Page 7 of Chivalry is Not Dead

The World.

“Completion,” Selene breathes.

Damn. That’s an intense draw.

“Very interesting,” she muses. “Together these cards represent the deepest transformation. A closing of one chapter and an opening of another.”

Finally, I look at Sanders. His expression is a mix of awe and understanding. That makes one of us.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

Selene gathers the cards, abruptly pushing to stand. “It’s time for my nap. You’ll figure it out.”

“Selene! Wait, we came to you for help!”

“She has helped.” Sanders’ deep voice startles me. This is the first time he’s spoken since the reading began.

You know what? Fine. I did my part.

“Great,” I huff. “Well then I best get going. I’m glad you got what you needed. Selene—enjoy your nap!”

And then I leave. Because I can’t keep my head on straight with this stupidly beautiful, tall, gruff, frustrating knight next to me.

4

The woman with the cards. She told a familiar story. A story of falling in love.

Idon’t make it far before I hear the tell-tale noise of Sanders following behind me. Because I’m petty, I pretend not to.

There’s absolutely no way I’m getting anything productive done today, so I hook a right and head toward Al’s Mini-Mart to do my favorite pastime of browsing the grocery aisles.

Shopping for one person isn’t exactly exciting but cooking feels very similar to creating new clothing. My magic doesn’t work perfectly on a new dish, but at least nothing I make tastes absolutely terrible.

Rattling armor continues to distract me all the way into the store. I grab a basket and try to concentrate, until suddenly—“What is this magical place?”

Blinking, I turn to face Sanders. “The grocery store?”

The entire damn store stops to watch as the devilishly handsome knight marches over to the tower of apples and holds one up. “There is no farmer here. Where did this come from? Is that person the farmer?” He points toward one of the teen cashiers who immediately pretends like he wasn’t staring.

“No… he’s the one we pay. The apples did come from a farm but someone brought them here. Didn’t you have markets in medieval times?”

Sanders studies the apple in his hand and then looks around the store. “We did. They were nothing like this, though. Is it here every day?”

“Every single day. Except major holidays.”

He picks three of the greenest apples before placing them in my basket and taking it from me. “I will carry this. What else is here?”

We spend the next hour perusing the aisles of Al’s. It’s not a large grocery store, so an hour seems a bit excessive, but Sanders is fascinated by the cereal aisle, and I have to physically drag him away to stop him from adding another box to our basket.

Halfway through our perusal, I swap our handheld basket for a large cart. I have no idea what I’m going to do with this much cereal, fresh fruit, frozen pizza, and sparkling water. When I go to pay, Sanders is enamored with my credit card and asks the cashier to ring everything up again so he can get a better look.

“Don’t do that,” I cut in. The boy looks back and forth between me and Sanders, unsure what to make of the pair of us. “Thanks for your help!” I call over my shoulder, pushing the cart toward the parking lot. It’s then that I remember I walked here, and I’ll have to carry all of this back to my apartment.

Sanders immediately clocks my predicament. “Let me carry everything.”

“You don’t have to carry everything,” I mumble. I’m a strong, independent woman.

Kind of.