Page 11 of Chivalry is Not Dead

“Every. Juicy. Detail.” She punctuates each word with a finger wave to my face before finally leaving with a quick “Bye, Sanders!” called over her shoulder.

“Nothing is going to happen,” I repeat to myself. “It’s completely normal to have a half-dead, half-alive reincarnated man-knight… knight-man staying in your house. Absolutely, completely normal.”

“Is it? Here I was thinking I was the first.”

“Holy shit!” I fly at least a foot off the ground, not having heard Sanders come back in the room. “You scared me half to dea—oh gods.”

Sanders has put on Dane’s white undershirt that fits him so snuggly, I know many women, men, and non-binary folks who would pay good money to be transfigured into that exact T-shirt on that exact body for even a moment. And he’s paired them with—you guessed it—gray sweatpants that show off just how well-endowed he is. And I mean well-endowed. I feel like I should cover my eyes.

Averting them to be less obvious, I tell him, “For someone who has made constant noise around me all day, I’m shocked I didn’t hear you come out of my room. I almost pulled your own sword on you.”

His face grows very serious. “You should never touch a man’s sword without his permission, Lady Penelope. You also would not be able to lift it.”

That’s a double entendre if I’ve ever heard one.

I’m slightly offended that he thinks I couldn’t lift it, though he’s probably correct in that assumption. “My apologies, Sir Sanders. I will never touch your sword without your permission.” Either one of them, I add in my head. “You’ll sleep on the couch tonight if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course, thank you for allowing me into your home this evening.” He hesitates a moment before adding, “I do not know what I would have done without you.”

“It’s really not a problem.” It absolutely is a problem if the butterflies that have let loose in my stomach are any indication. “Let me grab a blanket for you.”

Sanders sits on the couch, stretching out his legs, and that’s when I notice. There’s absolutely no fucking way this man is going to fit comfortably on my couch for the night.

6

Everything about this place is incredibly peculiar and yet somehow she makes it feel like home.

“Shit. That’s not going to work!”

Sanders eyes me, confusion lining his brow. “What is not going to work?”

“This!” I gesture toward him. “You! You’re huge and my couch is… not.”

Couch is a generous term. It’s closer to the size of a loveseat, but being a vertically challenged individual, I’ve never thought twice about its size. That is, until this massive, muscled man sat down on it and made it look more like a couch for children.

“It is really no problem, Lady Penelope. I have slept in far less comfortable conditions.” He gifts me with a small smile. “I am just glad to be able to sleep for the first time in centuries.”

I’m not one-hundred percent convinced, but I let it go for now. “Centuries?” I sit down, squeezing next to him so our legs have no choice but to press together. I’m quite sure my leg could catch on fire and I wouldn’t notice because I love the feel of even this small point of contact with Sanders.

“Centuries,” he confirms.

“So you just don’t sleep between visits to the mortal realm?” I ask. “How often do you come back, by the way?”

“I have figured out it is every quarter of a century. It took me a while to adjust to this new lifestyle, so to speak.” He chuckles. “And to answer your question, I am not sure what happens to me between visits. Typically, the clock strikes midnight on All Hallows’ Eve and I feel nothing. The next time I open my eyes, it has been twenty-five years, and it is now 12:01 AM on the next All Hallows’ Eve.”

“Strange,” I muse. Because it is. I can’t wrap my head around living the same day every few decades.

“Indeed,” Sanders replies. “However, I have gotten used to it in the time since my original death.”

“How did you die?” The words fly out of my mouth, and I realize they might come across as incredibly rude. A blush creeps up my neck—Sanders eyes it hungrily which doesn’t help the situation. “I mean, if you are okay with sharing. I know that might be a personal question.”

“I will share anything with you, Penelope.” He says it with such incredible sincerity, I find myself leaning closer into his orbit.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I am not sure how much you know about medieval history, but I was a knight in King Henry V’s court during the Hundred Years’ War against France.”

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I’m part French?” Sanders’ disgust is palpable and sends me into a laughing fit. “I’m joking!”

“The French are no laughing matter, Lady Penelope,” he scolds.