The witch who accidentally cursed a prince

The village square smelled like yeast and fresh herbs, even though the morning was cold. Lina stood near the small magical testing post with her sleeves rolled up, flour dust on her apron, and a shield charm wand that looked like a wooden spoon. “Don’t overthink,” she told herself. “It’s just a basic protection test.” Her voice came out too fast, like she was apologizing to the air.

A crowd had gathered in a half circle. People held bowls of water and cut pieces of chalk, like they were ready to prove witchcraft was either real or ridiculous. Ottilie, her thick cookbook, had been tucked under Lina’s arm, pages fluttering as if it had nerves of its own. Lina kept hearing her own teacher’s words in her head: heat first, intent second, words last.

“Next!” called the village tester, an older woman with a silver pin in her hair. “Shield charm. One minute of cooking heat. One sentence of intent. Then we see if the wall holds.” She pointed at the little iron pot on the table beside Lina. It was already filled with water, and a small dish of cinnamon and sugar sat next to it like an insult.