Henricus felt the sun setting, and it stirred him out of deep sleep, and into dreams. His dreams as usual were vivid and extremely detailed, they were filled with gentle, glowing daylight, it's strands like liquid gold, almost palpable, and never searing.
He dreamt of Charles, as he so often did. They were riding in the woods together, like the Knights Templar, holding onto one another, lifelong partners, and the duke was so beautiful, with his boyish good look charms, and he, Henry was leaning his back against his chest as the horse cantered along at a nice slow lope on a loose rein. There was the quiet chattering of animals and the rustling of the trees and the brightness of the day’s sun through the treetops. And then there was the familiar scent, which had a woodsy quality to it, sweeping over him like wind stroking the acres of wheat field, filling the vampire's nares, seeping into him, permeating his whole being, swirling throughout his body. That scent whirled to well up an absolute sense of serenity.
He stirred in his sleep, and the next thing he felt, was a soft wet tongue lapping at his hand, coaxing a smile to the king's rigid stone-like features. Henry turned his head towards the familiar source of heat and opened his eyes slowly. Oh, how he longed to see those beautiful eyes again, full with life and devotion, "Charles". He whispered to his husband, squeezing his hand.