The waiter appeared shortly after they sat down. He wore a simple suit, just formal enough for the setting, and spoke with discreet courtesy, as if he understood that the couple before him wished to be disturbed as little as possible.
Semiramis took the menu with a lazy yet charming glance. Her long, perfectly manicured fingers slid slowly across the pages without any real intention of reading. Kazuya, seated across from her, rested his chin on his hand and watched in silence, wearing that same calm gaze that made people believe he knew far more than he let on.
"You're staring at me again."
Her voice came out low, almost a whisper, without lifting her eyes from the menu.
"Is it a crime to look at my own wife?" he replied, a half-smile playing on his lips.
Semiramis raised her gaze slowly, and the golden lights reflected in her wine-colored eyes. "It depends. If you keep looking at me like that… maybe it is."
Kazuya let out a muffled laugh. "Then arrest me."
She leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm, and fixed him with that air of elegant provocation. "Be careful what you wish for, darling. You know I'm not very good at showing mercy."
The waiter returned at the exact moment she finished speaking. He gave a discreet cough and looked away, as if he hadn't heard a thing.
"May I take your order?"
Semiramis smiled without missing a beat.
"Of course. I'll have the filet with red wine sauce and fresh herbs. And a glass of the same wine."
Kazuya kept it simple: grilled chicken, rice, and salad. The waiter nodded and withdrew, leaving them alone once more.
The waiter soon brought their dishes in silence, placing on the table a dinner worthy of a five-star restaurant.
Below them, the city glittered like an ocean of lights, reflected on the glass floor beneath their feet.
Semiramis raised her glass with graceful poise, the ruby liquid swaying like a jewel in the fading sunset.
"A toast," she said, her eyes locked on his. "To the rare occasion my husband decides to take me out to dinner."
Kazuya lifted his own glass, the corner of his mouth curving into a calm smile. "To the rare occasion my wife isn't plotting to poison me."
She laughed softly, the sound light and melodic.
"Darling, if I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't need an entire dinner to do it."
"I know…" he replied, taking a sip of wine. "That's exactly why everything tastes so good. There's always that hint of danger that sharpens the appetite."
Semiramis rested her chin on her hand and studied him for a few seconds.
"You're the only man in the world who can irritate me and amuse me at the same time."
"Maybe that's the perfect balance."
"Or just a test of my patience."
Kazuya smiled and said nothing.
The silence between them wasn't awkward; it was the kind of silence shared by two people who had already lived through enough days, sleepless nights, and laughter together that they no longer needed to fill every moment with words.
A gentle breeze stirred the sheer curtains on the balcony, and the distant hum of the city sounded like a soft melody.
Semiramis twirled her fork through the pasta without hurry. "You know what's curious? I used to hate places like this."
"Too plain?"
"Too… human," she answered, setting down her fork and resting her chin in her palm again. "But with you, everything changes color. Even the ordinary becomes acceptable."
Kazuya watched her for a moment.
"Was that a disguised compliment, or should I be worried?"
"Depends on how you choose to interpret it."
He simply laughed, and she looked away, pretending not to care. But the truth was there, in the subtle curve of her lips.
Dinner continued unhurriedly. From time to time, Semiramis made subtle remarks about the wine's flavor or the dress of some elegant woman passing in the background. Kazuya listened—sometimes replying, sometimes only smiling.
When the waiter brought dessert, Semiramis leaned slightly forward.
"I bet you don't even remember the last time you had something sweet with me."
"Hard to forget…" he said. "That time, you nearly flipped the plate when I tried to take the last bite."
"Tried?" She raised an eyebrow. "You literally stole it right in front of me."
"It was a strategic move."
"It was blatant theft, darling."
Kazuya shrugged with a brief smile. "You married me anyway."
"And I regret it every single day," she murmured, but the sweetness in her tone betrayed every word.
They finished dinner as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet. When they stood, Semiramis slipped her arm through his without asking, her fingers naturally intertwining with his, as though that spot belonged to her by right.
"Where to now?" Kazuya asked as they descended in the elevator.
"I haven't decided," she replied, looking at their reflection in the mirrored walls. "But I want something… different. Something that distracts me."
"So, something quiet or something fun?"
She thought for a moment.
"Quietly fun."
"Sounds like an impossible request."
"That's why I leave it to you," she said with a sideways smile.
Kazuya glanced at her and shook his head. "You know whatever I pick, you'll complain."
"Probably."
"Then how about a walk by the lake?"
She seemed to consider it for a second before nodding. "Acceptable."
The path to the lake was lit by small golden lights embedded in the ground. The city reflected on the calm water, and people passed by laughing and chatting without hurry. Semiramis walked slowly, her heels clicking delicately against the glass pavement.
"Don't you ever get tired of being stared at?" he asked, noticing the furtive glances from those around them.
"Not at all," she answered, lifting her chin with regal grace. "Being watched is an old habit. It's part of who I am."
"And here I thought modesty was one of your virtues."
"Modesty is for those who need it."
Kazuya let out a low laugh. "You're impossible."
"And yet irresistible," she finished, turning her gaze to the water's reflection. "Admit it."
"Maybe."
"'Maybe'? What kind of husband answers 'maybe'?"
"The kind who doesn't want to inflate his wife's ego any further."
She smiled and leaned lightly against his side. "Too late for that."
They continued walking; the breeze tossed a strand of her hair across his face. Kazuya brushed it away with an automatic gesture, and for a few seconds she fell silent, watching him from the corner of her eye.
"You do that so naturally it's almost annoying," she murmured.
"Do what?"
"Leave me speechless."
He smiled. "It's a talent."
When they reached the end of the path, a group of young people were releasing small glowing lanterns over the lake. The lights floated gently above the water, mirroring themselves like tiny suns. Semiramis stopped and watched intently.
"Pretty, isn't it?"
"Yes," she answered, almost in a whisper. "So simple… and yet beautiful."
Kazuya looked at her. "Want to release one too?"
"Me?" She arched an eyebrow, surprised. "Do you think a queen like me does childish things like that?"
"Of course not," he said, already buying one.
She sighed but didn't stop him. When he placed the small lantern in her hands, she eyed it suspiciously.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?"
"Close your eyes and make a wish."
She looked at him as if he'd suggested something absurd, but she closed her eyes all the same. For a moment the wind blew, and the city's sounds seemed to fade away.
When she opened them again, Kazuya was watching in silence. She released the lantern, and it rose slowly, glowing with the golden light around them.
"Did you make a wish?"
"I did."
"Can I know what it was?"
"No."
"Fair enough."
"But I can tell you it involves you," she added, almost imperceptibly.
He gave a faint smile, and she looked away, pretending to watch the sky.
Later, they walked to a small square surrounded by artificial flowers. There was an ice-cream machine, and Semiramis stopped in front of it, studying it with curiosity.
"Want one?" he asked.
"I want to see you guess my flavor."
Kazuya sighed and dropped a coin into the machine. "Chocolate."
"Wrong."
"Vanilla."
"Wrong again."
"Then which?"
"Strawberry," she said, as if it were obvious. "Always strawberry."
"I should've known."
She took the cone and tasted it delicately, then held out the spoon to him. "Want a bite?"
"I don't trust food you offer me."
"So you trust me more than the ice cream?"
"Depends on the day."
She laughed, and the sound mingled with the twinkling lights around them. They walked a little farther until the night wind began to cool.
Eventually they sat on a wooden bench, watching the moon's reflection on the lake.
Semiramis rested her head on his shoulder without a word.
She remembered everything they had lived through together.
At the beginning, Semiramis had seen Kazuya as nothing more than a passing curiosity—a human who, by some twist of fate, had inherited the burden of saving mankind. To her, he was just another mortal who thought he could understand the nature of Kings and Legends. Someone meant to be manipulated, tested, and eventually discarded.
The Assyrian queen had always observed humans from above, as if they were insects inside a golden cage. The new Master would be no different.
Yet Kazuya never reacted to her provocations the way others did. He didn't shrink before her presence, nor did he seek her approval. When Semiramis hurled venomous remarks or insinuations of superiority, he simply accepted them with a calm that bordered on boredom—and that, more than any flattery, caught her attention.
For the first time, someone refused to dance to the tune of her poison.
Her curiosity began as a faint spark, a desire to understand how an apparently ordinary human could meet her gaze without arrogance or fear.
Over time, she realized Kazuya wasn't trying to understand her—he simply accepted her. That quiet indifference, that way of treating her as an equal, was what slowly began to crack the wall of pride she had built around her heart.
She started watching him in secret. At first out of boredom, then out of genuine interest. She saw how he led the Servants, how he handled Chaldea's crises, how he bore the emotional weight of a role no sane person would ever want. There was no heroic shine to him, no naïveté—just a silent, cold, almost pragmatic determination, the same kind of strength she herself had possessed in life while ruling Babylon amid intrigue and poison.
Her fascination disguised itself as study. She told herself she was merely analyzing him, trying to uncover the secret behind his influence over the Servants. But as she watched, she began to notice how his presence had become habitual—a fixed point amid the monotony of eternity. Without realizing it, Kazuya had become the only human she truly saw.
Admiration mixed with anger. It was humiliating to acknowledge that a mere mortal had slipped past her defenses. She tried to distance herself, sharpening the venom in her words and the disdain in her gaze. Yet the more she did, the more she was affected in the opposite way. When Kazuya praised another Servant, she felt a subtle discomfort; when he was wounded in battle, her heart reacted before her rational mind could suppress the impulse. She tried to convince herself it was simple curiosity, an instinctive response to an unusually strong man. But the poison of feeling had already been spilled.
When she finally realized what she felt, it was far too late to deny it.
Semiramis, the proud empress, had fallen—not to a king, but to a man who had never once tried to conquer her.
And when she finally gave herself to him one night before a singularity, and later chose to remain by his side as his wife after countless trials, she felt indescribably happy.
Yet the final war was merciless. Kazuya, who had always carried the burden of commanding the Servants and protecting humanity, ended up dying in the last Lostbelt. It was inevitable given how everything had unfolded, and Semiramis knew it. But knowledge did nothing to lessen the pain.
When he left, there were no screams, no uncontrollable tears. The queen simply stood motionless, watching the light consume the man she had, against all reason, learned to love. She didn't try to stop him. It would have been pointless and cowardly. He would die as he had lived…
The silence that followed was the cruelest of all.
Semiramis, accustomed to solitude and the fleeting immortality of Heroic Spirits, believed herself above human pain. But the void Kazuya left was different—not a screaming hole, but a wound that bled slowly, insistently, every time she remembered his voice or the way he said her name without reverence. She tried to rationalize it, as she always did, telling herself it was merely attachment to habit, a consequence of coexistence.
But the lie tasted too bitter even for her.
She hated him for it—for taking with him the only fragment of humanity she had ever allowed herself to possess. And at the same time, she loved him even more for making her feel something that transcended empires and ages…
In the end, she had been fortunate to be with him now. Her husband had become a god capable of anything, and no one deserved it more than he did…
Semiramis felt the gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder—a gesture both familiar and electrifying, as if he knew exactly where to press to awaken sleeping memories. It pulled her from her reverie.
She turned slowly, lifting her gaze to meet his beautiful face right in front of her, illuminated by the moon's silver reflection on the lake.
Without a word, she leaned in, and their lips met in a slow, gentle kiss. It was a kiss that asked for nothing, simply existed, sealing the moment like a sweet poison coursing through their veins.
Kazuya pulled away first, a subtle smile on his lips, and stood, offering his hand to help her up.
"Let's go back to the hotel room," he said, his voice low and confident, as if the entire world were merely a backdrop for them. "That five-star suite we booked for the night. The night isn't over yet, and I don't want to share it with anyone but you, my queen~"
She took his hand and rose with grace, their fingers intertwining as though they had never been apart.
They walked back through the square, the cool night breeze carrying the scent of artificial flowers and the distant sound of strangers' laughter.
Semiramis said nothing, but the subtle tightening of her grip on his hand was answer enough—a queen who, for him, was willing to be merely a woman in love.
________________________
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