ARTIZEA
KNOCK
Artizea froze. The hour was ungodly. Who could be in their sound mind, then the sound echoed again, softer this time. She rose slowly, fingers reaching for the small jeweled dagger resting on her dresser. The crimson gem at its hilt glinted in the firelight. She curled her hand around it. Quietly, she padded toward the door, pressing her ear against the cold wood. Nothing. Shecautiously knocked back once. Then another knock came in return, this time softer. She exhaled and undid the latch. The door creaked open just enough for her to peer through, and sure enough, there he stood.
Eric Quint. His gaze was steady, though a flicker of nervousness played across his face.
"You are not supposed to be here," Artizea said softly, glancing down the hall to ensure no one had followed him.
Eric smirked, "Actually…" leaning casually against the door frame. "This is where I am stationed tonight, Your Highness."
Artizea gave him a skeptical look, crossing her arms. "Conveniently outside my chambers."
"Part of the job description."
"Or you requested it."
"Maybe I did request the post. Maybe I wished to see you." His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper that made her shift. Just then, he realized that she was clutching something behind her, the dagger, making him arch a brow. "Would an assassin climb all those stairs and politely knock?"
Artizea's shoulders dropped, loosening her grip on the blade. "You would be surprised at the lengths people go to." The statement meant to sound formal, but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her when Chuckle filled the air.
"I am not surprised. In fact, I may be their biggest fan," he replied.
Her heart did that thing where it ached at his words, at the fierce devotion in his tone. She leaned back slightly. She should not let herself get swept up in something so… improper. "You have seen me," she quickly said. "Now what?"
"Now you tell me to stay," Eric replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before his expression softened again, "Or go."
Artizea could not hold back the heat rushing to her face the moment.
"Tell me to stay, and I'll stay. Tell me to go…and I will try again tomorrow," he pressed his forehead against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. "And if your answer is the same as well… I will keep trying until you change your mind." His touch was gentle yet possessive, fingers brushing against her heated cheek, making her heart flutter beneath her skin."Tell me to stay, Your Highness," he whispered. "Tell me something."
What could she say? Her mind conflicted with her heart. She was not just a Princess, she was big sister, a future monarch… bound by duty and expectations, yet in this moment, she yearned to be simply a woman, free to follow her heart's content.
"Stay," she whispered. "I wish for you to stay."
His expression softened while his hands moved to cup her face, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of her jaw upon lowering his head. "As long as I can," he vowed. She melted into him when their lips finally met in a swift motion, not noticing him reaching for the dagger still clenched loosely in her fingers, the one she had not realized she was still holding, and gently, without breaking the kiss, took it from her. He walked her backward, step by step, until her knees met the edge of her dresser. Only then did he pull away, just far enough to set the blade down beside them. It landed with a soft clink, a quiet declaration: You will not need this. Not tonight. Not with me.
Artizea's hands pressed against the solid planes of his chest, gently unlatching them while he pulled them off, piece by piece, until there was nothing but bare chest. When his arms encircled her, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them except for her last guarded wall. His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves hidden beneath layers of silk and lace, and with a gentle yet insistent tug, He pulled the fastenings of her nightgown, though he growled in irritation upon feeling 20 more behind.
"I am beginning to think you are indeed the assassin all along." He mused, his voice a husky whisper.
Artizea shushed him, placing a finger over his mouth, while her fingers quickly worked until the fabric pooled at her feet. "You talk too much," she murmured. Reaching for him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Then, he lifted her effortlessly, settling her beneath him. Her thoughts were scattered while they stared at each other; she had heard enough to know what happened next, along with the consequences if such action were to occur.
"Wait," she murmured.
Eric paused, tilting his head with a smirk, "Permission to speak, your highness?" "Have you… done this before…" she asked breathlessly.
His gaze never leaves hers. "I have." He said honestly. "And I will not pretend not to know the risks," he said softly. "And I would be lying if I said I have not thought about it. However, I wish for you to know that I would never do anything to jeopardize your—"
Artizea cut him off. "Will it hurt?" Searching his face for deception.
Eric leaned down, lips brushing the skin of her raised thigh. "I will be gentle."
Her breath hitched upon reaching for him, their mouths colliding. He weaved his fingers of one hand to clasp tightly like a chain holding her still. "Eric," she whispered, both a warning and a plea.
Eric smiled, "Shh…" he said while sweeping her into his arms, carrying her to the bed, her body alive with anticipation as he lay her down upon the soft linens. He followed her down with a trail of kisses. He took his time, savoring every inch of her.
Artizea arched beneath him, her hands threading through his hair. When he reached back to her, she pulled him down for another searing kiss, surrendering to the sensations.
GILGAMESH
Gilgamesh sat in a high-backed chair near the hearth, his cloak discarded on a nearby stand. A thin volume rested in his lap, though his tired eyes stared past the words, lost in thought.
Arthuria entered quietly, unpinning the last adornment holding her braid together, her usual court dress replaced with a simple gown. She paused in the doorway, her gaze immediately picking up on her husband's mood. He was not one for idle reflection; his mind always buzzed with purpose, whether it be a laid-back strategy or action. He was a man whose mind never rested. Yet tonight, his silence felt heavy.
"Gil," she called with mild concern, crossing the room to stand beside him, placing a hand to his forehead, checking for fever, "Is it your migraines again?" She moved her hand to his forehand, then his left cheek.
In an instant, he looked up, as if finally he registered her presence upon leaning into her palm. "I am well, my love, though if being a bedridden King gives me some form of solace with you for a few days, I would surely pretend," he murmured.
Arthuria rolled her eyes, then frowned, "Are the councilors trying your patience again?" she asked.
"They are fools, as always," he quickly said with disdain, "But no, my thoughts are elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?"Arthuria arched a brow.
Gilgamesh leaned back in his chair. "Our children," he began, his voice tinged with amusement, "Think they are smarter than us. Can you believe it? It is as if they have forgotten we were once that age. You would think the many stories would say otherwise."
She laughed again, "My stories are filled with duty and sacrifices, nowhere near as insufferable as your reign of tyranny."
He smirked, "True enough."
Arthuria giggled, her melodic voice filling the chamber. "Gilgamesh Pendragon… reflecting on his childhood," she sang.
He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, when you have lived as long as I have, you begin to notice patterns of—all the things that shape young heirs into rulers. They think their schemes are invisible, their secrets impenetrable." In that moment, his crimson eyes awakened with a glint of knowing light.
She tilted her head, her smile fading slightly while she studied him. "Gil, what has happened?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You are not telling me everything."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you remember what I told you… about my Mother?"
She nodded. "The gift of insight, of seeing beyond what was visible. You have inherited it?"
"Indeed," Gilgamesh said softly, clasping his hands together. "A skill that has served me well in both war and peace. But it also goes to show why you should never tell your children everything," he replied proudly. "They relish in testing the boundaries of their freedom."
"It is a necessary part of growing." Arthuria glanced at him through the mirror, "Have you dealt with this… testing of boundaries?" she inquired.
"In due time." He sighed. "For now, let them think they are clever. In the end, it will make them stronger."
Arthruia nodded, then studied him for a moment longer. "You should not have said Elaine was your favorite." Her tone was half scolding and half amused.
Gilgamesh chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "She's merely the only one who brings me fewer headaches."
Arthuria huffed, setting down her brush with a faint clink. "Hardly better."
He pushed off the chair, strolling toward her with the confidence of a man who found amusement in everything. "Alright then," he said, leaning on the edge of her vanity and folding his arms. "Which one brings you the least headaches?"
She glared at him through the mirror, "No," turning slightly in her seat.
Gilgamesh smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "You cannot hide your secrets from me, Arthuria. Might as well come out with it."
"I am not choosing."
"Aha." His smirk widened, "So you admit there is a choice. You just will not make it."
Arthuria said nothing when she picked up her brush again, resuming her task.
Gilgamesh watched her for a moment, the wheels turning in his mind. Then his eyes glinted with mischief. He moved to lean casually against the wall where he could see her face more clearly. "Very well," he teased, "let us play a game, shall we?" he said playfully.
"Eugene."
Nothing.
"Artizea."
Not a flicker.
"Elaine."
Still, no reaction.
His grin grew into a knowing smile, "Arthur,"
Arthuria's hand froze mid-brush. She tried to mask it, but it was too late.
"Aha!" He exclaimed, pointing at her triumphantly. "I knew it!"
Arthuria sighed, setting the brush down. "I just…" she hesitated, "Sometimes I wonder if I was being too egotistical in naming him after what I thought I was, back when I was Arthur Pendragon." Her voice softened, a hint of vulnerability in it. "Is it so wrong for me to watch him and pray he is everything I was not and could never be?"
Gilgamesh's victory became a loss, seeing his wife in inner conflict. He knelt beside her, taking her hands in his, meeting her gaze. "There's nothing wrong with any of that, my love," he said quietly. "You see your past in him, and you wish him to have everything you denied yourself," he said softly, offering her a reassuring gaze while brushing a strand of her hair from her face. "Arthur will be fine, because he's your son." He said, smiling.
"Ours, you keep forgetting that," Arthuria mumbled.
"Blasphemy," Gilgamesh replied with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Arthuria pushed herself up slightly, looking down on him with narrowed eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Take that back," she said sternly.
Gilgamesh gave a low chuckle, "Ah… so your favoritism finally rears its lovely head." He rose too, slow and unhurried, towering over her once more; suffocation was the adjective for her husband in any language.
Arthuria rolled her eyes, suppressing a faint blush, but he only grinned wider, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"How could I forget?" he whispered, "I cut all four embedded cords." He paused, the memory shadowing his gaze. "Though I still wonder… why two of them were hung lower than the rest."
Arthuria shoved him while a reluctant laugh slipped from her. "You know," she said, "This so-called insolence you speak to me of. I am beginning to think it came from your side of the family." Before she could turn away, he reached out and pulled her into him with practiced ease. She was instantly hit with a smell of roses and earth… a strange combination that had demolished her invisible walls and drawn her to him all those years ago.
"Who knows…" He shrugged, though he refused to release her.
Arthuria exhaled once and allowed herself to infuse with him like a second skin. "Will you rest tonight? Most marrows, I feel as though when I awake, you are already gone."
Gilgamesh lowered his chin to rest atop her head, processing her words, for what they mean and not what they are: Will you, was what he heard. Stay is what she meant. Breathing her in was a bad idea. For it would bring him peace enough to sleep, the very thing he was avoiding. It was bad enough that for the past week, he had been suffering from visions, he played off as 'migraines'. Even with the half-truth he told her, a lie, among many others that he had no choice but to carry alone, because what was calming tea going to fix? Still, he drank it because he did not have the heart to watch her worry. He promised her she would never again have to in this lifetime and… because his wife told him to. In that moment, He had almost forgotten their children's transgressions. He knew. Of course, he knew. But for now, he chose to keep his thoughts to himself. His faith in their ability to grow and learn was steadfast, even if that meant he had to carry the burden of knowing more than he let on. But right now, what he needed… was his wife and rest.
So he breathed her in.