Arthuria woke with a jolt, breath ragged, her skin still prickling with the ghost of his touch. Her bed was empty, and so was the room. It's just a dream, she thought. It never happened. She pushed herself up slowly, her limbs heavy, her mind swirling in fragments. But then—she saw her reflection. The long mirror across her chambers, gilded and cold, reflected the faint whisper of his touch blooming along her waist and thighs—where his hands had been.
Her fingers drifted to the areas in question, barely brushing them—And suddenly, his voice echoed in her head.
"Arthuria."
Memories of last night rushed back—The way he looked at her. The way she melted beneath the pressure, she had always sworn she could resist. The way she let him.
It was real.
She looked at herself. And for once, she truly saw herself. Not the sword.
Not the title. But a woman beneath the cloaks and armor. Curves. Heat. Hunger. Things she had buried. Things she had been taught to forget. But he had seen them, and worse—he made her feel them. She stood frozen for a long moment.
knock.
"There are urgent matters that require your attention, my king." A knight's voice, respectful. Blunt.
She exhaled. "Noted." She turned from the mirror, the silence swallowing her truth.
"You lie to your court."
"You lie to your subjects."
"You lie to yourself."
One last glance at herself—The woman could never be in public. She was a liar. But she was also a King. Then— She reached for her cloak. Her mask. Her lie. And stepped back into the world as King Arthuria Pendragon.
The great council chamber of Britannia hummed with tension.
The morning sun poured through the stained glass windows, illuminating the gold and crimson banners that hung over the throne.
Arthuria stood at the head of the Round Table, her knights gathered before her.
But one chair was empty.
Mordred is missing.
A flicker of unease settled in her stomach, but before she could address it, the doors burst open.
A knight strode in, urgency in his steps.
Kay.
Her cousin. One of her most trusted knights.
His breath was short, his expression grim.
"Merlin is dead." The words fell like a blade upon the room.
She stilled. "What?" she asked, her voice sharp.
He shook his head. "I don't know the details, but he was found in his chambers—lifeless."
Arthuria pushed down the tightening in her chest. Merlin—gone? It was impossible. Merlin had been more than a court sorcerer. He had been her closest friend. He had known her secret, and still helped her sit on the throne now—he was gone.
A terrible stillness settled over the room. Bedivere Riverbed, another of her most loyal knights, turned sharply, his gaze landing on Morguna. She met his stare without flinching.
"Dismissed," she ordered suddenly, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.
The knights bowed and left the chamber, though a few cast wary glances at Morguna as they went.
Arthuria did not waste another second. She turned and strode toward Merlin's chambers, her heart pounding. She had hoped—prayed—that Kay had been wrong. That this was a mistake. But when she stepped into Merlin's quarters, the truth hit her straight to the chest. He lay still. His skin was pale, his lips slightly parted, as if he had tried to speak one last spell. She clenched her fists, forcing her emotions into a locked cage deep within her.
Now was not the time for grief. She was still King. She turned—and found Morguna standing there. Her sister's expression was perfectly composed, her voice soft as she stepped forward.
"Arthuria," she murmured. "I'm so sorry." Her eyes were sad, her posture open, comforting. She said all the right things.
But Arthuria knew her. She knew when Morguna was lying. And something about this moment felt too easy. A chill ran down her spine. A whisper of danger, of betrayal. She turned back to the body, keeping Morguna in her peripheral vision.
"You," she breathed, her hand going to Excalibur.
Morguna stilled, her mask slipping just slightly.
And that's when Believer entered. And He saw. Something—perhaps instinct, perhaps divine guidance—made him stop. And in that hesitation, he understood.
"You did this," Arthuria said.
Morguna's eyes darkened, not rebutting the charges.
Bedivere moved—fast. But Morguna was faster. Before he could draw his blade, she had already slipped a dagger from her sleeve, her movements precise and deadly.
Arthuria's instincts roared to life. "Stop!" she ordered, catching her wrist.
The dagger hovered inches from Bedivere's throat.
For a moment, everything was still. And then—Arthuria made her decision.
"Take her."
Bedivere did not hesitate. He grabbed Morguna's arms, seizing her before she could strike again.
"I will not go back to the tower!" She hissed, struggling, her mask of grief fully replaced by fury.
Arthuria forced herself to look at her. Her only sister. Her last family.
"Morguna Pendragon," she said, her voice cold, final."You are under arrest for the murder of Merlin."
The throne room was filled with knights, lords, and nobles.
Morguna stood before them, bound in shackles, her head held high and unbothered.
Arthuria sat on the throne, her crown heavy on her head.
The council wanted blood.
"This is treason!" Lord Kay spat. "The penalty must be death!"
Several knights murmured their agreement. She's her mother's daughter. They said. I wouldn't be surprised if she killed the previous king, they said.
But Arthuria did not move. She sat, still as stone, gazing at Morguna. Even now, she could not bring herself to say it. Could not bring herself to order her execution. She was still her sister.
"Morguna will be imprisoned in the tower for the rest of her life; that is my decision."
And that was when Kay spoke again. "My king, you must see reason! She cannot be trusted!"
Her gaze snapped to him, her eyes flashing with steel.
"I am the King." The words were sharp as a blade. "You do not force my decision."
The court fell into stunned silence.
Kay clenched his jaw, bowing his head. "Yes, Your Grace ."
While the lords argued over Morguna's fate, Mordred was moving.
He had gone missing, but the truth is, he was preparing.
—he had learned the truth.
He had seen the foreign king walk out the door last night and a very disheveled Arthur.
He hadn't heard everything, but he heard enough. The words echoed in his ears.
" You lie to your court."
"You lie to your subjects."
"You lie to yourself."
"But you can't lie to me...….. Arthuria Pendragon"
Arthur is not a man at all. His uncle, His Hero, was a Liar.
And that was the moment Mordred decided.
His reign had begun.
The doors to the throne room slammed open.
Mordred stormed inside, sword in hand, his face twisted with rage and betrayal.
Arthuria stood. "Mordred. Where have you been?"
"What's it to you?"
Gasps filled the courtroom.
The knights turned—some reaching for their weapons, others simply watching.
And then—
Mordred pointed his sword at the throne. "You are not the true king."
A stunned silence fell over the room.
Some knights shifted uncomfortably. Others straightened.
But then—Sir Gawain moved.
"Watch your tongue, boy," he growled. "Or you will end up with your treasonous mother. Is that what you want?"
Mordred's grip tightened.
What could be more treasonous than a woman on the throne!?" —he shouted it for all to hear. "Isn't that right, ArthuriaPendragon!"
The air left the room.
The knights stared. The lords whispered. And Arthuria knew. The secret was no longer hers to keep. She exhaled slowly. Then—she reached up. She removed her heavy cloak and lifted the golden crown from her head. Her ocean eyes met the crowd before her. Once as their sovereign. Now, as a Suspect on Trial.
"It is true."
The room erupted. Her voice echoed across the throne room, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"I am a Woman. I have always been a woman."
Silence.
A stunned, horrified silence.
The lords and knights stared, some with shock, others with disbelief. Then, like the turning of a tide, the whispers began.
"Witchcraft."
" =Deception!"
"The Gods have punished us all!"
The words twisted through the room, rippling with fear and betrayal.
Her jaw tightened.
"I may be a woman," she said, her voice rising above them, commanding. "But I am still your king— Excalibur chose me." Her words hung in the air, a challenge."There has not been a battlefield that I have not marched for the sake of my kingdom. Blood has been shed that I did not bear. For My kingdom. I am guilty of being a Woman, yes, but I am no false king. Choose." She commanded
Some knights—Bedivere, Kay, Gareth, Gawain—stepped forward in unwavering support.
But others—Tristen, Agravaine, Gaheris—remained silent, uncertain.
And then there was Lancelot. In-between.
Mordred's emerald eyes burned with rage and triumph at who stood with his aunt.
"Traitors, the lot of you," he spat.
Arthuria held his gaze. Unflinching. But Mordred did not hesitate.
He took a step forward, his sword gleaming beneath the torchlight."I, Mordred Pendragon, take the throne that is rightfully mine! Sir Lancelot. Release the Queen Mother."
A single order.
A single moment of treason.
And the kingdom was split in two.
Arthuria gritted her teeth. "Stand down, Sir, Lancelot."
But Lancelot, the once-loyal knight, the man she had trusted for years, did not move. He looked at her—and then at Mordred. And he chose. He drew his sword."King Uther Pendragon is dead," he declared. "Long live the true heir!"
The court erupted into chaos.
Bedivere and Kay rushed to Arthuria's side, their swords drawn.
"Treason!" Kay bellowed, clashing blades with Lancelot.
The throne room became a battlefield. Knights turned against knights. The loyalists fought for their king. The rebels fought for their new one. The sound of steel against steel, of battle cries and screams, filled the great hall. Blood spilled across the marble floors.
The Pendragon dynasty was at war.
Mordred fought without hesitation, his attacks relentless, his fury unmatched. But Arthuria had trained him. She knew his tactics, knew how he moved. And for now, he was losing. Then—a voice rang out.
"Mordred, we must go!" Morguna.
She was free. Somehow, in the chaos, Lancelot had done as Mordred commanded. The witch stood at the edge of the room, dark power coiling around her fingertips.
Mordred gritted his teeth. He hated to retreat. But he was not a fool. He turned to his mother, nodding. "Fall back!" he commanded.
Lancelot, Agravaine, and those who had chosen his side broke away from battle, moving swiftly toward the sorceress. Morguna lifted her hands, whispering the incantation.
The air shook. A wave of magic erupted from her, blinding and consuming. And in the blink of an eye, they were gone. The battle was over. But the war had only just begun.
Arthuria stood among the fallen, her breathing heavy, her sword slick with blood.
The room was broken. Half her knights had abandoned her. Her sister and nephew had declared her reign over.
Her kingdom was shattered.
Kay stepped forward, his voice raw. "What now, my King?"
She gripped Excalibur tighter. Her blue eyes blazed with fire.
"Now," she whispered.
She looked toward the ruined throne, the space where Mordred had stood.
She exhaled slowly.
And then—she lifted her sword.
"We take back Britannia."