soul-Knot Activated. Bond remains until magical tension is resolved. Suggested release methods: Emotional breakthrough. Physical intimacy. Or death. Please hydrate.
Sabrina slowly turned to look at him. “Did that spell just tell us to bone or die?”
Tempest didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
His face said everything.
“Well,” she said lightly, “at least we know we’re compatible.”
He yanked at the bond. It stretched a few feet, then zapped him like a naughty puppy.
“Stop fighting it,” she said, brushing past him toward the bedroom. “I’m taking the big bed.”
“It’s a single bed.”
“Then you’d better sleep on the floor, your lordship.”
The tether pulled taut, forcing him to follow. She could feel his body heat behind her—infuriatingly warm, frustratingly close. She paused in the doorway, half-turning toward him.
“If you touch my potions,” she said sweetly, “I’ll turn your cock into a sentient turnip.”
For the first time, he faltered. Not fear. Just… a glimmer of concern. Like maybe he believed her.
Good.
She kicked off her boots and flopped dramatically onto the bed.
The mattress squeaked. Loudly.
Sabrina smiled to herself.
Let the suffering begin.
Author’s Note
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