Artoria's journey to becoming king began to speed up.
Everyone could sense it—Artoria wanted to finish her journey as quickly as possible.
With Morgan's help, she rescued one village after another, receiving praise from the locals each time.
"Our king is so great—"
"Our king is so admirable—"
Children's songs echoed along Britain's coastline, but no one noticed the emptiness in Artoria's eyes.
Not even Artoria herself.
"It's fine."
"This is the kind of king people need…"
Those words, like a hypnotic whisper, lingered in her ears.
Morgan saw it all.
She praised her without reservation.
"Artoria, you really are the best choice for Caliburn."
"When we return, you'll inherit the throne properly, I'm sure."
"Maybe…"
Artoria forced a smile.
---
Before long, their journey neared its end.
When they finally saw Camelot appear in the distance, Morgan knew it was time to take the next step.
Under the moonlight that night, Ian stood outside Morgan's room, just as promised.
The marks from the last time he'd been there were still visible on the door.
He stared at them and knocked.
"Morgan—neesan, I'm here."
That wasn't how Ian usually addressed her.
She had taught him to say it.
"Call me 'Princess' in front of others. In private, just call me 'sister.'"
"As for the future… well, we'll see how you behave."
A voice came from within.
"Right on time."
"Then—come in."
"Alright."
He stepped inside again.
Morgan, now before him, looked completely different.
Her voice was soft. Her outfit, revealing.
Her full chest was barely contained by a deep V-neckline, swaying gently with her movements. Her royal outfit had been swapped for a short skirt, exposing her long, flawless legs—smooth and fair, like polished jade.
She sat on the bed's edge, twirling her hair with a finger.
It was the perfect angle: enough to tempt, but not fully reveal.
Ian, unused to seeing her like this, began breathing heavier. The magical flow in the room stirred.
Morgan could tell. Dragons didn't hide their reactions—and this one gave her a sense of satisfaction.
She already knew she was beautiful. But seductive? She could do that too.
"Are your eyes glued to me?"
She smiled and stretched her leg forward slightly, her toes moving gently, as if inviting a massage.
"Want to try tonight?"
"I'm always ready for you—my greedy dragon."
Her teasing was just the right mix of boldness and allure.
But—
Ian shook his head.
"Morgan… neesan. Not tonight."
She wasn't surprised.
He was a beast, yes, but not one to hide his intentions.
If he truly wanted her, he would've acted long ago.
Not enough yet?
That was fine.
He was just a beast—one she would eventually tame.
"Alright."
"I won't push."
Morgan retracted her leg and stood up, walking to the center table in the room.
There sat a bottle of wine, sealed with a cork.
"Come on. Have a drink with your sister."
"What's that?"
"Wine," she said plainly.
"Oh, Artoria hasn't had a drink with you, right?"
"Then you definitely need to try this."
"But you… you probably need a special way to drink."
With that, she pulled the cork and tossed it aside. A rich, slightly decadent aroma filled the room.
That was just the beginning.
Ian watched as Morgan slowly tugged down her neckline.
Her breast, as it were, was on full display again.
Smiling, she raised the wine bottle and began pouring it down her neck.
The wine flowed over her skin, across all the places it was meant to touch, eventually soaking into her once-white clothes, staining them a light red.
But she didn't seem to mind.
"Come," she whispered,
"Let me teach you how to drink."
"You'll love it."
"Hah…"
Ian's throat made a sound.
In the next instant, Morgan was pinned down on the table.
There was no deception in what followed.
Morgan felt she had completely figured Ian out.
It only took a bit of provocation for the dragon inside him to awaken.
His strength and body surged beyond human limits. He might as well have been invulnerable.
Just like now—
She couldn't move.
Her hands were pinned tight.
Her legs couldn't kick.
All she could do was watch him devour, tear, and bite—leaving marks everywhere.
But even in his beast-like state, he remained rational enough not to actually consume the breast he fixated on.
What had happened to make him hold back so precisely?
Was it something Tiamat taught him?
She didn't know—and it didn't matter.
Watching Ian gulp down the wine from her skin, Morgan let out a hot breath.
The right amount of roughness was something she could enjoy, too.
Squish—
As Ian paused briefly, Morgan asked:
"So? This drinking style suits you, right?"
"Aren't your sister and alcohol the perfect match?"
Ian nodded… then shook his head.
Morgan frowned.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why both nod and shake your head?"
"Nodding—because the way of drinking was amazing."
"Shaking—because my sister and alcohol aren't the perfect match."
"Sister—"
Ian's eyes glowed red.
"You taste a thousand times better than the wine."
"..."
Morgan laughed even more cheerfully.
If what came before were seductive whispers, then this was an indulgent answer.
This guy probably knows quite well how to thoroughly enjoy a girl.
Should she say it's no wonder he's Tiamat's son?
Thinking this, Morgan didn't notice that the necklace around her neck had begun to shake.
Buzz.
"Morgan!"
"Why do I smell my son?!"
"Huh?!"