Before anyone could respond, Artoria pulled Ian by the hand and rushed toward the other side of the courtyard.
Their footsteps echoed along the slightly wet corridor until they finally faded into the distance.
"The King sure is in a rush to punish that guy, huh?"
A young soldier murmured blankly—then suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.
It was a murderous glare, as if someone wanted to kill him on the spot.
But when he turned around, he saw no one.
Huh? Now that he thought about it… wasn't there someone else here just now?
Who was it again…
---
On the other side.
Artoria held Ian's hand as she ran with him.
Closer.
They stopped in front of a thick, heavy door.
Creak—
Artoria pushed it open, revealing a graceful quarter-arc swing.
"Let's go in."
Without hesitation, she led Ian inside.
The door closed behind them again, unnoticed by anyone, though a shadowy figure had quietly followed to just outside the door.
Inside—
Artoria could feel her heart pounding rapidly.
A man.
A woman.
Alone together.
Just the two of them.
A million scenarios ran through her mind, her thoughts a whirlwind of chaos.
Honestly—
If she hadn't become the King of Britain, perhaps her life would have turned out very differently.
Lost in these thoughts, she suddenly felt warmth.
Ian had wrapped her in a gentle embrace.
"Don't panic. I'm here."
The first half of his sentence comforted her like a warm blanket.
But the second half pulled her back into a bitter reality.
"Artoria is the King of Britain."
Just that single sentence opened a gulf between them that felt impossible to cross.
She parted her lips, wanting to say something.
But in the end—
All she managed to utter was:
"That's right. I am the King of Britain."
"…"
"Right—by the way…"
Artoria looked at him.
"Why did you hit someone?"
"Didn't you promise not to bully people without a reason?"
"If you keep acting like that, people will come to hate you."
"Because… they said things I really didn't like."
Ian's voice grew a little heated.
"So I acted."
"I'm sorry… my King."
"Things you didn't like…?"
Artoria frowned slightly.
"Yes."
"They insulted Morgan," Ian said, recalling what had happened with her on the streets of Camelot. "It was awful."
"…"
Artoria's eyes widened.
Until that moment, she'd still been clinging to some semblance of composure.
But the instant she heard Morgan's name, all clarity in her thoughts vanished.
"So… because of her, you lashed out in front of everyone?"
"Yeah."
Her head buzzed with static.
If the earlier 'punishment' had just been an excuse to bring Ian away for a private moment…
Now, she truly wanted to punish him.
She had been the one who came first—
It was she who had met him first, who had shared so many things with him first—
Why should she just give that up?
Breathing heavily, Artoria walked to the throne.
This was a place reserved only for the King. The place where she would one day receive all of Camelot.
It was quiet, undisturbed by others.
And yet—
Why did she have to hear those words here?
Why would he fight for her sister?
Weren't all of those things supposed to belong to her?
Thinking this, she sat on the throne.
"You went too far—"
"I'm going to punish you, Ian."
Artoria removed the cloak from her shoulders and laid it across the throne, like a soft cover.
Her armored skirt clattered to the floor.
What had always been her deepest secret—a truth that, if exposed, could plunge Britain into chaos—was now plainly in front of Ian.
"Come here."
"Unless I'm satisfied today… I'm not letting you go."
She breathed faintly.
"I mean it."
In the silence of the throne room, strange sounds began to echo.
Artoria gripped the armrests of the throne tightly.
Earlier, when she had declared she wouldn't let him go, she sounded confident and commanding.
But now that things were happening, it was a different story.
At the first moment, her composure cracked.
The second time, she was gasping.
The third, she let out a faint whimper.
Her legs trembled in mid-air.
In that moment, she felt like she'd returned to when she first met him—
Only she had known him.
Only she had been close to him.
"Ian—!"
Artoria called his name with eyes shut tight.
Her hands moved to cradle his head.
At that moment, her legs stretched straight in the air—
And then she collapsed limply onto the throne.
"You look like you're enjoying this."
Ian stood up and looked at her.
"I'm not. I'm really not."
Artoria let out a slow breath.
Clinging to what remained of her rationality, she stared at him.
"This is bad."
"You were bad!"
"It's Morgan's fault you became like this!"
"Keep going! I haven't said I'm satisfied yet!"
"…"
"Okay."
"As long as it pleases you, my King."
At that moment, the throne transformed into a place where dragons were fed.
More precisely, Artoria herself became the offering.
While the rain had stopped outside in Camelot, inside the throne room, it had only just begun.
How many times could a girl lose all reason from overwhelming pleasure?
Artoria didn't know.
But she knew one thing:
If she didn't act now, Ian would definitely return to Morgan's side.
However…
Was there a way to keep him around openly?
To have a justifiable reason to call him into a room where only she and he were present—
Even if Morgan was nearby, she could still do it confidently?
Wait…
There is a way.
And hadn't she already done it?
"Ian."
With her legs being held, her mind a hazy mix of emotion and longing, Artoria, still barely clinging to rational thought, looked at him lovingly as he paused in front of her.
"Ian—"
"Become one of my Knights of the Round Table."
"I… need you."
What she didn't realize was—
Her soft, final words were heard clearly by someone standing just outside the door.
Amid the faint background sounds of closeness and affection, Morgan clenched her arm.
"Make him a Knight of the Round Table…?"
"Artoria…"
"You'll regret this decision. I promise."