Page 12 of The Last Knight

Meliot had enjoyed the philosopher’s company, and they’d developed what could only be described as an indefinable friendship. The scribe had luxurious quarters and his own servants. There was little the man wanted for.

Phillippe was the only person in the realm Gunther somewhat trusted. He’d delved into the man’s mind and had not detected anything other than willingness to serve.

“You do not seem to mind being here. Do you not wish to return to the other realm? To where you come from?” Gunther asked the scribe who lifted a goblet to his lips and took a delicate sip.

Philippe’s eyes moved to meet his. “There is nothing left of the France I lived in. Why would I want to return? I have seen with my own eyes the devastation of our realm over the years. No, I prefer it here.”

“There has been devastation here. No realm is free of destruction.”

There was a change to Philippe’s countenance. An opportunity for debate seemed to brighten the man. “True. However, there is a stark difference. What happens here has not changed the realms overall. For example, this realm remains and will always be a place of darkness. No one who comes here expects anything good will happen.”

Gunther walked out to the balcony and peered across the dark land. Immediately upon arriving, he himself had instantly understood that the Dark Realm was the closest he’d ever been to hell.

“You can go,” he said out loud. “We will continue this tomorrow.”

Once the scribe was gone, Gunther followed, down a narrow corridor and up a flight of stairs to his bedchamber. Once there, he closed the doors, leaving the guards outside.

It was as if the air became cleaner. He took in a long breath and exhaled slowly. A picture of a woman formed in his mind. A beautiful, caramel-skinned woman, with piercing brown eyes and a riot of dark curls framing her face. Her body was perfection, from the swells of small breasts high on her chest to soft curves forming an hourglass figure, her small waist flowing out to hips. He yearned to pull her to him and taste her lips, surely a delicious elixir.

Undressed he climbed into bed, his mind still on her.

“Aubrey,” he whispered her name into the darkness, his hand folding over his hardened sex. “Aubrey.”