Page 1 of The Last Knight (The Cursed Kingdom #5)

Chapter One

G unther Janssen made his way toward the balcony that overlooked the castle’s courtyard, his tall form draped in thick velvet-like fabric that floated from his wide shoulders to his ankles.

Dark as the surroundings and oppressive as the air in the gloomy corridor, the midnight-black floor length cloak swayed around his body, the hem of it barely brushing the cold stone floor.

An enormous army had gathered, correction, his enormous army was assembled.

Hundreds of soulless creatures and humans loyal to the darkness stood in wait, anticipating his directives.

The air sizzled with expectation, everyone wanting to know where he would take the Dark Realm, the kingdom over which he was now ruler.

It was ironic that the realm that had claimed his existence for centuries and had sapped his soul was now his to rule while, at the same time, a prison from which he could not escape.

The feeble light flickering from the evenly spaced sconces along the walls cast long shadows across his path. There was no brightness in the Dark Realm, even in the middle of the day, it was rare that the suns’ rays managed to permeate the thickness of the mists surrounding the realm.

In Gunther’s opinion, the darkness was an apt punishment for the offences he’d committed.

So many wrongs that even asking a higher power for forgiveness, which he’d done time and again, would never redeem him.

In his core, there were times when Gunther understood the harsh sentence he’d lived through, of being held prisoner for hundreds of years.

Bitterness filled the back of his throat as the sky came into view.

He was the supreme law of the realm, a sort of king.

Albeit his kingdom was one filled with the screams of those held captive, blood running freely across stone floors, and an army of soulless creatures that never hesitated to maim or kill.

There was no remorse in the Dark Realm, no pity and certainly no redemption.

One thing Gunther was sure of was that one misstep in his new role would lead to being overthrown, killed by the many who deemed him unworthy.

Every time he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

On one hand, to be killed would mean finally being free.

However, deep in his being, Gunther felt that there was a reason he’d lived so long and if he were to be honest, he wasn’t ready to die, not yet.

For the first time in his life, he’d found something to look forward to. Did he dare to admit that a flicker of hope had birthed within his tattered soul? Of course, to expect redemption, forgiveness or even to be worthy of the miniscule amount of anticipation, he felt was ludicrous.

It was nonsensical how many times, he pictured a particular woman, repeated in his mind the scant minutes spent in the presence of the one person who’d called to the very essence of who he was.

He wasn’t a fool; nothing would ever come of it.

After all, his fate was sealed, bound and locked.

And yet, there was no harm in just a bit of light in his dark existence.

Two guards fell in line behind him as he stepped out onto the wide balcony that had always been used to address the Dark Army.

At the hush of voices and the sight of hundreds of eyes lifting to him a surge of energy swelled within.

Every pore of his body hummed as the magic coursed through Gunther’s veins, sending pulses of intoxicating elixir to each of his senses.

His vision was becoming so keen, he could see every expression and notice each movement in the forest beyond.

Scents assaulted him, both good and bad, and he inhaled deeply enjoying the wonder of it.

A noise caught his attention on the ground below.

There in the far corner of the courtyard, a mouse urged another along, scampering across an open space to find a perfect place to hide, their soft squeaks as audible as if he was mere inches from them.

Relishing the moment, Gunther took a few minutes to hear, see and smell the surroundings before finally addressing the crowd below.

“As your leader, you are beholden to me now. I am to be called Gunther, nothing more. I do not require titles such as lord or master.”

There were grunts of agreement from the creatures below, whether they liked him or not, Gunther didn’t care. What he would not tolerate would be any dissidents. “If any of you do not wish to serve me, then move to the north side of the courtyard.”

There were exchanges of looks and murmurs until finally a group of about ten moved to stand together on the northern portion of the courtyard.

The group was made up of mostly humans, perhaps those captured by Meliot, his predecessor, and kept against their will. Despite gaining the dead wizard’s powers, Gunther had not gained insight as to why some of the many who lived in the Dark Realm were held or lived there voluntarily.

“Who are you?” he called down, pinning one of the men who’d moved from the main group with his gaze.

The man held his chin high, his eyes lifted, meeting Gunther’s directly. “We were all brought here against our will, part of a curse. We wish to be returned to our homes.”

Gunther slid a glance to one of the guards, who peered down at the group of ten men with undisguised glee. Others who’d not moved did the same, waiting for the group who’d dissented to be punished.

There was little choice, an example had to be made.

Gunther held out his right hand, palm facing the group. None of the men flinched, instead they stood tall, prepared to face their fate. If he was down there, had been given the choice, he would have chosen death over remaining captive.

A flash of light erupted from his palm, engulfed the group of ten and within seconds, they were gone, only smoke remaining where they’d stood.

The soulless army cheered, holding up either fists or whatever weapons they carried as they grunted, called out in their native tongues and stomped their boots into the ground.

Gunther lifted both hands, silencing the crowd. “Your commanders will inform each unit about what is expected in the following days.”

With that he turned on his heel. One of the guards stepped into his path. “Gunther, you are expected to choose one of the warriors and reward him.”

“For?”

“Exemplary action.”

“I am the new leader and will decide which practices will continue.” He met the man’s gaze straight on. “Never step into my path again.”

The guard gave a subtle nod, face expressionless, and moved aside.

At the previous ruler’s death, there were many vying to take over one day.

When Gunther lived among the warriors, he’d heard rumors of a plan to kill the wizard, because whomever committed the act would gain Meliot’s powers.

What no one had expected was for Gunther, one of the enslaved humans to be present in the room when Meliot was killed by a man destined to disappear from the realm.

He’d not asked for it and if given the choice would have not taken it. The only saving grace was that perhaps he could wrong some rights.

Upon returning to the throne room, he removed his cape and threw it over a chair, then he went to a bank of windows and peered out into the dim sky. A soft curve bending the corners of his lips, he let out a long breath.

The men he’d made disappear were returned to where they’d come from with a long road ahead, some having been held captive for a decade or more. But at last, they were free, and it felt good.

Oh, but the darkness, the magic that coursed through him was intoxicating, it was taking over there was no denying it. Soon he would become as cruel and unjust as his predecessor.