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“This is where I work, but you can’t come in,” she says.
“You cannot tell me what to do,” I bark.
She tilts her head, her eyes softening. “I know you want to keep me company, sweet boy.”
I sniff. “You are mistaken.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip and darts her gaze toward the apothecary’s wooden interior. “Alright, but if I let you in, you’ve got to be quiet. Sit behind the counter and be good.”
“A king does as he pleases,” I bark.
“Okay, then.” She springs to her feet and smiles. “Let’s go.”
She guides me inside, and a cacophony of herbal scents assaults my nostrils. My eyes water and my nose streams, but my magic compensates for the overwhelming stenches.
Her place of business is a vast space about twice the size of her cottage with walls of glass jars set upon cabinets painted the same shade of green as the exterior.
My eyes narrow. It’s almost as though these witches want people to believe they are attuned to nature instead of nefarious dark magic.
I cringe away from an oaken table decorated with iron pestles and mortars, the magic under my skin recoiling. The Unseelie power keeping me alive reacts to anything that affects faeries.
Alienor slips her fingers through my fur and guides me behind a large counter.
She points at the floor. “Sit.”
Without thinking about it, I lower myself onto my haunches, rest my head on the counter’s wooden surface, and peer out across the store.
“Good morning!” A blue-haired witch in a patchwork cloak bustles inside. “I’d like to try a crystal dildos. Do you have one that lasts an hour?”
As Alienor leaves me to help the witch, I raise my front paws on the counter. My wife was never this solicitous when I ruled over England. People revered her and paid homage to her beauty, yet now she is the one who serves commoners.
The door at the back of the store opens, and the cousin I clawed steps out, her features sour. She still wears all black, except her locket is now silver.
Its metal had been tarnished the last time I saw her. Perhaps that had eroded the protective magic?
I make a mental note to find a way to corrode Alienor’s protective locket if I cannot convince her to take it off.
Alienor glances over her shoulder, her features falling at the sight of her cousin.
I perk up.
The cousin waits for my wife to finish helping the witch with her purchase before walking to the counter.
Alienor raises her chin. “What was that text about?”
The tremble in her voice makes my hackles rise. Is the cousin now a threat? I lower myself into a crouch and survey the other witch’s hands for signs of a weapon.
Alienor is mine.
Mine to stalk, mine to torment, mine to kill. If the cousin so much as hurts my wife, she will be the first to die.
“You’re a magic thief,” the cousin snaps.
Alienor rears back. “What are you talking about?”
“Obtaining magical services under false pretenses is a crime.”
All the tension in Alienor’s shoulders melts away. “Are you talking about the broomstick?”
