Becoming the king of Britain wasn't as simple as it sounded.
First, one had to deal with the death of King Uther.
The aging monarch, worn down by time, had finally passed—before the newly chosen king even returned from their journey across the land.
Still, the burial hadn't taken place just yet.
There was administration to handle: transitions of power, military command, civil appointments—
It would take a while before things truly settled.
Fortunately, before his death, King Uther had made proper arrangements.
Though Artoria understood little of governance, she wasn't completely lost thanks to his preparations.
Even so...
Why did it end up like this?
She had clearly arrived first.
So why was her sister—the one who had guided her so many times along the journey—the one pinning Ian to the wall now?
"What exactly are you two doing?"
Artoria asked again.
She had removed her knightly attire, replacing it with the royal mantle Ian had once jokingly called a "blanket."
"..."
Morgan, still pressed close to Ian, let a faint, almost imperceptible smile rise to her lips.
If it were anyone else interrupting her and Ian at this moment, she'd definitely be angry.
But because the one who arrived was Artoria, she couldn't bring herself to get mad.
Not because she had forgiven this half-sister—
But because…
It felt like sweet revenge.
She could never win against Artoria in anything—except when it came to Ian. In this, she could finally compete.
"This might be a bit awkward to say, my king,"
Morgan said while feigning hesitation and glanced toward Ian.
"You probably wouldn't want to hear such trivial matters."
"Speak. Say it now—"
Artoria's tone turned noticeably sharper.
"I want to know. Right now."
"Then I guess there's no choice."
Morgan sighed as if helpless.
"Ian wanted to experience what a 'date' felt like."
"And in the end, he came to me."
"A date?!"
Artoria felt like someone had jabbed her brain.
"Sister, you're joking, right?"
"Well…"
Morgan shrugged.
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
"That…"
Panic flickered in Artoria's eyes.
She didn't dare confirm it.
What if he nodded? Then what?
If she didn't ask, at least it might still be a lie from Morgan.
"No need to ask."
Artoria turned her face away, her thoughts in disarray.
"I'm not interested in that."
"Not interested, huh…"
Morgan clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward slightly.
Whether intentionally or not, her slightly open neckline revealed just enough for Artoria to glimpse the marks on her sister's chest.
In a flash, Artoria recognized them.
Bite marks—
And they were Ian's.
Only when he turned back into a dragon could he leave such marks.
Morgan quickly pretended to realize it and covered her chest with a smile.
"I thought you'd be more bothered."
"After all, you two used to get along quite well, didn't you?"
"I even told him, maybe he should've chosen you. Hmm… you thought the same, right?"
"King of Britain."
Morgan's words jolted Artoria back to reality.
She touched Caliburn at her waist and answered with trembling teeth.
"No."
"I didn't."
"Sister, you know I can't reveal my identity publicly—if he came to me, I..."
Artoria felt like her mouth wasn't listening to her brain.
She wanted to say "it's fine," but what came out instead was…
"I wouldn't be able to be with him."
"I… have too many responsibilities."
"Is that so?"
Morgan patted Artoria's shoulder.
"Understood. I'll keep it a secret for you."
"To me, and to Ian, you'll always be a man."
"A king worthy of ruling Britain."
To be honest, in the past, Morgan wouldn't have been able to say such words, even with a sword pointed at her throat.
But now…
Morgan felt an inexplicable satisfaction.
Of course, she didn't really recognize Artoria as a rightful ruler of Britain.
Still, the weight of the throne—the constraints it placed on Artoria—made her feel incredibly pleased.
Maybe fate really was fair.
You gain something, you lose something.
"Artoria, I…"
Ian stepped forward, just about to speak, when Morgan gently covered his mouth.
"Idiot."
"Now you should call her King."
"She is the King of Britian, understand?"
"…"
Ian looked toward Artoria, clearly asking if it was true.
And though Artoria desperately wanted to deny it, she couldn't.
She couldn't ignore all the eyes that had looked to her with hope along the way.
Everyone in Britain was waiting for her.
Waiting with longing.
With tears in their eyes.
They… had chosen her.
Why me…?
A bitter question formed in her heart.
But her body answered Ian before she could hesitate.
"Yes. I am the King."
"King of Britain."
"…"
Hearing this, Ian placed a hand on his chest with a confused expression.
"This feels awful."
"Again with this feeling."
"But—"
"I understand."
"From now on, I'll call you King."
Artoria felt something inside her shatter.
Just then—
A soldier holding a short sword walked by nearby.
Upon seeing Artoria, he hurried over with urgency.
He seemed flustered, shouting respectfully as he ran.
"King—!"
"Finally found you!"
But—
When he noticed Ian was also present, the soldier froze, not daring to say another word.
"Um, Your Majesty seems really busy."
"I'll come back later."
"Stop right there."
Artoria halted the fleeing soldier.
"Since you've come to me, say what you needed to."
"Otherwise…"
She didn't finish, but the soldier broke into a cold sweat.
The killing intent was terrifying.
If he stayed silent, he'd surely be punished.
After a long hesitation, the soldier swallowed and spoke.
"Um—"
He pointed at Ian, clutching his chest, and tattled.
"This guy started a fight on the street."
"A lot of people are complaining, Your Majesty, you see—"
Artoria's eyes lit up.
Her tone was filled with restrained delight.
"I see."
"That really is outrageous—"
Under Morgan's worried gaze, Artoria suddenly grabbed Ian's hand.
"Come with me."
"I'm going to punish you."