Page 94 of Bewitched

“Do you, Rhys Blackseed take the witch—I mean, Medea de Bar—to be your wife?” asked the elf.

“I do,” said Rhys.

“And do you, Medea de Bar take the big oaf—I mean Rhys Blackseed—to be your husband?”

“I do,” she answered.

“Why does he have to call you a witch and me an oaf on our wedding day?” Rhys whispered to Medea.

“Rhys, it’s fine,” Medea whispered back, not wanting any trouble. “I am just glad to be marrying you instead of King Osric, no matter what he calls us.”

“The rings, please,” said the elf, clapping his hands together. “Hurry up, I hear there is pazzleberry pie to eat afterwards, and I’m hungry.”

“All right, we’re ready,” called out Rhys looking up in the air, making Medea wonder what in the world he was doing. Then she realized what was going on. Her brother-by-marriage, Marco, flew over the roof of the castle atop his red dragon. The crowd stirred restlessly, but Rhys stopped them from running.

“It’s all right. The dragon is trained and won’t hurt anyone,” Rhys called out.

“Congratulations, Medea and Rhys.” Marco flew over their heads, dropping a small box that Rhys caught with one hand. Then Marco directed the dragon back up to the roof, landing the beast atop one of the spires to watch the rest of the wedding from there. Darium’s raven was up there, but squawked and left quickly, most likely not wanting to be eaten by the dragon.

When Rhys slipped the ring onto Medea’s finger, she realized it was shaped like a dragon. The body of a dragon was curved around, and made of gold. The dragon’s eye was a ruby. Rhys had a ring to match.

“I love it, Rhys,” she said, reaching up and kissing him passionately.

The elf cleared his throat. “Did I say it was time to do that yet?” he complained.

“Sorry,” said Medea. “I thought the ceremony was over.”

“Not yet. There is one more thing to take care of first.” He held out his open palm.

“What?” asked Rhys.

“My payment,” he said.

“Not again. What is it you want this time? My ring that you stole from the gods to begin with?” asked Rhys. “Or most likely our wedding rings, right?”

“Bah, nay! I don’t want any of that. I have no need for it. I want something much more valuable.”

“He wants a snip of your hair,” Darium shouted.

“Oh, not that again,” groaned Rhys. “This is embarrassing, elf, with everyone watching.”

The elf pulled a pair of scissors from thin air, snapping the ends together loudly as he waited.

“You already have some of my hair, and well as my sister Rapunzel’s,” Medea pointed out to the elf.

“He required the same thing from Darium and Talia at their wedding, but for the life of me, I still don’t know why,” said Rhys. “None of us knows.”

“Well, let’s give it to him,” she said. “We need to pay our debts.” Medea held up a lock of her hair but the elf refused to take it.

“Nay, I have yours, like you said,” Elric told them. “However, I don’t have his.” The elf reached up and took a big chunk of Rhys’ hair in his hand and snipped it off.

“Hey, that’s enough.” Rhys ran a hand over his head. “My hair isn’t as long as my brothers’, so I don’t have as much to spare.”

“Stop your whining,” Zann called out. “It’s only hair, Brother.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Elric said, looking up. “Hmmm, your hair is nice and long, Zann. Since I already have some from Medea, I’ll take a snip of yours instead.” He pointed at Zann with the tip of the scissors.

“Mine? No way,” Zann protested, backing up a step.