A week later.
Arthuria's quiet morning was disrupted by a knock on her door. She opened it cautiously, expecting a wandering villager or merchant, but her breath caught in her throat.
It was a young boy, no more than ten years old, with golden eyes and a scroll clutched in his small hands.
He bowed low, extending the scroll toward her.
"From the King, My lady," he said.
Arthuria took the scroll, her brow furrowing as she unfolded it. The parchment was thick and ornate, the handwriting bold and precise.
Another Invitation to dine. She couldn't refuse this time.
Bedivere crossed his arms as he stood beside the carriage, his sharp eyes following Arthuria's movements as she prepared to leave. "I should go with you," he said firmly. She adjusted the light blue fabric of her robe and smiled at him.
"I will be fine. Or would you rather he show up here again—unannounced?" He sighed, rubbing the front of his neck. As if reliving the previous night in the flesh. "Yes… He's very good at that." She chuckled, shaking her head before stepping into the carriage that had been sent for her. Bedivere took a step forward, placing a hand on the open door.
"I'll be here when you get back, my king." Her smile softened. "Thank you." With that, the carriage doors shut, and she was off to the palace. It didn't take long before she arrived at the place for the first time. The grand halls of Uruk greeted her with all the reverence of a queen. Servants bowed their heads as she passed, her presence acknowledged with quiet respect.
Then the maids pounced.
One shrieked, "You can't see the king like that!"
Another whispered harshly, "I don't see why not. It's not like she'll last long."
"SMACK!"
"Don't be vile. I've never seen His Majesty so smitten."
Arthuria stood frozen, startled. "Maybe I should just go home—"
"NO!" one of them gasped. "That would anger him more!"
Arthuria rolled her eyes. "I really couldn't care less."
But it was already too late.
She was dragged into a sitting chamber, shoved into a velvet chair, and immediately surrounded by silks, jewels, powders, and frantic hands.
"You grew up with men?" one maid asked while dabbing her cheeks.
"Something like that—" Arthuria muttered.
But the hands didn't stop. Another maid grinned and opened a long black box, revealing a midnight-blue gown that shimmered like dragonfly wings.
"This," she said, eyes glittering, "will look stunning."
Another approached with pins, muttering about her hair—short, sharp, and utterly unmanageable. And yet, somehow… they tamed it. Pinned it. Crowned it with thin gold bands.
By the end of it, Arthuria didn't recognize the woman in the mirror.
And neither would the king.
When she entered the dining room, she found the king waiting. The king was mid-conversation with Siduri, his trusted advisor. Standing beside him was the same child who had delivered his invitation. Gil patted the boy's head in an almost fatherly gesture before speaking. "I trust he is behaving himself?"
She nodded with a small smile. "Yes, he takes after his father."
Arthuria's breath hitched for a second. Making her presence known. She looked stunning. The light blue dress complemented her form, her golden hair carefully styled, adorned with the very jewels he had sent earlier.
He allowed himself a small smirk, internally patting himself on the back for his impeccable taste—a gift he could only assume had been inherited from his mother. "Arthuria," he greeted, his voice smoother than usual. "Welcome."
But Arthuria kept her thoughts to herself. He was a king. Of course, there would be… bastards around. That was the way of rulers, was it not? The thought left a strange feeling in her chest, though she refused to acknowledge it.
The child bowed his head in respect, as did Siduri. Then, she spoke, "I must be going now. My husband is waiting." Arthuria's eyes snapped up. "Your husband?" Siduri chuckled, as if she understood the misunderstanding immediately.
After a brief exchange, it became clear—this was not Gilgamesh's child. He was simply a boy under the king's care, one he had entrusted her to take in and look after after she could not bear children.
Arthuria had never felt more foolish. When Siduri and the boy left, the dining hall fell into silence.
He looked up.
And she froze as she fidgeted. "I… was kidnapped."
He blinked. Then laughed, low and genuine. "I shall pardon them just this once," motioning for Arthuria to sit on the opposite end of the long, extravagant table.
She did as expected—at first. But after a few moments, she frowned, eyeing the vast distance between them.
Without hesitation, she picked up her plate, stood, and moved to the seat beside him. The servants stiffened in shock. He blinked, confused. "What are you doing?"
She raised a brow, looking around at their reactions. "Oh… did I just break a hundred-year-old tradition or something?" To her surprise, he laughed. A deep, genuine laugh.
"No… it is just…new to me. May I ask why?"
She smiled slightly. "It is just… It's so far, and it's such a long table."
"I shall get used to it."
Do you always have meals like this?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her for a moment. Then, a memory surfaced— of himself as a boy, a newly crowned king, sitting alone in the vast emptiness of this very dining hall. No voices, no warmth, no laughter. Just the cold silence of a grand palace meant for many, occupied by only one. "Yes," he finally admitted. "I suppose I do."
Arthuria hummed in thought, then picked up her cup of tea. "Well… cheers to new traditions?" A slow smirk spread across his lips. He picked up his goblet and clinked it against hers. "To new traditions."
Before she could comment, the wind blew through the windows.
The candles around the room extinguished one by one, until only one remained—lit, centered between them.
Soft music began to play from an unseen string quartet above the archways.
Gilgamesh leaned back, confused."On second thought… I may wish to speak with your captors."
Arthuria raised a brow. "You know, for a tyrant, your people seem surprisingly…"
"Too free and opinionated?" he finished, amused.
She fought a smile. "Exactly."
From the shadows, a voice cleared its throat. "Ahem."
They turned to see Siduri, stepping forward with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Your Royal Highness. Lady Arthuria…" She gestured grandly. "I present… your dinner."
Just then, from every corner, food poured in like a royal parade.
Golden-roasted meats dripping with glaze, crisped breads stuffed with honeyed herbs, jeweled fruits balanced in glass towers, soups perfumed with spices from distant empires.
And desserts—dozens of them—delicate, shimmering, excessive.
The music lifted in a melodic waltz, cheerful yet regal, the kind that made every candle seem brighter, every step sound like it belonged in a fairy tale.
Arthuria blinked at the overwhelming display, a bit dazed, still seated at the head of the table—uncomfortably close to Gilgamesh now.
He leaned on one elbow, eyes watching her with the ease of a man who rarely heard no.
She gestured weakly to the feast.
"I can't possibly eat this much, Gil—"
"I thought you'd say that," he replied with a sly smile.
At that moment, a small servant boy padded forward shyly and placed a blue rose in Gilgamesh's palm—freshly cut, unmistakable in its hue.
A rare bloom from her cottage garden.
He turned and held it to her with an unexpected phrase.
"Thank you."
Arthuria stared. "What's that for?"
Instead of answering, he bit the stem of the rose between his teeth—grinning mischievously—then offered her his hand.
A silent invitation.
To dance.
She hesitated. Just a breath.
Then placed her hand in his.
The servants who were hissing began to murmur behind fans and goblets as the King and the Knight spun onto the marble floor.
They danced.
Not with stiffness, but with a surprising ease—laughing, twisting, perfectly in sync, as though they had done this a hundred times in another life.
"I'm surprised you even knew how to dance," she teased between breaths.
Gilgamesh let the rose fall from his mouth—just long enough to offer it to her.
She bit it, raising an eyebrow.
He leaned close, voice low.
"Let's play a game. Whoever has the rose may speak. Whoever doesn't… must listen."
She stared at him while twirling. Then nodded once—a deal struck.
Gilgamesh took the rose back into his chest of drawers.
"When I came to your banquet, you hardly touched your food," he said. "I can only assume you had your reasons. However—" He spun her, catching her by the waist. "This is my court. And if I have to dance you into hunger… so be it."
Arthuria shoved the rose back into his mouth, smirking.
She chewed gently on the stem, then spoke:
"You'll be disappointed to learn your efforts are in vain. I happen to have a tremendous. amount of stamina." She spun him for once, a bold shift of power.
we shall see.
The music soared. Then softened. And finally—stopped. They stood facing each other, a step apart.
Gilgamesh plucked the rose from her lips and twirled it idly between his fingers."Will you eat now?"
Arthuria exhaled. Then cracked the barest of smiles. "I am hungry, yes."
He nodded, satisfied.
They returned to the table, and gods did she eat.
Four plates. Full plates.
The king didn't speak.
He only watched.
Arthuria noticed something deeper than amusement in his eyes.
The heavy truths between them settled into something quieter now.
Not that something.
Not yet. But understanding.
She folded her arms, regarding her with that familiar spark in his crimson gaze.
Finally, she broke the stillness with a sharp breath.
"Is it true?"
Gilgamesh turned to her, one brow raised. "Is what true?"
She sighed, "About… Concubine Zinya. That she's…" she hesitated, face hardening, "expecting."
He blinked—then snorted. Then chuckled. Then laughed long and loud, shoulders shaking.
"Are you truly incapable of being serious for one singular moment?!" She barked.
He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "—I am being perfectly serious when I say that is not possible."
Her eyes narrowed. "I can assure you it very much is. It happens every day. All it takes is one reckless mistake—"
"Ah," he held up a finger. "But that would require me to make a mistake. Let's review, shall we?"
She folded her arms, scowling.
Gilgamesh's smile lingered, but his tone softened as he continued, ticking off his fingers.
"One: I have no more concubines. I dismissed them all before you arrived on my soil."
She blinked. "All of them?"
He raised a brow. "Would you prefer I kept a few?"
She looked away. "…Continue."
"You ask me to be serious, I require you to look at me," he said, voice low, "Arthuria." Her name slipped from his lips like a warning.
She turned her gaze back to him, defiant now.
"Two," he continued evenly. If I still had one, I would never—never—allow her to carry the bloodline of a king."
Her eyes widened. "You think your blood is of such extreme importance?"
He didn't flinch. "Any average woman would die."
Her mouth parted, but he kept going.
"And three," he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse skip, "I haven't touched the skin of any woman since the day I asked you to be my wife. Two moons ago. And you've been making me suffer since."
She looked properly scandalized now, pink dusting her cheeks.
"If she is pregnant," he said plainly, "it most certainly isn't mine. But—if it bothered you so," he teased, "I can have her summoned for questioning to find the truth of the matter."
"There is no need—" she snapped quickly, looking anywhere but at him, once more.
"But of course there is, my wife is in distress— it is my duty as a husband to calm her nerves, however self-inflicting they may be."
"I was merely asking out of…"
He smiled, knowingly. "…Curiosity?"
She gave him a flat look.
"I sense another question," he said, almost amused.
Arthuria was never one to flinch from a challenge and tilted her head. "Do you have any illegitimate children?" she asked bluntly.
Gilgamesh arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "No."
Simple. It should have been that simple.
Arthuria blinked. "But how can that be when—"
"As I said before," he murmured, cutting her off smoothly, "some answers need no defense."
Her lips quirked despite herself. "I thought you never repeat yourself," she asked, folding her arms in mock sternness.
Gilgamesh turned fully to face her then, and for a heartbeat, there it was. The smile. The one he had been waiting to see, it was contagious; he hadn't realized he mimicked it, until he shook it away with a chuckle, "I find myself lowering my standards for you every day," he said lightly.
Arthuria laughed—a real, startled laugh. "You have standards? Is that so?" She chuckled again, unable to help herself.
There was a beat of silence between them, then—
"And no," he said flatly. "I am not fucking anyone."
Arthuria froze as her lips parted. "I didn't ask." She said all too quickly.
He tilted his head with a dry scoff, rough around the edges. "But you wanted to."
She met his gaze, unmoving, unflinching. "You flatter yourself and only yourself. "
Gilgamesh leaned forward, arms on the table, watching her closely. "Humor me, what would you have done?" he asked quietly, "If it were my child?"
Arthuria didn't answer.
"What if, out of responsibility, I married her. What if I loved her ?"
Her fingers stilled on the stem of her goblet. Her voice came low, steady, but sharp as a drawn blade.
"Then… congratulations."
A long pause.
And for the first time—The very first time—she heard it. His real laugh. Not mocking, not teasing, not guarded nor cruel, Just Warm. Rough.
Alive.
The sound wrapped around her like a golden thread, softening the hard places inside her she hadn't realized were still bleeding. And she smiled back.
The hour had grown late.
The halls of the palace glowed in candlelight, soft gold flickering against stone and velvet. The corridors were quiet now—servants dismissed, music faded. Only the echoes of footsteps remained.
Arthuria walked beside Gilgamesh, hands folded in front of her, head tilted slightly as they passed through the royal gallery.
The paintings loomed above them—every king before Gilgamesh. Proud. Glorious. Alone.
Each framed in gilded splendor, standing beneath banners of conquest.
But one space was conspicuously bare.
Arthuria slowed her steps, frowning faintly. "Did your father hate tradition?"
He stopped mid-stride. The words hit like a dagger from memory, buried deep within the abyss. He turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking to the space. A hollow square surrounded by ornate gold carvings. No portrait. Just absence.
"Quite the opposite," he said, voice flat. Then he started walking again.
Arthuria blinked. Her boots clicked faster against the stone as she caught up. "Well—then where is his—?"
"I removed them."
"Why—"
He didn't look at her this time. "Why do you want to know, Arthuria?"
Her brow furrowed. "I was only asking a simple question—"
He stopped again. This time more sharply. "Why?" he demanded, turning to face her. "What purpose does it serve? He's dead. Good riddance "
The words were not cruel. They were raw. Unraveled. And for a moment, Arthuria simply stared at him. Then her jaw tightened.
"Because no one deserves to be erased," she said softly. "No matter how cruel. Even if he were anything more than a—tyrant."
She turned on her heel and walked away. Removing the jewels from her wrists and ears as she went, her breath catching—but not from tears. From burning.
"Arthuria—wait."
She didn't.
Gil's voice echoed behind her. "Arthuria!"
Still, she kept going.
As she reached the doors, her fingers reached up and yanked the pin from her carefully done hair. The coils unraveled. Her short, cropped hair spilled free, swaying behind her like a banner of rebellion.
The guards at the gate bowed, confused.
The carriage door slammed shut behind her.
Inside, in the dark velvet space, Arthuria tore off the dress piece by piece—beads scattering, laces snapping.
And then she slumped back into the seat, exhaling deeply.
Not crying.
Not broken.
Just… done.
Back inside the palace…
Gilgamesh stood alone beneath the empty frame, leaning on a pillar now, one hand braced against the cold stone.
His jaw clenched.
"Damn it," he whispered. And then louder. "Fuck—"
He knew—he had pushed her away. Again.