Chapter 234 - We Probably Shouldn't Have Done That (Patreon)

“Wake up already so I can send people in there and clean, damn it! The entire floor smells like a very successful orgy!” Bertrand slams on the door with great desperation, his voice buzzing with rage and jealousy at the same time.

I startle awake shortly after hearing his annoying shout, pulling away from Opalina’s pillows, unsure of how much time has passed since I closed my eyes. The stained glass window makes it difficult to tell, given how poorly the light fades in through it. Opalina isn’t a very good indicator, either. She looks just as dead as she did when we finished.

“What time is it?” I ask, stretching out the sleep from my body. My lover shifts uncomfortably in response, groaning and stretching herself, only to cry out in pain when I hear several cracking sounds emanate from her body, all in unison.

“It’s eleven in the morning, you mongrel!” Bertrand replies. “I’ve been trying to awaken you for an hour straight, and I’m not coming back, so you had best be up for good this time!”

Assuming I went to bed around six or seven, then I roughly got four hours of sleep. I’m no stranger to lack of rest, but the events of last night have me feeling groggy beyond belief. “Send coffee and leave it at our door. I’m up.”

Bertrand makes a grumbling sound of what I assume is acknowledgment before I hear his footsteps fade away.

Now alone, I inspect Opalina in greater detail to find that her eyes are half-open in a daze. She painfully turns her head up to look at me and says, “You used way too much lube...” between pitiful groans.

“That sunk in around the four-hour mark, yeah. Do you have any health potions in your bra?”

“I don’t know,” Opalina stretches out again, peeling some of the sticky strands of hair off of her skin. “I don’t remember a lot of things right now.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was a compliment toward the potency of the drug you poured all over our genitals, Dear.”

“My bad. Are you up?”

“Awake, yes. Am I leaving this bed anytime soon? No. Get me my wand, please.”

Leaving the bed in all my naked glory, I look around the room and eventually find Opalina’s wand on the floor. Picking it up and inspecting it, I notice how sticky the expensive wand is and that it smells of sex.

“Did I use this on you...?” I ask while handing it over to the witch running on empty.

“What didn’t you do to me last night?” She laughs, but it’s dry and without any humor. Opalina sniffs her wand and raises an eyebrow before sighing in disbelief.

Right as Opalina finishes magicking away the smell and layers of sex grime from my skin, a series of door-knocks is heard, followed by a maid’s voice announcing that she’s placing the coffee down. Bertrand must have delegated his coffee fetching duties. Regardless, I throw on my pair of boxers and retrieve the drink after the maid departs.

My lover and I share two sobering cups of coffee in bed together. As we awaken, Opalina seems to grow more embarrassed over the events of last night. “I hope I didn’t shout anything embarrassing.” She finally says.

“You shouted plenty of embarrassing things, in case you forgot how bad you’ve been teasing me.”

“Yes, but all of that was carefully chosen and worded. Both of us can scarcely recall a thing, meaning only Osbourne and Abigail know the full details of what happened last night.”

“If they were awake, you mean?” Opalina stares back at me with a severe look on her face. “...Yeah, you’re right. No doubt we kept them up.” If Bertrand wasn’t exaggerating about the smell, I can only hope Abigail’s opinion of me hasn’t changed too drastically. I look at Opalina as a growing sense of embarrassment and fear spreads across my face. “Did I just fuck everything up?”

Rather than dissuade my concern, she only returns with an uncertain glance of her own. “If nothing else, you fucked me up.”

“Should I be proud of that fact?”

“Yes, actually. I’ve never had anything like that before...” Opalina surprises me by looking away and skillfully covering her blushing cheeks with a well-timed sip of coffee.

“I think I remembered something about you screwing around in college with other witches?”

“Did I say that?” She retorts, aloof as ever.

I’m not having it, so I tell her, “Opal, stop being intentionally mysterious.”

The witch sighs. “Fine, fine. You’re no fun, I swear... yes, I went to the Magicademy in my youth.”

“Really? I guess that means you’re from Tior, then.”

“Arrark is the only province I call home now,” Opalina says with burning conviction in her voice. “But I digress. Most of my sexual experience traces back to that period of my life... again, I remind you that it was only with women, you jealous little boy, but even then, I can’t remember ever getting this trashed.”

“Did it all make you feel young again?” I tease.

“At the time, yes. Now I just feel old.” She giggles and sets her finished cup of coffee onto her nightstand before snuggling herself up back under the covers. “Go on and have your breakfast, Dear. I’ll be up by the time you’re back.” Opalina cuts off our playful banter and closes her eyes, then assures me she’s just resting.

Determined to start this day off right, I pull on my casual clothes from the day before and gather up the dress clothes I’ll be wearing again during my meeting, setting it carefully on a nearby shelf for Opalina to magically freshen up later. After going about all the little things in my morning routine, I exit the room to head down to the dining room, only to be met with a curious sight.

A young, cute-looking maid is just finishing placing a final breakfast tray upon a table situated in front of the same chair I sat in while writing to Abigail. She blushes upon seeing me and bows with practiced politeness, then runs away into the secret passageway before I can question her. This table is littered with every kind of breakfast food imaginable, albeit in a slightly more conservative fashion than dinner was the night before. Rather than an egregious display of wealth, it looks more along the lines of an acceptable one.

Before the question of why breakfast was brought to me could even form in my mind, Woe reveals himself seated on my chair. The skeletal dog raises its head before jumping up to give me a note and retrieve his well-earned pets in exchange.

‘Sorry for freaking out last night. I hope it’s not too presumptuous, but I thought we could talk some more before you meet with my father? Assuming you aren’t upset at me.’

Abigail still worries that she made some big mistake, apparently. I scoot Woe off the chair to sit and take the quill resting on the table. ‘You didn’t give me time to say anything back last night, or else I would have told you I wasn’t mad at you. I was worried I ruined your mood, so if everything is clear between us, I would love to continue where we left off.’ I reply

Woe zips away with my letter, and after a few bites of fluffy, scrambled eggs, he returns. ‘Really?’ She asks in shaky, uncertain handwriting.

‘Of course.’

‘I’m sorry I’m so awful at this... I just assumed the worst and thought you would be mad at me for some reason. Oh, a side note. Don’t give Woe any table scraps no matter how badly he begs. It’s bad for him.’

I glance away from the letter to see that Woe is indeed staring down the contents of the breakfast table with his burning eyes of magic green fire. Out of sheer curiosity, I toss him a piece of bacon and watch as the partially resurrected pet catches it in midair. Woe chews the crispy meat with his teeth, and the pieces crumble out of his jaw, falling down limply to the floor. He doesn’t seem to mind the lack of his digestive tract.

Over my meal, I share an oddly normal conversation with Abigail where she doesn’t mention the noise or the smell whatsoever. Speaking of the smell, Bertrand wasn’t kidding. Even with all these warm foods blasting their scent up into the air, the smell coming from our guest room is undeniable.

At the tail end of breakfast, I finally summon up the courage to ask about it. ‘Be honest with me. How bad was last night? Is your father going to kill me? There was an accident with a sexual aide, which led to both of us entering a trance.’

Woe doesn’t return for a couple of minutes, and the letter he brings back is written in anxious handwriting that can barely be deciphered. ‘I didn’t hear a thing.’ She writes so meekly I can almost picture her staring at the floor and sweating awkward bullets.

‘I’m serious. My career is on the line just because we used too much magical lube.’ I tell her in return before realizing how embarrassing that tidbit is. Woe zips away before I can take it back and write something new, and he doesn’t come back for another few minutes again.

In the same troubled script as before, Abigail says, ‘Boys will be boys. I’m sure Father understands.’

‘I hope you’re right...’

‘Even if I’m wrong, I’ll still help you any way that I can.’

‘Besides putting your rare skillset to work for me as an adventurer?’

‘Yes, besides that. I’m flattered that you want me by your side, but I wouldn’t be much use to you in a wheelchair.’

I stop myself short of asking if Abigail has ever explored magical options to cure her walking problem and instead respond, ‘That remains to be seen.’

Surprisingly, Abigail is privy to my inner thoughts. She says, ‘You’re probably wondering why I don’t have prosthetics or some kind of magical alternative. It’s ok. Opal probably told you I lost them in the plague... do you know much about the Rotblight?’

‘A little. I was only twelve when it happened.’ That was a rough period, for sure. Opalina’s visits became more scarce because of her work as a Doctor, and even though Niall and I were starting to distance at that point, he came out of hiding to look after me in her stead.

The old drunk would often bring me books to help me focus on my studies and keep my mind off the plague. One time, Niall even slipped in an erotic tome, presumably as a joke. One thing led to another, and now here I am.

As bad as it sounds, I recall the plague with queer fondness since it was just about the last time Niall was ever around for me on a reliable basis.

Abigail goes into some of the nitty-gritty, explaining what it has to do with her legs. ‘It’s a type of magical illness that absorbs the life from its victims. Rotblight typically starts with a person’s feet and hands, then spread upwards, withering the flesh until it falls right off. The scars that it leaves are a literal void of magic where no mana can pass through. Magical prosthetics or alchemically created replacement limbs won’t attach, and non-magical prosthetics hurt too much.’

Sounds pretty definitive to me. Now I feel bad for wondering why Abigail hadn’t bothered to get new legs. I tell her as much, but she only says, ‘It’s fine, you get used to explaining it. Or at least I would if I actually talked to new people other than you. Anyways, as much as I appreciate you spending your morning chatting with me, you should really go and get ready. Also, maybe have Opal do something about the smell.’

Damn it, it’s worse than I thought. Curse this forsaken castle and its lack of proper ventilation...

Abigail is right, though. Breakfast is squared off, and it’s just about time to meet with Duke Gloomcrest. Best to go and finish preparing, so I thank the Lady for the lovely chat, give Woe another strip of bacon that I saved for him, and go back to check on Opalina.