The man was dressed in luxurious attire, his features handsome, though an air of sorrow always lingered about him. Yet, he carried himself with an unshakable composure.
Morgan, upon seeing him, sensed an extraordinary aura.
This one must be no ordinary man.
His strength might even surpass that of Lot's.
At that thought, Morgan glanced at Lot and inwardly cursed.
Despite possessing talent no lesser than others, he lagged far behind in diligence.
Other knights would rise early to train in swordsmanship or horsemanship.
But Lot?
Oh, he'd practice riding in the mornings too.
Except it wasn't a horse he was riding.
At that moment, the red-haired man approached the front of Lot and Morgan's forces, bowing slightly as he addressed Lot.
"Greetings. I am Tristan, serving under King Mark. May I ask who you are?"
Frowning in thought, he then looked at Morgan and Lot.
"Are you perhaps Her Majesty Morgan and His Majesty Lot of Camelot?"
In Tristan's eyes, the troops these two led were impeccably equipped, their morale exceptionally high, and their numbers far from small. In all of England, only two factions could field such a formidable army.
One was Vortigern, who, though currently based in Wales, was a force not to be underestimated.
The other was Camelot.
And given Lot and Morgan's striking appearances, Tristan was all the more certain they hailed from Camelot.
As for Vortigern…
Though he was handsome as well,
it was common knowledge
he was a single man.
No women would ever be seen among his forces.
"Yes."
Morgan was surprised but nodded nonetheless.
"An honor to meet you, Your Majesty Lot, Your Majesty Morgan."
Tristan responded with impeccable courtesy.
"What brings you here? Are you on your way to deliver gifts?"
Morgan couldn't help but ask, seeing Tristan's demeanor.
"Ah, yes." Tristan nodded. "I've come on behalf of my uncle to seek the hand of Princess Iseult of Ireland."
"Oh."
Morgan quickly recalled King Mark, the ruler Tristan had mentioned.
Mark was the King of Cornwall,
a kingdom in the southwest of Britain.
His relations with Ireland, however, were rather amicable.
If we ever plan to move on Ireland, this could be useful. Using Cornwall as a stepping stone, we could bring Ireland under our control.
Once that's done, all three islands of Britain would belong to me.
And my power would grow even greater.
Geographically speaking, launching an assault on Vortigern from Cornwall by sea would be far easier.
Ever since following Lot, Morgan had developed a certain fondness for striking from behind.
Hmm…
Should I try to forge an alliance with King Mark?
Morgan pondered.
Meanwhile, Lot was also sizing up Tristan.
[To think I'd run into Tristan here.]
Did Lot know Tristan?
Morgan's attention shifted to Lot.
She pricked up her ears, eager to hear his thoughts.
And what of this man's strength?
Could he be recruited into the Round Table?
Morgan's ambitions were vast.
She needed many to swear allegiance to her and Lot.
[Damn, Tristan's here to propose on behalf of his uncle? Oh, so it's that part of the story.]
Hm?
What story?
Morgan grew even more curious.
[Ah, what a shame. He and Iseult fell in love, yet she ended up marrying his uncle. In the end, their love ended in tragedy.]
Lot's thoughts continued.
Tristan's life had been tragic from the very beginning.
His mother died in childbirth, naming him "Tristan" Child of Sorrow. His father fell in battle before ever laying eyes on him, and his mother passed not long after giving birth.
Thus, he was raised by King Mark,
who treated him as his own son.
And that very bond sealed his tragic fate.
Torn between the woman he loved and the man who raised him,
his story could only end in sorrow.
What?!
Morgan was stunned by the thoughts she'd gleaned from Lot's mind.
Good grief, just how messy are your love lives, you knights?!
Here's a love triangle,
and over with my sister, there's another one!
Wait, no not just a triangle.
Morgan then recalled Galahad's mother.
Just how many angles are we talking here?
She couldn't help but complain internally.
Lancelot and Tristan, regardless of the specifics, why are you both so obsessed with forbidden love?
If you two don't end up tragic, who will?
Then, she glanced at Lot.
Hmph.
My Husband's far better.
He's only for me.
Doesn't even glance at anyone else.
Compared to the other women of this era, I'm incredibly fortunate.
Even if it's a political marriage,
I love it.
Truly, I was destined to become Britain's queen. No matter how you look at it, my luck is unparalleled.
With that, she cast a slightly pitying gaze at Tristan and said:
"Well, then, I wish you a smooth journey. You may face many hardships along the way."
Having said that, she looked at Lot with eyes full of affection.
Forbidden love is more terrifying than any dragon.
"Let's go. We should continue on our way as well."
And so, Morgan and her forces resumed their march.
Tristan stepped aside to let them pass.
Yet, as he watched Morgan's retreating figure, he couldn't shake a deep sense of unease.
"I feel there was more to her words… Her tone carried sympathy, but not just for my origins. Does she know of some other misfortune awaiting me on this journey?"
Tristan's instincts warned him of something amiss.
But he couldn't fathom what trials lay ahead.
For now, he pressed on toward Ireland, determined to fulfill his uncle's wish.
Yet, Morgan's words lingered in his mind.
Only later, when he arrived in Ireland and met Iseult, would he come to "understand" the "hidden meaning" behind Morgan's warning.
...
After parting ways with Tristan, Lot felt the atmosphere grow noticeably lighter.
The army set up camp.
Lot and Morgan settled in their tent to await their meal.
At the moment, Lot was sprawled across his chair like a certain lazy grandpa, utterly relaxed.
[Well, "Tristan the Tragic" lives up to his name. Just his presence made everything feel gloomier. Tch, how did the other Round Table knights even put up with his moodiness?]
Wait, what did you just say?
Morgan's eyes widened as she caught Lot's thoughts.
Are you saying Tristan no, "Tristan the Tragic" could become a member of the Round Table?
Is his martial prowess that exceptional?
Damn it, if I'd known he was that strong, I wouldn't have let him leave so easily!
What a waste!
Annoyed that Lot had casually glossed over such crucial information, Morgan stealthily smacked his thigh when he wasn't looking.
Heh. Success.
Satisfied, she smirked to herself.
Lot, meanwhile, could only look at her with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
What was that for?
One moment, she's gazing at me with tender affection, and the next, she's smacking me in frustration.
Did I provoke her? Did I offend her?
I don't get it.
[Is this just how pregnant women act?]
The hell do you mean, "how pregnant women act"?!
Morgan's eye twitched, and she was tempted to bite him again.
But just as she was about to move, Lot's thoughts continued:
[Guess Morgan's really going through a lot. I should take better care of her mood. They say if pregnant women aren't pampered enough, they can get depressed.]
Morgan's heart softened.
I won't get depressed.
With you around, how could I?
Even if I'm a little down, just looking at you cheers me right up.
Pleased, she stretched and nestled into Lot's arms.
"I'm tired. Let me nap in your arms for a bit."
"Sleep. My arms will always be a safe place for you."
"Mmm…"
Morgan planted a kiss on Lot's cheek before closing her eyes.
She fell asleep quickly, her expression childlike.
So much so that she nearly drooled.
Lot watched her fondly, then gently traced a finger along her lips.
Teasing her is just too fun…
Ow!
Lot stared in dismay as Morgan clamped down on his finger with her teeth.
Meanwhile, the "sleeping" Morgan curled her lips into a smug grin.
You dare tease me?
I'll show you I'm not to be trifled with.
She gnawed on his finger, savoring her petty revenge.
...
The army marched on.
After some time, they returned to Lot's territory, the Orkney Islands.
Along the way, they clashed with remnants of Vortigern's forces,
crushing them one by one.
And the one who contributed the most in this campaign?
None other than Merlin.
With him around, no secrets could remain hidden.
And when it came to Vortigern's allies, Merlin showed no mercy.
No matter how much Morgan antagonized him, he knew who the true enemy was.
Throughout the campaign, Merlin repeatedly marveled at Lot's mastery of the art of face-changing.
Before encountering a new faction, Merlin would be respectfully addressed as "Sir Merlin" by Morgan and Lot.
But the moment he exposed their allegiances, he'd instantly become "that old swindler."
And then, before the next encounter, it was back to "Sir Merlin."
This cycle repeated so often that even Merlin who normally lacked human emotions found himself growing irritated.
But then again,
who cared about Merlin's feelings?
Even his own apprentice, Artoria, had been thoroughly bribed by Morgan with delicious meals.
Nom nom nom…
Master? What's that?
Can you eat it?
Food comes first.
...
Upon returning to Orkney, Morgan couldn't help but smile.
She felt truly happy.
Though she'd only lived here for a few months,
it already felt like home.
The sea breeze carried a saltier scent than Camelot's.
The castles and structures were far less grand.
But this was a kingdom Lot had built with his own hands.
A land that reflected his ideals more than Britain ever could.
Sitting in the carriage, Morgan leaned lightly against Lot's shoulder.
Unlike their departure, when they'd ridden together on horseback, they now traveled by carriage.
Morgan's belly had begun to swell.
Their child was growing.
She'd initially insisted on riding, but Lot had firmly overruled her, carrying her into the carriage instead.
Of course, Morgan had known his intentions before he even acted.
But who could refuse such a display of love from her husband?
In some ways, Morgan was utterly devoid of a queen's pride.
In fact, one might even call her a tsundere.
But her tsun was reserved for others.
With Lot, she was nothing but a sweet, doting wife.
As they arrived at the castle, Morgan rested against Lot's shoulder.
[Sleep. First, eat something, then get some proper sleep. This whole trip's been exhausting.]
Lot's thoughts drifted.
"The moment we're home, all he thinks about is sleeping."
Morgan couldn't decide whether to laugh or scowl.
Then…
"Carry me to the bedroom."
She looped her arms around Lot's neck and effortlessly leapt into his embrace.
"Hey, careful with the baby."
Lot tensed.
"Relax. He'll understand his mother's needs."
Morgan waved him off.
"..."
Lot mourned for Gawain silently.
Then, he turned toward the bedroom.
But the moment he took his first step
The castle doors burst open.
"Um, Your Majesties, King Leodegrance has sent an envoy to meet with you…"
Artoria walked in, announcing the news
Only to freeze at the sight of Lot carrying Morgan in his arms.
She blinked.
I've messed up again.
The moment their eyes met, Morgan and Lot both glared at Artoria.
Welp.
Guess I'll be fishing for my meals from now on.
Artoria sighed inwardly.
And indeed, Morgan and Lot's thoughts aligned perfectly.
But after that, Lot's focus shifted to Artoria's words.
[King Leodegrance's envoy?]
[Wait, isn't he Artoria's future father-in-law?]