Page 51 of The Last Knight

Chapter Seventeen

“You can open your eyes.”

Still unsure, Aubrey waited, then peeked through her lashes. It was what looked like the inside of a cottage, or cabin. If she hadn’t known she was elsewhere, she’d think she was back in her own realm.

“You used to live here?”

“Yes,” Gunther said. “When I first came here, Meliot made me believe I would live here. I did for years, until one day, his guards came for me.” He left the rest unsaid, but after seeing what happened at the castle, Aubrey couldn’t imagine what is must have been like for Gunther as a human among those creatures.

He turned away and walked to a window. Through the glass he studied the surroundings, barely moving, his body taut.

It was hard to imagine what he saw, if it was the actual scenery or the landscape of his homeland. She’d been to the Netherlands several times to visit. It was a beautiful country, which was why she’d gone back.

If ever Gunther were to be released, would he return there?

“I’ve been to the Netherlands, what used to be the Dutch Republic. It is beautiful. The people are lovely,” Aubrey said. She was not exactly sure why she said it, but somehow felt he should know.

When he didn’t reply, but seemed to be listening, she continued. “Many people ride bicycles there. I have a friend from university living there. Her name is Uma. She and I rode bicycles every day. Oh, and I was lucky enough to be there during the blooming of the tulips. The display of colors is breathtaking. You would love it.”

She inhaled sharply at the last sentence. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive.”

Gunther turned, his face expressionless. “No, it is good to hear about my homeland. I am glad that you were able to visit.”

“Have you been there, I mean since coming here?”

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “Yes, a couple of times. But then I was unable to return. Meliot must have blocked it. So, I stopped trying.”

Taking a step closer, his eyes lingered on her face, seeming to trace every part of it, as if memorizing her features. Gunther closed the distance and slowly lifted his hand. Aubrey stood still, unsure of what her reaction would be, at the same time needing his touch.

The feel of his fingers on the side of her jawline sent ripples of awareness through her. The image of his naked body surfaced, the way his muscles rippled with each move, the feel of his skin under her palms as she urged him to move faster, to thrust deeper.

She closed her eyes, unsure what to say to him. How could she reassure or give him comfort when there didn’t seem to be a solution to his situation?

“Kiss me, Gunther,” Aubrey said.

His mouth claimed hers with the ferocity of a starving man finally given a meal. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a desperate plea, a fierce binding of soul to soul. His arms wrapped around her, unrelenting and warm, while she clung to him as if her touch alone could anchor him to her.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, silently willing him to hold on. There has to be a way to save him. There has to be.

A sound rumbled low in his throat, a deep moan that sent heat spiraling through her. She loved that sound. Loved that it came from him, because of her.

Then, just as abruptly, he pulled away.

“Sterling is here,” Gunther said, his voice rough with emotion.

The name snapped her back to reality, though her heart still beat a frantic rhythm in her chest. Without thinking, she smoothed her hair, suddenly self-conscious.

Erin’s description flashed in her mind. A cross between an elf from Lord of the Rings and a K-pop star. Aubrey scoffed at the absurdity of that image…until the door opened.

Her jaw nearly hit the floor. Her eyes widened so far she half-expected them to roll out of her head. The being who entered wasn’t just handsome…he was unreal.

Sterling was ethereal, otherworldly. His fair skin had an opalescent glow, like moonlight on fresh snow. Thick silver lashes framed eyes the color of frosted starlight. Waist-length hair, so pale it shimmered like spun platinum, flowed over his shoulders. His cheekbones were sharp, his jawline sculpted to perfection, as if some divine artisan had shaped him from light itself.

He stood just shy of Gunther’s height, lithe but strong, elegant rather than imposing. His tunic, dyed in rich shades of lavender, clung to his frame with exquisite tailoring. The fabric looked impossibly soft, like something between silk and a whisper. Calf-high boots and a slim belt completed the look, regal and effortless.

His gaze flicked to her briefly—cool, assessing—but without malice. Then he turned to Gunther.

Without a word, the two males approached each other, solemn and composed. They placed their right hands on each other’s left shoulder in a gesture that felt ritualistic, heavy with meaning.