Arthur watched Kay drag Gareth out of the room. Just as he turned back toward the study to continue his battle with the mountain of paperwork, he saw Bedivere walking toward him.
"Your Majesty, Princess Guinevere has arrived."
When Arthur entered the drawing room prepared for Guinevere, he found her sitting on the sofa, her gaze fixed on the scenery outside the window. Hearing the door open, she looked up, her eyes brightening instantly as she stood.
"Your Majesty!"
"Bedivere tells me you are departing, Princess. Did you have something to say to me before you leave?"
Arthur's tone was calm and level. He was no longer the foster son of a Count who needed to show deference to a foreign princess. As the King of Camelot, the roles had reversed; it was Guinevere who now owed him formal respect.
"Yes... I wanted to ask..."
Even though she had spent a long time preparing herself mentally, the words still brought a deep flush to her cheeks. After a moment of hesitation, she gathered her courage. "Will you... will you marry me?"
"The question isn't whether I am willing to marry you," Arthur replied coolly. "It is whether you are truly willing to be my wife."
Guinevere blinked. she had expected Arthur to agree—perhaps even just to secure her father's military support. She had also prepared for a rejection. But she hadn't expected this specific response.
"I am! Of course I am willing to marry you!"
"I think you should go home and think about it more deeply."
To Arthur, the prospect of marrying Guinevere didn't carry much personal resistance, despite what history said about her and Lancelot. In this era, cultural norms were... fluid.
Before the Roman Empire, the Celts were entirely tribal; life was chaotic, and "succession by the son of the deceased" often applied to more than just titles. After the Romans arrived, they brought civilization and the rise of chivalry, turning loose tribes into nations built around fortresses. However, the Romans themselves were quite open-minded; history was full of Great Men whose wives were influential widows and whose children weren't biologically theirs.
In an age with zero entertainment, Britain's social atmosphere was remarkably liberal.
"If you marry me, and I ever discover you have been involved with another man," Arthur said, his gaze turning sharp, "I will kill you."
"Why would you say such a thing to me?" Guinevere looked piteous and deeply hurt. "Since I was a child, I have never even touched another man besides you. You know I am particular—other men make me feel physically ill just by standing near me."
"Who knows what the future holds?"
Guinevere was beautiful and an excellent cook. More importantly, her father was a powerful king, and she was his only daughter. Marrying her would be a massive boon to his future. In all honesty, Arthur wanted to marry her.
He didn't think she would necessarily stray if they wed, but since the legends were what they were, he felt it necessary to lay down the law early.
Seeing her on the verge of tears, Arthur softened his voice slightly. "Even if I agree, we cannot wed now, can we?"
"Go back. Think it over. Consult your father. I have to stabilize my kingdom first. If, in three years' time, you still wish to be my Queen, then we shall discuss it again."
"Bedivere, show the Princess out."
The door opened, and Bedivere stepped in, bowing slightly to Guinevere. "This way, Princess."
Guinevere opened her mouth to argue, but looking at Arthur's changed stature and aura, the words died in her throat. She could only leave a stubborn "I will wait for you forever!" before departing.
The door clicked shut. Arthur walked to the window, watching the knights at the gate and the carriage escorting Guinevere away. His expression was impassive. He wasn't going to avoid doing "right" things just because he feared "historical mistakes." If he was too cowardly to act, he never would have pulled the sword.
Marrying Guinevere was a strategically sound move. Her father ruled one of the strongest kingdoms in Britain. Combined with her beauty and culinary skills, the "利益" (benefit) was undeniable. If his proposal to Merly was out of love, his acceptance of Guinevere was pure pragmatism.
With a beauty like Merly around, and Artoria slowly blossoming into a woman who rivaled both her and Guinevere, simple "lust" was no longer enough to distract him.
"My little Arthur is so cruel."
A melodic, girlish giggle sounded from behind him. Accompanied by the soul-soothing scent of flowers, a soft body pressed against Arthur's back. He looked down to see two snowy-white arms wrapping around his waist, and he felt the light weight of a chin resting on his shoulder.
Hot breath tickled his ear. Arthur turned his head, finding Merly's cherry-pink lips inches from his own.
Fine. Maybe I am still a little lustful.
"Teacher, where is my spear?"
"Isn't your spear right here? It seems quite... spirited."
Merly giggled, her hands sliding down from his abdomen. But before they could go too far, Arthur clamped his hand over hers.
"You know perfectly well I'm talking about a lance."
In both close quarters and mounted combat, a spear or lance held a distinct advantage over a sword. But he and Artoria hadn't been taught to use them yet. Merly had always blocked it, saying she "didn't want them developing strange habits."
Seeing the dangerous glint in Arthur's eyes, the smile on Merly's face faltered.
"Oh, look at the time! I think I left the stove on at home, I should—"
Before she could finish, she tried to wrench her hand free and bolt. But she didn't get two steps before a large hand clamped onto the top of her head.
"Teacher Merly, I think you've been getting a bit too bold lately."
Arthur grabbed Merly by the scruff of her neck, strode over to a large armchair, sat down, and laid her face-down across his lap.
"Wait! Arthur! What are you doing?! I'm your teacher—"
SMACK!
Arthur's hand landed squarely on Merly's bottom.
"A-Ah?!"
"Where are the spears for me and my sister?"
"Arthur! You ungrateful, student-rebeling... YIP!"
SMACK!
Another solid strike. Arthur had wanted to discipline this immortal, mischievous magus for a long time. He didn't hold back; she was durable enough to take it.
"The spears?"
"You're bullying me! OW!"
Outside the drawing room, Bedivere—having just seen Guinevere off—reached for the door handle. Just as her fingers touched the metal, a woman's cry echoed from within.
"AHH!"
Bedivere jumped, her hand trembling as she took a sharp step back. She stared at the closed door in alarm.
Was that... Lady Merly's voice? Why does she sound so... pained?
Though her professional training as a Royal Steward told her not to eavesdrop, her personal history with Arthur won out. She leaned her ear against the door.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
"AAHHH! NO! STOP!"
Wait... could they be...?
Bedivere's eyes went wide with shock. Slowly, her cream-white face turned a vivid, burning shade of red.
In that moment, Bedivere's education regarding the "adult world" took a massive leap forward.
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