Salem: The Weight of the Crown
The grand throne room of the Witch's Council gleamed with ethereal light, its vaulted ceilings decorated with constellations that moved and shifted according to the cosmic alignments. Sabrina Spellman—no, Sabrina Saberhagen now, she reminded herself with a private smile—sat upon the obsidian throne that had been passed down through generations of the most powerful witches in the Other Realm. Her blonde hair was longer now, cascading past her shoulders in elegant waves, and she wore robes of deep purple trimmed with silver thread that sparkled like starlight.
But the throne, magnificent as it was, felt incomplete without its most important occupant.
"Salem!" Sabrina called out, her voice echoing through the cavernous chamber. "The delegation from the Northern Covens will be here any minute!"
A distant, muffled voice responded from somewhere deep within the palace. "I'm coming, I'm coming! Though I don't see why I have to attend every single boring political meeting. I'm the King! Shouldn't I be able to delegate my delegating?"
Sabrina suppressed a laugh as she heard the telltale sounds of her husband making his way toward the throne room—the soft padding of paws, the occasional grunt of effort, and the swish of expensive fabric dragging across marble floors. A moment later, Salem appeared in the doorway, and Sabrina's heart did its familiar flutter.
Salem Saberhagen, former warlock, eternal schemer, and now King Consort of the Witch's Council, was a sight to behold. The black cat who had once been sleek and agile now waddled into the room with considerable effort, his rotund body swaying with each labored step. His belly, magnificently round and full, hung low enough to nearly brush the ground, forcing him to walk with his legs splayed outward. His face had grown pleasantly plump, with full cheeks that gave him an almost cherubic appearance, though his golden eyes still held that familiar glint of mischief and superiority.
The royal robes he wore—deep crimson velvet with gold embroidery depicting various symbols of power—strained across his expansive middle, the fabric pulling taut over his rounded sides. The garment had been specially commissioned just three weeks ago, and already it was showing signs of being too small. The golden clasps at his chest struggled to remain fastened, and there was a visible gap where his black-furred belly peeked through.
"Salem, sweetheart," Sabrina said, rising from her throne and hurrying toward him, "those robes are getting tight again. We'll need to call the royal tailor."
"Again?" Salem huffed, pausing to catch his breath after his arduous journey across the throne room. "That's the third time this month! That tailor is either incompetent or deliberately making them too small. I should have him banished to the Nether Realm for his insolence."
"Or," Sabrina said, kneeling down and running her hands along Salem's plush sides, feeling the soft give of his well-fed body beneath the velvet, "you could stop eating an entire roasted turkey at midnight snacks."
Salem's whiskers twitched indignantly. "I am the King! If I want a midnight turkey, I shall have a midnight turkey. Besides, you're the one who keeps having the kitchen staff prepare them for me."
He had her there. Sabrina couldn't help herself—she loved spoiling Salem, loved seeing him satisfied and content, loved the way his body had grown soft and heavy with her affection. She ran her hands over his round belly, feeling it gurgle contentedly beneath her touch.
"You're right, of course," she said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head between his ears. "Now, shall I carry you to the throne? The delegation will be here any moment."
"Well, obviously," Salem said, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "I can't be expected to walk all that way. It must be at least fifty feet! I'd be exhausted before the meeting even started."
Sabrina smiled and scooped Salem up into her arms, grunting slightly with the effort. He had to weigh at least forty pounds now, possibly more—a far cry from the svelte fifteen-pound cat he'd been when she first met him all those years ago. His weight settled heavily against her chest, his belly draping over her arm, warm and soft. She loved the heft of him, the substantial presence of her husband in her arms.
"Comfortable?" she asked, adjusting her grip to better support his bulk.
"Mmm, quite," Salem purred, nuzzling against her neck. "Though you could stand to hold me a bit tighter. I like feeling secure."
Sabrina obliged, squeezing him closer, her fingers sinking into his plush sides. Salem's purr deepened, rumbling through his entire body. Despite his constant demands and selfish nature, these moments of genuine affection were what made Sabrina's heart sing. Beneath all the bluster and greed, Salem truly loved her, and she loved him right back—every spoiled, lazy, magnificently fat inch of him.
She carried him to the throne and settled into it, arranging Salem on her lap. He immediately sprawled across her, taking up as much space as possible, his considerable bulk spilling over her legs and onto the armrests. His tail, which had also grown noticeably thicker, draped over the side of the throne like a luxurious fur stole.
"Where's my crown?" Salem demanded, looking around imperiously.
"Right here, Your Majesty," came a timid voice. A young witch apprentice hurried forward, carrying a velvet cushion upon which rested Salem's crown—a ridiculously ornate creation of gold and platinum, encrusted with rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds. It was so heavy that when placed on Salem's head, it made his neck sink slightly into his plump shoulders.
"Ah, yes, perfect," Salem said, settling the crown at a jaunty angle. "Now I look properly regal."
Sabrina bit her lip to keep from laughing. Salem looked absolutely absurd and absolutely adorable—a rotund black cat wearing a crown that probably cost more than a small kingdom, sprawled across her lap like the world's most spoiled pet. But he was her spoiled pet, her husband, her king, and she wouldn't have him any other way.
The doors to the throne room opened, and the delegation from the Northern Covens entered—three stern-looking witches in traditional gray robes, their faces set in expressions of serious purpose.
"Your Majesty," the lead witch said, bowing deeply to Sabrina before giving a slightly less deep bow to Salem. "We come to discuss the matter of the territorial disputes along the—"
"Yes, yes, territorial disputes, very important," Salem interrupted, waving a paw dismissively. "Sabrina will handle all of that. I'm just here to look impressive and remind everyone who's in charge."
The lead witch's eye twitched slightly. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Sabrina stroked Salem's back soothingly, feeling the rolls of fat that had accumulated along his spine. "Please, continue. Tell me about these territorial disputes."
As the witches launched into a detailed explanation of boundary disagreements and resource allocation, Salem yawned widely, showing all his teeth, and then proceeded to groom himself, completely unconcerned with the political matters at hand. Sabrina listened attentively, asking pertinent questions and proposing solutions, all while absently petting Salem's plush body.
Her fingers traced the curve of his belly, feeling how it had grown and expanded over the months since their wedding. She remembered the day she'd proposed to him—well, technically, he'd proposed to her, but only after she'd dropped about a thousand hints that she wanted to marry him. Salem had been hesitant at first, worried about what it would mean for a former warlock trapped in a cat's body to marry the Queen of the Witches. But Sabrina had been insistent. She loved Salem—had loved him since she was a teenager, though it had taken her years to fully understand and accept those feelings. And Salem had always wanted absolute power. He now had an approximation of that, being married to the most power witch in the world.
The wedding had been a spectacle, naturally. Salem had insisted on it. He'd worn a custom-made tuxedo (already straining at the seams even then) and had demanded that the ceremony be conducted in the grandest hall in the Other Realm, with every important witch and warlock in attendance. He'd wanted everyone to see that Salem Saberhagen, despite his past mistakes and his feline form, had achieved the ultimate status: King Consort to the most powerful witch in existence.
And Sabrina had given him everything he wanted, because seeing Salem happy made her happy. She'd also discovered, somewhat to her surprise, that she found his increasingly demanding and lazy nature endearing rather than annoying. When Salem insisted she feed him by hand because he was "too exhausted from all his kingly duties" (which consisted primarily of napping and ordering servants around), she found it charming. When he demanded she carry him everywhere because walking was "beneath his station," she was delighted to scoop him up and feel his weight in her arms.
And when his body had begun to expand from all the rich foods and constant pampering, when his sleek form had given way to soft curves and plush rolls, Sabrina had found herself increasingly attracted to him. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing Salem so well-fed, so content, so thoroughly spoiled. Every pound he gained was a testament to her love and devotion, and she made sure he gained plenty.
"Your Majesty?" one of the witches said, pulling Sabrina from her thoughts. "What do you think of our proposal?"
"I think it's fair," Sabrina said, having actually been paying attention despite her wandering thoughts. "We'll establish the boundary at the River of Shadows, with shared access to the crystal mines. Both covens will benefit equally from the resources."
The witches nodded, looking satisfied. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Your wisdom is—"
"Is there anything to eat?" Salem interrupted, lifting his head from where he'd been resting it against Sabrina's chest. "All this political discourse has made me famished."
Sabrina smiled and gestured to a servant, who quickly brought forward a silver platter laden with delicacies—smoked salmon, roasted quail, aged cheeses, and candied fruits. Salem's eyes lit up with greedy delight.
"Finally! Some proper treatment for royalty," he said, eyeing the platter hungrily.
"Would you like me to feed you?" Sabrina asked, already knowing the answer.
"Well, I certainly can't be expected to feed myself during an official state meeting," Salem said haughtily. "It would be undignified. Besides, you do it so much better than I could."
The Northern Coven witches exchanged glances but said nothing. Everyone in the Other Realm had learned that Salem's peculiar relationship with Queen Sabrina was simply how things were. Those who had initially mocked or questioned it had quickly learned that Sabrina would tolerate no disrespect toward her husband, regardless of his form or his behavior.
Sabrina picked up a piece of salmon and held it to Salem's mouth. He took it delicately, chewing with obvious pleasure, his eyes half-closing in contentment. She fed him another piece, then another, watching with satisfaction as he ate. His belly, already prominent, pressed more firmly against her as it filled with food.
"Mmm, delicious," Salem purred between bites. "Though I think I'll need at least three more platters. Maybe four. Being King is hungry work."
"Of course, darling," Sabrina said, signaling for more food. She turned back to the witches. "Is there anything else you need to discuss?"
The lead witch cleared her throat. "Actually, Your Majesty, there is one more matter. The Southern Covens have requested an audience regarding the upcoming Celestial Alignment ceremony. They believe they should have a more prominent role in the proceedings."
Salem snorted, spraying a few crumbs. "The Southern Covens? Those upstarts? Tell them they're lucky to be invited at all. In fact, tell them that if they don't like their role, they can stay home. We don't need them."
"Salem," Sabrina said gently, scratching behind his ears in the way that always calmed him down. "We should at least hear what they have to say."
"Fine, fine," Salem grumbled, mollified by the ear scratching. "But only because you asked. And only if there's more food at that meeting too."
"There will be plenty of food," Sabrina assured him, continuing to feed him pieces of salmon and cheese. "When have I ever let you go hungry?"
"Never," Salem admitted, his voice softening. "You take such good care of me, Sabrina. Even when I don't deserve it."
It was moments like these, these brief flashes of vulnerability and genuine affection, that reminded Sabrina why she loved Salem so much. Beneath the greed and selfishness was a warlock who had been alone for so long, who had been punished and isolated, and who had finally found someone who loved him unconditionally.
"You always deserve it," Sabrina whispered, kissing the top of his head.
The Northern Coven witches, sensing that the meeting was concluding, bowed and took their leave. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Salem let out a long sigh and relaxed completely, his body going limp in Sabrina's arms.
"Thank the Dark Lord that's over," he said. "Politics are so tedious. I don't know how you stand it."
"Someone has to actually run the kingdom," Sabrina teased, running her hands over his distended belly. He'd eaten quite a bit during the meeting, and his stomach was now even more prominent than before, tight and round beneath her touch.
"That's what I have you for," Salem said smugly. "You handle all the boring administrative stuff, and I provide the gravitas and royal presence."
"Is that what you call it?" Sabrina laughed, squeezing his plush sides. "Gravitas?"
"Absolutely. I am an imposing figure. People respect me. Fear me, even."
"They think you're adorable."
"They do not!"
"Salem, last week, the Ambassador from the Eastern Realms called you 'pleasantly plump' and tried to pet you."
"That was a gross violation of protocol! I should have had him executed!"
"You purred when he scratched your chin."
Salem's ears flattened against his head. "I did no such thing. That was... a diplomatic purr. To make him feel welcome."
Sabrina laughed and hugged Salem tightly, burying her face in his soft fur. He smelled like expensive oils and the salmon he'd just eaten, and she loved it. She loved everything about him—his ridiculous pride, his shameless greed, his complete lack of interest in actual work, and especially his wonderfully fat body that she got to hold and squeeze whenever she wanted.
"Come on," she said, standing up with Salem still in her arms. "Let's go to our chambers. You need a nap after all that exhausting sitting."
"Finally, someone recognizes how hard I work," Salem said, settling more comfortably in her arms. "And while we're there, perhaps you could give me a proper massage. My back is sore from maintaining such perfect posture during the meeting."
"You were slouched the entire time."
"Exactly! Slouching properly requires tremendous muscular control."
Sabrina carried Salem through the palace corridors, nodding to servants and officials as they passed. Everyone had grown accustomed to the sight of their Queen carrying her corpulent cat husband everywhere. Some found it endearing, others found it bizarre, but no one dared comment on it. Sabrina was a fair and noble ruler, but she was fiercely protective of her tubby hubby.
Their private chambers were lavish, decorated in rich purples and golds, with a massive four-poster bed that dominated the room. Sabrina set Salem down on the bed, where he immediately sprawled out, his belly spreading across the silk sheets.
"Ah, much better," he sighed. "Now, about that massage..."
Sabrina climbed onto the bed beside him and began to knead his shoulders, working her way down his back. Salem purred loudly, the sound rumbling through the room. Her hands traveled over his body, feeling every roll and curve, every soft inch of him. She loved how much of him there was now, how substantial he felt beneath her touch.
"You know," Salem said drowsily, "I've been thinking. We should throw a feast. A grand celebration of our reign. With at least twenty courses. Maybe thirty."
"Any particular reason for this feast?" Sabrina asked, her hands moving to his sides, squeezing gently.
"Do I need a reason? I'm the King. If I want a feast, we have a feast."
"Of course," Sabrina said, smiling. "Though I suspect the real reason is that you want to eat for several hours straight without anyone judging you."
"That's just a pleasant side benefit," Salem said. "The main reason is to demonstrate our power and prosperity. And also to eat for several hours straight without anyone judging me."
Sabrina laughed and continued her massage, working her way down to Salem's lower back and then to his haunches, which had grown considerably thicker over the months. His legs, once slender and agile, were now plump and soft, making it difficult for him to jump or climb. Not that he ever tried anymore—why would he, when Sabrina was always there to lift him wherever he needed to go?
"Sabrina?" Salem said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
"Yes?"
"Do you ever... regret this? Marrying me, I mean. I know I'm not exactly the ideal husband. I'm lazy, selfish, demanding, and I'm stuck in the body of a cat. You could have married any powerful warlock in the realm. Someone who could actually help you rule, who could stand beside you as an equal."
Sabrina's hands stilled on his back. She moved around to face him, looking into his golden eyes. "Salem Saberhagen, you listen to me. You are exactly the husband I want. I don't care that you're lazy—I like taking care of you. I don't care that you're selfish—I love spoiling you. I don't care that you're demanding—I love giving you everything you ask for. And I especially don't care that you're a cat. I think you're the most handsome, wonderful, perfect cat in all the realms."
Salem's eyes glistened slightly. "Even though I'm... well, rather large now?"
"Especially because of that," Sabrina said firmly. "Salem, do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a warlock who trusts me enough to be completely vulnerable, who lets me take care of him, who isn't afraid to ask for what he wants. Every pound you've gained is because I wanted to give you pleasure, to make you happy, to show you how much I love you. You're not just handsome to me, Salem—you're gorgeous. You're perfect. And I love every single inch of you."
She ran her hands over his belly to emphasize her point, feeling the soft warmth of him. Salem's purr returned, deeper and more genuine than before.
"You really mean that," he said, wonder in his voice.
"Every word," Sabrina confirmed. "Now, do you want to know a secret?"
"Always."
"I've been making sure the kitchen staff adds extra butter and cream to everything they make for you. I've been having them prepare your favorite foods at all hours. I've been encouraging you to eat more, to rest more, to let me carry you everywhere. Because I love seeing you like this—happy, satisfied, spoiled, and yes, fat. Beautifully, wonderfully fat."
Salem stared at her for a long moment, and then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face. "You've been fattening me up on purpose?"
"Guilty," Sabrina admitted, not looking guilty at all.
"You sneaky little witch," Salem said admiringly. "And here I thought I was the manipulative one in this relationship. You've been playing me this whole time."
"Not playing you," Sabrina corrected. "Loving you. There's a difference."
Salem was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "Well, in that case, I think I need a snack. All this emotional honesty has made me hungry. And since you've admitted to your devious plot, you might as well bring me something particularly fattening. Maybe that chocolate cake the kitchen made yesterday. The whole thing."
Sabrina grinned. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
She started to get up, but Salem stopped her with a paw on her arm. "Sabrina? I love you too. More than I've ever loved anyone or anything. More than power, more than my old warlock form, more than all the tuna in the world. You're the only person who's ever truly seen me, who's ever truly accepted me. And I know I don't say it enough, but... thank you. For everything."
Sabrina felt tears prick her eyes. She leaned down and kissed Salem on his soft, whiskered cheek. "You're welcome. Now let me get you that cake before you waste away to nothing."
"Hardly a risk at this point," Salem chuckled, patting his substantial belly.
The weeks that followed were filled with the usual royal duties, political meetings, and ceremonial obligations. And through it all, Salem continued to expand. The royal tailor was summoned with increasing frequency, each time tasked with creating new robes that could accommodate Salem's ever-growing girth. The poor man had taken to keeping Salem's measurements on hand at all times, knowing that any garment he made would likely need to be replaced within a month.
Salem's daily routine had become remarkably consistent: wake up late, demand breakfast in bed (which Sabrina happily provided), be carried to the throne room for any meetings that absolutely required his presence, eat continuously throughout said meetings, return to the royal chambers for a nap, wake up for an elaborate lunch, nap again, make a brief appearance at dinner (where he would eat enough for three people), and then retire to bed for more snacks and attention from Sabrina.
His weight had ballooned to well over sixty pounds, possibly approaching seventy. His belly dragged on the ground when he walked, which he rarely did anymore. His face had grown so round that his whiskers stuck out at comical angles, and his legs had become so thick and soft that they looked more like plush pillows than functional limbs. Even his tail had fattened considerably, now resembling a fuzzy black sausage.
And through it all, Sabrina found him more attractive than ever. She loved the way he felt in her arms, heavy and warm and soft. She loved the way his belly jiggled when he moved. She loved the way he had to pause to catch his breath after even the smallest exertion. She loved how completely and utterly dependent he'd become on her, how much he trusted her to take care of him.
One evening, as they lay in bed together, Sabrina feeding Salem pieces of roasted duck while he sprawled across her lap, she had something important to say. Something that would change everything.
"Salem," she said softly, "I need to tell you something."
"Mmm?" Salem responded, his mouth full of duck.
"I'm pregnant."
Salem stopped chewing. He swallowed, then looked up at her with wide eyes. "You're... what?"
"Pregnant," Sabrina repeated, smiling nervously. "We're going to have a baby. Well, probably a kitten, given your current form, but the healers aren't entirely sure how the genetics will work out. Either way, you're going to be a father."
For a moment, Salem just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, his face broke into the widest smile Sabrina had ever seen. "I'm going to be a dad? Really? We're going to have a little one?"
"Really," Sabrina confirmed, relief flooding through her at his reaction.
"That's... that's wonderful! That's amazing! I'm going to be the best father ever! I'll teach them everything I know—how to scheme, how to manipulate, how to get exactly what they want from people. They'll be the most powerful, most respected witch or warlock in the realm! Well, after you, of course. And me. But definitely in the top three!"
Sabrina laughed, tears of joy streaming down her face. "I'm so glad you're happy about this."
Salem's expression suddenly shifted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Although, you do realize that I won't be lifting a paw to help with any of the actual child-rearing, right? Changing diapers, midnight feedings, all that tedious stuff—that's all you. I'll be there for the important things, like teaching them their first spell or explaining the finer points of political manipulation, but the day-to-day grunt work? That's beneath a King."
Sabrina looked down at her husband—her lazy, selfish, greedy, absolutely perfect husband—and felt her heart swell with love. She leaned down and kissed him deeply, tasting duck and chocolate and everything that was uniquely Salem.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," she whispered against his lips.
Salem purred, the sound vibrating through both their bodies. "Good. Now, I think this momentous news calls for a celebration. Bring me that entire wheel of cheese from the pantry. And maybe some of those cream puffs. And definitely more duck. I'm eating for two now, after all."
"Salem, that's not how it works. I'm the one who's pregnant."
"Yes, but I'm the one who has to deal with the stress of impending fatherhood. That requires substantial emotional eating. It's practically medicinal."
Sabrina laughed and kissed him again. "Fine. I'll get you your cheese and cream puffs and duck. But then we need to start planning. We'll need to prepare a nursery, and inform the Council, and—"
"All of which you can handle," Salem interrupted. "I'll be right here, providing moral support and looking regal. It's what I do best."
"Yes, it is," Sabrina agreed, running her hands over his massive belly one more time before getting up to fetch his snacks. "Yes, it is."
As she walked toward the door, she heard Salem call out behind her, "And Sabrina? Thank you. For everything. For loving me, for marrying me, for making me a king, and now for making me a father. You've given me everything I never knew I wanted."
Sabrina turned back to look at him—her husband, her king, her beloved Salem, sprawled across their bed like a magnificent, rotund monument to indulgence and love. "You've given me everything too," she said softly. "Everything that matters."
And as she went to fetch Salem's celebratory feast, Sabrina reflected on how strange and wonderful her life had become. She was the Queen of the Witches, the most powerful magic user in the realm, responsible for maintaining peace and order across multiple dimensions. And yet, her greatest joy came from spoiling her lazy, greedy, impossibly fat cat husband, from feeling his weight in her arms, from watching him eat and nap and make ridiculous demands.
Some might call it strange. Some might call it unhealthy. But Sabrina called it love—pure, unconditional, and absolutely perfect.
In the throne room the next day, as Sabrina announced her pregnancy to the assembled Council of Witches and Warlocks, Salem sat beside her on the throne, wearing his ridiculously ornate crown and his newest set of royal robes (already straining at the seams). He looked supremely pleased with himself, as if he had accomplished some great feat rather than simply being present while Sabrina did all the actual work of conception.
"Yes, yes, congratulations are in order," Salem said magnanimously, waving a plump paw at the cheering crowd. "I'm sure the child will be extraordinary, given their parentage. They'll have Sabrina's power and wisdom, and my cunning and natural leadership abilities. The realm will be in good paws—er, hands—when they eventually take the throne."
"Eventually being the key word," Sabrina added, squeezing Salem affectionately. "We're not abdicating anytime soon."
"Of course not," Salem agreed. "I've only just gotten comfortable in this position. Literally comfortable—this throne has excellent cushioning. I'm not giving it up for at least another century or two."
The Council members exchanged amused glances. They had all grown accustomed to Salem's particular brand of arrogance and laziness. Some found it entertaining, others found it exasperating, but all of them respected the genuine love between their Queen and her unusual King Consort.
After the announcement, there was a celebratory feast—naturally, at Salem's insistence. Long tables were laden with every delicacy imaginable, and Salem positioned himself at the center of it all, sampling everything within reach while Sabrina sat beside him, occasionally feeding him choice morsels and basking in his obvious contentment.
"You know," Salem said between bites of honey-glazed ham, "I've been thinking about names. If it's a boy, we should name him Salem Junior. If it's a girl, Salema. That way, everyone will know whose child they are."
"We are not naming our child after you," Sabrina said firmly, though she was smiling.
"Why not? I have an excellent name. Distinguished. Memorable. It commands respect."
"It commands eye-rolls."
"Same thing."
Sabrina laughed and fed Salem another piece of ham, watching as he chewed contentedly, his cheeks bulging adorably. She placed her free hand on her still-flat stomach, imagining the life growing inside her. Their child would be unique, certainly—the offspring of the most powerful witch in the realm and a warlock trapped in a cat's body. But they would be loved, fiercely and unconditionally, just as Salem was loved.
"Whatever we name them," Sabrina said softly, "they're going to be so lucky to have you as a father."
Salem paused in his eating, looking up at her with surprising vulnerability in his golden eyes. "You really think so? Even though I'm... well, me?"
"Especially because you're you," Sabrina assured him. "You're going to teach them to be confident, to know their worth, to never settle for less than they deserve. You're going to show them that it's okay to ask for help, to be vulnerable with the people who love you. And you're going to love them with the same fierce devotion you show me every day, even if you hide it behind demands and complaints."
Salem's purr started up again, deep and genuine. "Well, when you put it that way... I suppose I might be a halfway decent father. Though I still maintain that you'll be doing all the actual work."
"I know," Sabrina said, kissing the top of his head. "And I love you for it."
As the feast continued around them, Sabrina held Salem close, feeling his substantial weight against her, his warmth, his presence. This was her life now—ruling a kingdom, managing political disputes, maintaining cosmic balance, and spoiling her impossibly fat cat husband. It was chaotic and unconventional and absolutely perfect.
And soon, they would add a new member to their unusual family. A child who would grow up seeing that love came in all forms, that family was what you made it, and that sometimes the most important thing you could do was simply be there for the people you cared about—even if "being there" meant carrying them everywhere because they were too lazy to walk.
"Sabrina?" Salem said, his voice drowsy from all the food he'd consumed.
"Yes, darling?"
"I think I need to go lie down. All this excitement has exhausted me."
"Of course," Sabrina said, standing and scooping Salem into her arms. He settled against her with a contented sigh, his belly warm and full against her chest.
As she carried him out of the feast hall, past the celebrating witches and warlocks, past the servants and officials and dignitaries, Sabrina felt a profound sense of contentment. This was her kingdom, her family, her love. And she wouldn't change a single thing about it.
Well, maybe she'd have the kitchen prepare an extra-large midnight snack for Salem. After all, he was eating for two now—or so he claimed.
And really, who was she to argue with the King?
