There's No Room for Two on a Broomstick, or A Witch for the Priest

I flew into another world at full speed, where they mistook me for a witch. After all, I was exactly portraying one for a photoshoot.

Now I have to convincingly pretend I’m a sorceress—and, on top of that, make it rain in a town where there hasn’t been precipitation for half a year. And if I fail, welcome inquisition, universal condemnation, and the stake! The high priest will seat me in the flames with his own hands— with huge pleasure. And he’ll even give me a candle.

I read that desire in his eyes from the very first meeting. Or maybe I confused it with something else?