Arthuria knelt in the soil, dirt staining her fingers as she carefully tended to the delicate blue roses before her. Their petals shimmered in the light, an unnatural yet mesmerizing shade—almost divine.
Gilgamesh had sent them earlier that morning, delivered in a carefully arranged bundle, along with a simple note:
"From your home to ours."
She had scoffed, but her fingers had lingered on the petals longer than they should have.
The past few months had been unlike anything she had known—no war, no council meetings, no sword at her hip, only the quiet hum of nature and the solitude of the meadow. It should have been peaceful. But it only reminded her of the one she could not leave.
A sudden sound cut through the stillness, the thunder of hooves against the dirt. Arthuria turned, her heartbeat quickening as a lone rider approached. His cloak was tattered, his armor worn with dents and dried blood, as if he had been on this journey far too long. His horse was exhausted, its breath ragged, its flanks coated in dust. Then she saw his face.
"Your Grace—"
Bedivere barely had time to swing himself off his horse before Arthuria was already running to him. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he dropped to one knee, breathless. But before he could bow fully, Arthuria pulled him into a tight embrace, her feet still planted firmly on the earth.
"It's good to see you, my knight," she whispered.
He closed his eyes briefly, overwhelmed. Slowly, he allowed himself to return the embrace, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Arthur—" he began, but she pulled back, hands gripping her shoulders.
"Arthuria," she corrected, a small yet firm smile on her lips. "My name is Arthuria."
His lips twitched into a tired smile. "Arthuria," he said, testing the name, as though it had always been meant for her. "You're alive…" His voice broke slightly. "I thought you were dead. We all did. At the end… how did you get here?"
She took a steady breath, glancing toward the quiet cottage behind her."Come inside. I'll explain everything." They entered the small home, the scent of fresh bread and herbs lingering in the air.
It was a stark contrast to the battlefield they had once stood on together. The table was simple, with a half-finished cup of tea sitting near the window. There was no throne, no banners, no weight of a crown pressing against her brow. It was not Britannia. But for now, it was hers. Bedivere sat across from her, his expression still reeling from disbelief.
"Do you remember the battle…" he started.
She nodded, bracing herself. "Tell me." Her eyes darkened. "What has become of Morguna?"
Bedivere's throat bobbed. "She screamed when Mordred fell. An unearthly sound, like all her magic was unraveling. Then she… vanished. As if she was never there."
The room fell silent. Arthuria ran a hand through her hair, leaning back in her chair. "And Britannia?"
His face was grim. "The castle is in ruins. But the people who survived—they've started to rebuild in the city…"
The weight of it settled over her like a phantom she couldn't shake. King Arthur was dead. And yet here she sat, flesh and blood, stripped of a crown, stripped of a throne. "I remember fighting Mordred," she murmured, her fingers unconsciously grazing the faint scar on her abdomen. "I remember the dead… the pain." She looked up at her former knight, her expression unreadable. "Then… Gilgamesh took me here to recover."
The name landed between them like a stone thrown into water.
Bedivere straightened. "The king of this Land?" His voice was careful, measured.
"He saved me," she said simply, though the words themselves felt complicated.
The knight said nothing at first, only watching her carefully. He had spent years by her side, had learned to read her silences better than most. And right now, her silence spoke volumes. He glanced at the blue roses in the window, the ones she had been tending to when he arrived. His eyes flickered back to hers. She looked. Peaceful. For the first time, He wasn't sure if his king was truly lost—or if she had simply found something else. Something she wasn't ready to name— just yet.
The king sat at the grand dining table, a goblet of wine in one hand, his fingers drumming idly against the polished surface.
The golden plates before him remained untouched, the meal still steaming, a lavish spread fit for a king.
Yet, his appetite dwindled with each passing moment.
He had been waiting for nearly an hour.
He straightened slightly as the doors finally creaked open, expecting the familiar silhouette of Arthuria.
Instead, the lone figure of a palace messenger stood in the doorway, hesitant, shifting uncomfortably under Gilgamesh's gaze.
The king exhaled sharply, setting his goblet down with an audible clink.
"Where is she?" His tone was calm, yet there was an unmistakable weight behind the words, a warning just beneath the surface.
The messenger swallowed. "Your Majesty, The Lady Arthuria declined the invitation to dine with you."
The statement hung in the air like a blade poised to strike.
The king's fingers stopped drumming.
The entire room seemed to still, as if the very walls dared not breathe in his presence. His red eyes darkened, narrowing slightly as he let the words settle.
He had been denied something. For the first time.
"Declined?" he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet.
The messenger braced himself. "Yes, my King."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
Slowly, he rose from his seat, his movements deliberate, controlled—too controlled.
He adjusted the cuffs of his robe with practiced ease before finally speaking, his voice steady but laced with irritation.
"Where is her maid?"
"The kitchen, Your Majesty."
"Name."
"Barbara, Your majesty"
Gilgamesh turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the doors, his steps echoing through the chamber.
The messenger nearly tripped over himself as he stepped aside, watching the king disappear down the hall with purposeful strides.
He was bringing his fury to the kitchen.
Barbra hummed softly as she balanced the tray in her hands, careful not to let the soup slosh over the edges.
The warmth from the fresh bread wafted upward, mixing with the scent of roasted meats and honeyed fruit.
It was a meal befitting a queen, but it wasn't being served in the dining hall where it belonged.
Which was unusual but not unheard of. But who was a servant to argue?
She was just stepping through the kitchen threshold when the air in the room shifted.
A presence.
A force.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end before she even turned around.
Good Gods in hell, please help me, she prayed.
"My king—" she started, nearly dropping the tray as she turned to find the king himself standing there, blocking the doorway.
Gilgamesh's gaze flickered to the tray she carried, his expression unreadable.
His voice, however, was anything but indifferent.
"Where are you taking that?"
She bowed quickly, holding the tray tightly. "To Lady Arthuria's cottage, Your Majesty."
His crimson eyes darkened.
He took a slow step forward, and despite his effortless grace, the weight of his presence alone made the air heavy.
"Did she say why she refused to join me?"
The maid hesitated. "She… she mentioned she was tired, my King."
He exhaled through his nose, but there was no amusement, no smirk—just quiet displeasure simmering beneath the surface.
Then his eyes flicked to the tray again. His gaze sharpened.
"And the second portion?"
Barbara's stomach twisted.
She cursed the sweat forming at the back of her neck as she tried to keep her voice steady. "There is… a guest, my King."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
The King went utterly still.
It wasn't the kind of stillness that came from indifference, but rather the kind before a storm, before something truly heinous was about to be unleashed.
She dared a glance up and instantly regretted it.
His crimson eyes burned like molten gold, simmering with something she could only describe as lethal. His already regal presence seemed to expand, filling the entire kitchen with a suffocating weight.
A long pause stretched between them. Then—
"Who?"
Not a question. A demand.
Her breath hitched. "I… I do not know, my King. A gentleman— "
For a fleeting moment, silence reigned.
Then, without another word, Gilgamesh turned on his heel, his movements smooth, effortless, and yet dripping with barely restrained fury.
She barely managed to stay upright as the sheer force of his presence, leaving the room, nearly sent her staggering.
Then, just as swiftly as he had come, he was gone.
To confront whoever dared to step into his queen's home.
The door of the cottage swung open with a force that rattled the very walls. Slamming against the wooden wall with a resounding bang.
Bedivere, who had just finished setting down his cup of tea, barely had a moment to react before a storm of golden wrath filled the doorway.Arthuria barely had time to process the intrusion before she saw the imposing figure of Gilgamesh standing in the doorway, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury. Before she could utter a word, the sound of steel rang out.
Bedivere had already moved, muscle memory taking over as he drew his sword and stepped in front of Arthuria without hesitation. His stance was solid, his grip firm. Even if she no longer wore a crown, she was still his king, and his duty had not changed.
Gilgamesh's lips curled into a slow, amused smirk as his gaze flickered between the knight and the blade pointed at him. "Amusing," he murmured, stepping inside, unfazed by the threat. "Put that away, Bedivere," Arthuria said sharply, stepping forward. "This is King Gilgamesh." He didn't lower his blade. His voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable bite in his tone.
"It was I who urged my king to send for your aid, even when she protested. That was my poor judgment."
Gilgamesh tilted his head, intrigued by the boldness of the knight before him. His smirk widened, but there was something cold behind it. "I see," he mused, his tone deceptively casual. "Then let me offer you my judgment." He took another step closer, his crimson eyes locking onto the knight with an intensity that could shatter lesser men. "I saved your sovereign," he said smoothly, "while you were likely bleeding in some ditch due to your lack of skill and endurance." He let the words settle, his smirk sharpening. "No wonder Britannia fell. Her knights left their king to die on that battlefield—alone."
Bedivere's grip tightened, his knuckles white against the hilt of his sword. The words stung because they were true.
"Enough!" The sheer authority of Arthuria's voice sent a crack through the charged atmosphere, silencing both men instantly. She stepped between them, her glare sharp enough to wound."No weapons in my cottage."
Gilgamesh, for his part, didn't move. His gaze lingered on Arthuria, as if weighing the force behind her words. Then, ever so slowly, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders in feigned boredom. "If you insist," he drawled. "But if your knight raises his sword to me again, I will take it from him along with his life."
Bedivere hesitated, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Then, with reluctance, he lowered his sword, though his stance remained guarded, and Arthuria shot him a warning glance.
"This is my home until I come to a decision, remember," she said, her voice firm but quieter now.
Bediver arched a brow, as if she had just said something profoundly foolish. "What decision?" he asked.
"A simple question." Gilgamesh corrected smoothly, his tone carrying the weight of undeniable authority. "And in case I wasn't painfully clear—there is only one answer I will acknowledge for said question." His smirk deepened as he took another deliberate step toward her, his presence overwhelming in the small cottage. "I'm merely giving you time to accept it."
Her jaw clenched, her fingers curling into her palms.
Every inch of her wanted to deny him, to fight him on sheer principle alone—but she knew better. Arguing with Gilgamesh was utterly pointless. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to hold his gaze without faltering. "Have you no restraint?"
His chuckle was dark, indulgent. "Restraint…" he echoed, locking eyes with her as he took slow, deliberate steps forward.
Bedivere tensed and instinctively stepped in front of Arthuria again, but before he could fully block her, Gilgamesh's hand shot out from the air, wrapping around his throat in an instant. He struggled against the king's grip, forcing him to his knees.
"Gil. Don't," she warned, her voice sharp. His gaze flickered to her, and in that instant of his name, his desire to hear it again was suffocating. He exhaled sharply through his nose before dragging his gaze from her back to Bedivere.
"He is my knight, my last knight. And you will not harm him," her voice quieter now.
His brow twitched. Here he was trying to be a merciful king and good husband, and all she could think about was that poor excuse for a knight.. The moment became irrelevant, as said knight struggled against the king's grip, cursing under his breath. He released him. Though truthfully, he forgot about him entirely. His steps never wavered as he continued toward Arthuria.
She lifted her face to rival him, with a crunched nose, his face softer now, but his eyes still burning with something unreadable. She remained still, locking Gilgamesh in a gaze that did not waver.
"How much longer will you make me wait, Arthuria?" he murmured, the words barely above a whisper—meant only for her. He tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were the greatest enigma in all the realms. "How much longer will you test the limits of my restraint? Or… is that what you want?"
She did not speak. She did not back down. She simply looked at him, challenging him in silence, refusing to be the first to yield.
"Leave."
His lips curled at the edges, his amusement deepening. At least it was a start away from 'Get out.' "Very well…" he murmured, half-smiling. Before he turned to leave, his sharp golden gaze caught the vase on the worn wooden table. Nestled within it were delicate blue roses—her roses. The same ones he had sent earlier that week, now carefully arranged as if they belonged there, as if she had wanted them there. He reached out, his fingers grazing the petals, the softness a stark contrast to the iron control he exerted over everything in his domain. A breath of amusement escaped him. Here he was, flustering over a knight clinging to outdated vows, while his lioness was here… planting their flowers. How foolish. How utterly foolish. His lips curled into a smirk, a private thought flickering behind his eyes before he turned away.
With that, he turned, striding toward the door with the same confidence he had entered with. He turned his back to them, walking toward the door, but before stepping out, he cast one last look over his shoulder. "Sleep lightly, knight." His voice was velvet-coated steel, a warning wrapped in false civility. Arthuria swallowed, watching as he left, the air still charged with his presence.
By the time Bedivere lunged after him, the only thing left was the shimmering remnants of golden dust, floating in the air where Gilgamesh once stood.
The silence in the cottage was suffocating. Bedivere turned to Arthuria, his chest still heaving. "We need to leave," he said urgently.
"I can't."
Bedivere's expression twisted in disbelief. "Why the hell not?"
Arthuria leveled him with a cool look. "Language," she scolded, before turning away. "Is this about the decision he mentioned. What is it?" "It's complicated, " her fingers trailing over the table, her mind somewhere distant. "It's a fate I can't escape. "Can't or won't." She stilled. "You're a king, not a prisoner," he snapped. Then, with a quiet exhale, she whispered, "I've always been a prisoner. To Britannia.To my duty.To my damn wishes." "You have every right to wish." Her voice was calm, but the weight of her words was heavier than steel.
"To be king," she said at last, "is to leave one's wishes behind." Her silence spoke volumes, and for once, Bediver didn't press further. She let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Simply shaking her head, her fingers absently grazing the blue roses on the table. She was merely delaying the inevitable.
Morguna's grief was a living thing, clawing at her insides, poisoning her every thought.
The body of her son lay still, untouched by time, preserved by the spell she had cast.
But the toll was heavy—her magic waned with every passing day, and her strength drained as if the gods themselves sought to punish her for what had been lost.
But she would not break. Not now. Not ever.
She had wandered the lands in search of salvation, scouring the hidden corners of the world for power strong enough to bring back what had been stolen from her.
And now, at last, she stood before it—the gate of the Fae.
A place of legend. A place of whispers and forgotten promises.
The air shimmered like liquid gold, the entrance rippling like the surface of a disturbed lake.
She could hear them beyond the veil—the Fae, the ancient ones, the keepers of the forbidden. They would listen… if she played her part well.
She stumbled forward, letting her sorrow wrap around her like a shroud, casting herself as the broken mother, the desperate woman who had been wronged.
Let them believe I am weak. Let them think I am helpless.
A pair of glowing violet eyes peered from the darkness beyond the gate, and a figure stepped forward, regal and inhumanly beautiful. The Fairy King.
Morguna let her voice tremble as she lifted her chin. Let them hear my pain and believe it true.
"It was Gilgamesh," she whispered, venom laced beneath her sorrow. "The tyrant king… and the wretched King of Britannia."
The Fairy King tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
She took a breath, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "I seek revenge."
The wind howled around her, and in the silence that followed, the whispers of the Fae turned from curiosity to something darker, something ancient and hungry.
And she knew, at last, they would help her.