The guards shoved me through the tall doors, and the sound echoed all the way to the ceiling.
The Royal Court was colder than I expected, it was wide, empty and too quiet for a place meant to decide a man's life.
They led me to the center, chained me there, then stood in a circle around me like I was some wild animal waiting to snap. I didn't bother looking any of them in the eyes. What was the point? They already decided who I was the moment the queen opened her mouth.
In front three thrones stood at the far end of the hall.
The king's in the center, the queen's to his right and the princess's to his left.
All empty.
Their absence made the room feel heavier than their presence ever could. It gave the whole place a feeling of… waiting.
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, but my mind was strangely calm.
After five days in that cell, I thought I'd be shaking, or begging, or doing something stupid.
But no.
Everything inside me was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Maybe that was acceptance.
Or maybe I was just tired.
Rattle!
The chains that bound me rattled through the hall as the guards dragged me, checking for any weakness, afraid I might escape.
But I was just a man who stumbled into the wrong story at the wrong time.
Whatever comes next, I want it over quickly.
No long speeches.
No dramatic struggle.
Just an ending.
That's all I hoped for.
As I stood there, hands chained, neck stiff, staring at the cold marble floor beneath me, the only thing I could think was,
'So this is where my journey ends.'
CREAK!
The grand door finally opened, and every guard snapped to attention, then came the footsteps. Slow. Sharp. Certain.
The king entered first.
Charles Luminaris.
Tall, dressed in deep gold and white, wearing a face that said he'd already made up his mind long before he stepped into this room.
Behind him was the queen.
And immediately my gaze met her, something inside me stired up.
It was Arthur's soul.
It had to be
The words, 'Kill' began to ring in my head, as if he was commanding me to kill her, to end her life, and I began to feel a sudden desire for revenge, to end the queen's life.
But I held myself still.
Composed.
There was nothing I could do. Nothing that would matter. So I buried the feeling deep and kept my eyes forward.
Then Princess Isolde walked in.
And everything about her looked wrong.
Her steps were slow.
Her eyes were empty.
She moved like someone forced into a costume she hated wearing.
She didn't want to be here.
She didn't want any of this.
And as she passed me, her glance barely flicked toward my face… but even that tiny moment was enough.
She looked lifeless.
Behind them came the royal priest, draped in white with silver patterns, carrying a metal staff with glowing runic patterns on it.
He then raised his staff,
"Let the judgement begin."
His voice echoed across the chamber.
Then,
After going through all the formalities, all the useless things people in power like to hear to remind themselves they're important, he began listing my crimes.
Trespassing the queen's chambers.
Indecency.
Attempted violation.
Dishonor.
Disrespect to the crown.
All lies.
Lies dressed in ritual and ceremony so they could sound holy.
When he finished, the king leaned forward, resting his elbow on the arm of his throne.
"Arthur," he said. "Before I issue my judgement, is there anything you wish to say in your defense?"
I looked up at him, as something inside me twitched, a pure, unadulterated desire for mischief. A bitter, stupid urge to deliver a final stamp of rage.
"Yes," I said clearly. "If you touched your wife enough, she wouldn't be forcing herself on the palace butlers."
A few guards gasped, the king's eyebrow twitched, and the queen's face… cracked.
But before any of them reacted, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek.
SMACK!!
The priest had slapped me.
"Silence," he hissed. "You will not speak another word unless commanded."
I tasted blood.
A thin trickle slid down my tongue.
Through the ringing in my ears, I lifted my eyes again and met Princess Isolde's.
Her resentment was clear; it wasn't aimed at me or even at the Queen, but at her father, the King.
And right there, something clicked.
The true meaning of Arthur's existence, Arthur's role, Arthur's purpose in the story.
He was meant to die, that far I already knew.
But his death was for a reason, it was meant to be the moment Isolde saw—truly saw—how rotten her world was.
His death was fuel.
Fuel meant to push her to fight.
To give her rage.
To break her innocence.
To make her grow.
To give her character development.
Pathetic.
The king straightened, ready to seal my fate.
"For the crimes committed," he said, "I, Charles Luminaris, issue the sentence of death."
The priest lifted his staff, as silver light coiled around the air.
Then a magic circle formed above my head, as lines and patterns twisting until they shaped a blade.
A sword materialized from nothing, angled clean toward my neck.
Ready to fall.
And then—
Memories crashed into me.
Not mine.
It was memories of a time with a girl who had blonde hair and pink eyes. She was running and laughing around a tall tree as I chased her. She then tripped, laughing even harder, and I scooped her up by the waist.
Mary. That was her name, Arthur's little sister, the one he wanted to see again, his last desire and his final regret.
And here I was, about to die for him.
About to disappear so Princess Isolde could develop as a character.
Pathetic.
No.
No.
I refuse to go like this.
I glared up at the ceiling.
At nothing.
At everything.
Hey.
Yes, you.
The one who brought me here.
The one watching.
The one who threw me into this body.
Give me another chance.
Just one more body.
One more life.
One more soul for me to crawl into.
Give me the chance and I'll give you a story worth watching.
I'll find love.
Real love.
The kind life robbed me off.
I'll give you the ending this world could never give me.
Just let me try again.
But…
No answer.
So fate won?
Or so I thought.
Ding!