Page 7 of The White Knight

Maybe it was foolish of me to allow myself to hope that Lancelot was still alive. Six years. Lancelot is truly gone. I can only recall his face by looking at the photos and videos I took of him on my phone. What would I do without this hunk of plastic and metal? I’m so lucky that I was carrying my solar-powered portable charger when I unwillingly time-traveled here. The privacy I’m granted at Joyous Gard allows me to keep it fully charged so I can look at Lance’s image every day.

I know I need to move on. I am so lonely. Arthur is too. Six years is a long time. An eternity. Arthur and I deserve happiness. Even if we don’t love each other with the fierce passion Lance and I had, we both have physical and emotional needs. And for a thirty-eight-year-old man in the sixth century, Arthur is in perfect shape. Doesn’t hurt that he is quite good-looking. Nothing will ever compare to Lance’s god-like beauty. But Arthur is from the same stalk.

Blonde hair cut neatly like a Roman and eyes the deepest of blue. He and Lancelot are both tall for men of this time, standing more than a foot over my five feet two inches. Though Arthur and Lancelot share many similar physical attributes, I have learned that where Lancelot was rough and rigid, Arthur is soft and rounded. His muscles are less defined but still athletic.

As king, Arthur has little time for adventures and quests. He is an accomplished swordsman and keeps up with the craft, but only for sport. Most of his days are spent listening to his people, reading letters, writing letters, strategizing, and praying.

I am sure he is still working even at the late hour as I knock on the door to his chambers. “Arthur, it’s me.”

A shuffling of papers tells me I was right; he’s working. A few seconds later, the bolt on his door slides open and I’m staring into eyes the color of a tropical storm.

Tonight, six years after my heart died, five years after it was reborn in the light of Galahad, I am ready to move on. I grab Arthur’s hand and pull him along with me. With his hands in mine, I walk to the edge of his bed and pull him to me for a kiss.

“What are you doing, Guinevere?” Arthur asks in a shocked whisper, stopping me before my lips touch his.

“Healing,” I reply.

“But, you did not wa—”

“We’ve been courting for years. You are the father to my fatherless child. I am ready to be your queen. I am ready to love again.”

A single tear slides down Arthur’s cheek. “I was uncertain if you could love me after everything that happened.”

“I didn’t think I had anything left inside me to love either. But I do. You and Galahad are my life now. I think I can love you withwhat remains of my heart. I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’s yours if you’ll have it.”

Arthur wraps his arms around me, locking me in place. “I will,” he says. “May I kiss you?”

“You can do more than kiss me, Arthur.”

Chapter 5

Lancelot

The salty air awakensmy soul, making me think of home. Joyous Gard. It has taken me years to reach the sea. A sea that might connect to my homeland. A sea that will bring me to Guin. The coast seems to end in the west. To the east, I can make out a little village nestled into a large cove. But I do not see any ships. At least ships large enough for the open ocean.

West, that is my destination. I am certain that is where home lies. That way shows me an opening to an even bigger sea. And something is pulling me in that direction. I know somehow it is Guin. She has been pulling me toward her for what feels like an eternity.

Spring is arriving again, which means another year has passed since I last tasted my wife’s pale, freckled skin. Another year with barely any human—or inhuman—contact. I have become feral. If I had a polished glass, I am certain I would not recognize the mangy beast it would reflect. Would Guin recognize me in this state? Would she see past the dirt, grime, blood, and hair?

During my solo journey out of this densely forested land, I crossed paths with that of a few people. I did not frighten themwith my wild appearance, as they, too, were mangy beasts. I might look terrifying, but my Guin would know me. She would welcome me into her arms and into her bed. After a proper bath, of course. I chuckle as I remember being covered in sheep shit. Guin only pretended to be disgusted. If it were not for the pizza Faina had been cooking, Guin would have gladly rolled around in the muck with me.

My cock tingles at the thought of her rolling on top of me. I place my hand against the stirring, only to feel it harden. Dusk is coming in quickly, so I make quick work of setting up a small camp for myself. No fire, as I do not wish to attract any unwanted company. I force down a ration of dried meat, something I had traded for recently. More people who only spoke a language I did not understand.

As the wind drifts against the water, it sends an icy breeze into my bones. I wrap my furs tighter around my body and lie down on the soft earth. Guin. She is the last thought in my mind before I drift off to sleep. My hand moves on its own, dipping inside my pants. I take hold of my cock, imagining it is Guin’s delicate hands. She always knew how to awaken my passion, even with the slightest touch or gaze.

I had the same effect on her. When I would place my fingertips along the outline of her jaw, down to the silky skin of her breast, her skin would come alive with goose flesh. Her shallow breaths, full of want, full of need for me to fill her. I could never refuse.

My lips would always find hers, even in the dark of our bedroom when the fires had died down to embers. Our bodies molded as one. We had no need of nightclothes. They would only get in our way. How I relished the feel of her warm skin on mine. She was always so unnaturally warm. Her touch, her kisses, consumed me in flames.

Making love to Guin was my religion. Every thrust was a prayer. Every kiss, a testament of my faith and loyalty to her. Atthe sound of her moans, I became immortal, her immortal being, consumed in her fire.

The wind hurls around me, mimicking the sounds in my mind. Tormenting me as I roughly stroke my cock from root to tip, seeking release.

After days of walking along the coast, I finally stumble upon a village. It is not the large port city I had hoped to find, but there are boats. I barter for one, trading a bottle of the halfling’s wine along with one of my furs. A steep price for a small fishing boat that does not look like it will make it very far. Still, it is a chance I am willing to take if it gets me closer to Guinevere.

I row all day, making camp along the shores. Rowing, eating, rowing, sleeping, rowing. The sea is endless. Yet I know that at the other end, my home awaits. I only hope that Guin is still waiting. It has been so long. Would she have really waited all these years for me? What if my mother has found a way to bring Guin back to her time? I had not thought of this before. Guin was desperate to get back home. As desperate as I am now to get back to her.

Surely, with the magic of Excalibur and my mother’s power, they would have found a way to bring Guin back to where she belongs. But her home is with me. At Joyous Gard. In this time. My chest clenches at the thought of never seeing her again. Traveling all this way, what if she is gone? The pain in my chest grows until I can no longer breathe. I pull the oars back into the boat and fall to my knees. I have never prayed more than when Guin came into my life. Or rather, since she was ripped from my life.

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