AllFreeNovel
Share Us
ChapterForty
HENRY
I breathe hard, trying to draw power from the stone platform. Blood continues to spill from the slit in my throat, draining my magic faster than I can replenish it.
The edges of my vision turn black. At this rate, I will lose consciousness before I regain my strength.
Minutes pass, and the witches turn their attention from me to perform a ritual to prevent beings from crossing into their realm. I take that time to knit together my severed veins and stem the bleeding, so I can siphon my magic from the earth.
“Ritual complete,” the grandmother says. “The rift is permanently sealed.”
Her voice snaps me out of my trance, and I cringe at the witches’ round of applause.
“Ready the subject for dildofication.”
I gape at a twelve-inch column of onyx with a rounded tip hovering above my crotch.
“How?” replies the gray-haired witch. “He doesn’t have a cock.”
“I saw it earlier before it recessed into his pelt,” Alienor’s aunt says. “Find a way to ease it out.”
“I’ll do it,” says a witch whose voice I don’t recognize.
“Allow me,” says another.
“No, me.”
A quarrel breaks out over which of them gets to coax out my cock. Streams of magic hit my crotch, making the flesh beneath tingle. I shudder, clench my teeth, and reach out toward my power.
The wretched witches fail to realize the flaw in their plan. Thanks to the grandmother’s attack, my cock is deeply hidden in the recesses of my pelt and is in no state to come out let alone expand.
“Wait.” The grandmother’s voice cuts through the squabble like a ritual knife. “I must have miscalculated. It would seem that our ancestor’s curse was irrevocable.”
“What does that mean?” asks a voice.
“Mr. Curtmantle is still under the chastity curse.”
If I had the energy, I would grind my teeth. Even if she didn’t want to acknowledge me as the King of England, I am still the Duke of Normandy. I shove that thought aside and focus on drawing more power.
“Open the crypt,” the grandmother says. “Curtmantle will become aroused in the presence of his wife.”
Shock kicks me in the gut. I snap my gaze toward the statue and curl my fists.
A wand swishes through the air, followed by the scrape of stone as the statue splits into a sarcophagus. Cold permeates my skin, and shivers run down my spine. It’s as though they’ve opened up a doorway into winter. I inhale a sharp breath, only for my nostrils to fill with the familiar scent of lavender.
“Alienor,” I growl, not at the woman I have come to love, but at the creature who stole my life.
The sarcophagus opens, revealing my wife’s mummified remains. What is left of her flesh is now the color of canvas and clings to her bones. She stands with her hands crossed over her chest, her limbs held in place with yellowing bandages.
Magic glows from a sphere behind her ribs that spills light out of her empty eye sockets, making her almost seem alive.
I draw in a sharp breath as sensation rushes south. I know she is a shriveled husk. I know she is long dead. I know that I hold nothing but contempt for this desiccated corpse, but my wretched cock stirs.
The love spells, the chastity curses, and whatever else she did to me make me believe she’s still beautiful.
“Is it working?” the gray-haired witch asks, her voice breathy.
“Try a lust spell, now,” replies the grandmother. “Then you can start dildofying Mr. Curtmantle when he’s at full mast.”
