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My shoulders sag, my spirits weighing down with confusion and disappointment.
So, this is how my ancestor managed to bear King Henry eight children after the age of thirty?
I lie back, and she places a circle of small stones on my belly and recites the same kind of fertility ritual Aunt Klara uses in her clinic.
The witch even invokes the goddess Rhea to strengthen the love spell she placed to bind King Henry to Eleanor of Aquitaine. It’s a form of dark magic that requires either blood or semen, and the heat in my core tells me she’s relying on the latter.
My throat tightens, and I study the woman’s features. Her eyes spark with the same kind of vigor Grandma’s had around the time she acquired Aggie’s broomstick. She is without a doubt not only a powerful witch but the woman who introduced magic to our ancestor.
The skin on my belly tingles, my clit swells, and the muscles of my core clench with the need to be filled. Shit.
“How is it?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.
“Pretty amazing.” I squeeze my thighs together and swallow back a moan. “Should I be feeling so aroused?”
“I made the enchantment extra strong,” she says with a wink. “You’re so fertile right now that he’ll drop whatever he’s doing to give you a son.”
“What?”
She disappears behind the curtain. “Now, you exude more than enough allure to keep your nineteen-year-old husband from straying.”
Heat surges to my pussy, making me moan. “Ooh.”
“We older women stick together, eh?” she says from the other side of the room.
“F-fetch H-henry.”
I can barely squeeze out the words. This meddling witch just put me in heat.
Who knows what harm will come to me if I don’t find satisfaction?
ChapterTwenty-Three
ALIENOR
I’m burning.
Burning with arousal.
Burning with uncontrollable lust.
Burning with an insatiable need.
Blood roars between my ears, muffling the sound of the witch closing the door as she slinks away. I would chase after her but the furnace in my belly has melted my limbs. Every muscle in my body is now heavy and limp.
The stones sink into my belly, fueling the heat. I’ve never had period pains—as the granddaughter of an apothecary, I have access to so many healing herbs, but what I’m feeling has to be worse.
Who am I trying to kid? I’m in heat like a yowling cat.
Sweat beads on my forehead, and my breaths become shallow. My folds are so slick that the moisture coats my inner thighs. Will I attract every male in the building or will the magic just focus on King Henry?
A spasm squeezes my belly, sending lightning bolts of pain across my insides. Now I know why that witch practically sprinted out of the room. If I ever catch up with her, I’ll make her regret doing something so unethical.
“Fuck,” I moan.
The door opens with a loud bang. Heavy footsteps rush across the room.
“Leave us,” Henry says from the other side of the curtain.
