The sky cleared after the rain.
Rainwater, not yet fully dried, dripped from the eaves onto the streets of Camelot.
The air grew fresh, and a single breath felt exhilarating.
However...
More than the post-rain Camelot, Morgan was currently concerned with something else.
Her gaze shifted slightly downward, landing on her hand, which was intertwined with Ian's.
Does this... really count as a date?
"Big Sister Morgan."
"I told you to call me 'Your Highness the Princess' when we're outside!" Morgan shot Ian a reproachful glance.
"What's wrong?"
"It seems like everyone is looking at us."
"Wh-What?"
Morgan had been so focused on her hand in Ian's that she hadn't noticed her surroundings at all.
After the rain, Britain had returned to its usual state.
Naturally, there were quite a few people on the streets.
They were whispering amongst themselves, their words sounding somewhat sharp and mean.
"Isn't that the princess? Why is she holding hands with another man?"
"Nonsense—that's the man who drew the sword with King Arthur."
"Oh?! So that's him?"
"Of course it is."
"I heard this princess isn't well-liked by King Uther."
"That's not surprising, then. Not surprising at all."
"..."
This was why Morgan disliked going out.
Her status was simply too awkward.
She was clearly King Uther's eldest daughter, yet she had absolutely no right of succession to the throne.
From the perspective of an ordinary person, she was naturally the eldest daughter who was detested by King Uther.
These words were like sharp arrows piercing Morgan's heart. She turned aside, looking uncomfortable.
"Wait for me a moment,"
Before Morgan could respond to Ian's words, she saw him rush out at a speed she never could have anticipated.
The next thing she saw was the image of him lifting a man with a single hand.
"You, what are you doing?"
"I want to kill you."
The young man's tone was cold and serious.
His pupils were already blood-red.
It was a tone that no one hearing it would ever mistake for a joke.
"Don't joke around!"
"Even if you're you, you can't..."
The man who had been shouting the loudest was now unable to speak a single word.
Because Ian was gripping him by the throat.
"..."
Realizing what was happening, Morgan hurried to Ian's side.
"Stop!"
"Ian, stop it now!"
"..."
Glancing at Morgan, the look in Ian's eyes gradually calmed.
The man fell to the ground, clutching his throat and gasping for air.
"Th-Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just get lost."
Morgan said coldly.
"I didn't come here to save you—"
"..."
Her tone was even colder than Ian's. The man, lucky to be alive, scrambled away, and the others who had been jeering at Morgan quickly scattered in all directions.
The street fell silent once again.
A few minutes later.
Camelot, within the royal court.
After a rather boring stroll, Morgan and Ian returned.
But the moment they finished climbing the stone steps, Morgan rapped Ian on the head.
"Do you know what you did wrong?"
"No."
Ian, whose head had been rapped, felt nothing; his physical toughness was already tens, even hundreds of times that of an ordinary person.
"But, since you say so, I must have done something wrong."
"..."
Morgan sighed helplessly, then began to explain carefully.
"Next time, don't just resort to violence like that."
"You... are going to be a knight, right? If you're always like this, you definitely won't be welcomed, and that will be troublesome."
"But you really disliked hearing what they said."
Ian looked directly at Morgan.
"So, I had to do something."
"I didn't dislike it..." Morgan averted her face.
"You did."
"And you disliked it very much."
"Your Highness. You clearly clenched your fist just now, didn't you."
"..."
Only then did Morgan realize that her hand was tightly clasped with Ian's; he could instantly feel her body's reactions.
This feeling of having her own reactions read so clearly made her a little uneasy.
And then, came his rebuttal.
"I'm already used to it. It's always been this way."
"So, just because it's always been that way, does that make it right?"
"Just because someone is used to being bullied, does that give people the right to say awful things to them?"
"Just because someone is used to being lonely, does that make it right to laugh at them no matter what?"
"I do not accept it."
"I absolutely will not accept it."
The temperature of Ian's palm rose slightly.
For a moment, even the sunlight shining in around them seemed to grow a few degrees hotter.
"So, I must act."
"If anyone dares to speak to you like that again, I will kill them."
Vicious.
Barbaric.
Willful.
In an instant, many words to describe Ian popped into Morgan's mind.
But in the end, only one remained.
And that was: Her heart was stirred.
There were many who laughed at her, who jeered at her.
But there had never been one who took her side like this.
"You idiot, you really are—"
Morgan, holding the bread she had just bought under the shopkeeper's astonished gaze, shouted at Ian.
She looked as if she were angry, but her eyes were full of joyous light.
"Open your mouth."
"I told you to open your mouth!"
"Ah—"
"Like this, understand?"
"..."
The boy looked at Morgan with some confusion, but he still copied her and opened his mouth.
However, what Ian didn't expect was—
The moment he opened his mouth, Morgan, who had been holding the bread in her hand, switched to holding it between her lips.
Before the boy could react, she pressed forward, pinning him against the stone pillar.
In that moment, the bread was split in two between their mouths, and then each swallowed their piece.
And after that, a kiss naturally followed.
However, Morgan, looking utterly bewitching, was not so happy.
Because she found Ian's reaction to be far too calm.
The princess of Britain glared at his composed face.
She was a little indignant.
Even after all this, he's still so calm.
And yet, when he's biting me, he acts like he wishes he had the jaws of a beast.
You greedy glutton...
Today, I'll have to show you what I'm made of.
Thinking this, Morgan cupped Ian's face, preparing to show him her prowess once again.
She didn't realize that when she thought of Ian now, she no longer thought about how to get revenge on Artoria.
What she cared more about was the person in front of her who liked to bite her b*easts.
Bread fell to the ground. The round loaves rolled forward a good distance, finally coming to a stop in front of someone.
"What are you doing?"
Having witnessed the scene before her, Artoria asked this.