I am not even the prey.
I am the spoils of a successful hunt.
Footsteps echo through the chamber, drowning out the pulse between my ears.
The grandmother appears in sight, clad in a white robe.
“Henry Curtmantle,” she says. “For the crime of defiling a member of the coven, how do you plead?”
I grind my teeth. This is a trick question. They already intend to use my blood to close off the rift between our realms. She wants to gather information to use against Alienor.
“You will address me as Your Majesty or King Henry,” I snarl.
“Your reign ended in 1189,” the grandmother says with a smirk. “Now, answer my question.”
“I would have taken what I wanted by now if you hadn’t interrupted,” I snarl.
She shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “Unfortunately, the coven is only as strong as its weakest link.”
The other witches nod and murmur their approval.
“This is why we should banish her,” says the aunt. “That way, we eliminate all threats.”
My nostrils flare, and my blood simmers with fury. They would leave her without family or protection? I resist the urge to speak in her defense. Any protectiveness toward Alienor would only add fuel to their vengeance.
“We can discuss Alienor’s banishment after securing the realms.” The grandmother holds out a palm. “Hand me the sacrificial sickle.”
The gray-haired witch steps forward with a curved knife the size of a dinner plate etched with intricate runes. I twist and turn, trying to recoil from the blade, but invisible magic holds me in place.
“Touch me with that thing, and I will tear out your liver,” I snarl.
The aunt yanks me by the hair to meet her hard eyes. “You’re in no position to hurt anyone, Boogie Man.”
Rage sears through my skin and the markings on my chest burn so fiercely that they produce smoke.
“Stay away,” I growl.
“Ready the receptacle for his blood,” says the grandma.
As a heavy bowl slides against the stone altar, terror strikes my heart like a lightning storm.
I am not afraid of dying.
I am not even afraid of spending the rest of eternity as motionless body parts.
But I cannot stand so much as a day apart from Alienor.
The grandmother raises the knife and makes a clean cut across my throat. Warm blood cascades down the sides of my neck, some of it gathering into my collarbones before spilling into the bowl.
“Tell me something,” the grandmother muses. “How did you break your chastity curse?”
“I didn’t,” I say from between clenched teeth. “Not when Alienor’s magic was so close to my wife’s.”
She raises her wand and taps it on my crotch, setting my balls aflame.
“Fuck,” I roar.
Blood cascades out of the cut, leaving me breathless. Each beat of my pulse fills my ear with a cacophony, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of ropes of fire around my cock and balls.