Chapter Six
Arthur slow-marched down the winding stairs. His gait reminded me of a cowboy from the Wild West, though he wore no chaps. His powerful thighs were covered in dark breeches that hugged him from his calves on up to his gluteus maximus. His washboard abs and large pecs pushed against the fabric of his cotton tunic, which gaped open at his chest as though he’d hastily thrown it over his head. But my attention skated over these details—mostly. My gaze caught on the long, thick, broad blade swinging at his side.
So did Loren’s. “Is that…?” Her own blade lowered as the finger of her other hand rose. She pointed at the fabled sword.
As though it wanted to answer for itself, the sword caught a wayward ray of sunlight and flashed at us. It might, in fact, have a mind of its own. Exca
