The wedding of Prince Arthur Pendragon and Lady Cesealia Pendragon was nothing short of spectacular—not because of its grandeur, but because of what it meant.
Unlike the royal affairs of Artizea and Rhyssand's celestial union or the legendary marriage of King Gilgamesh and Queen Arthuria, this was different.
This was not for the people.
It was for them.
The streets of Camelot roared with celebration, and the palace was alive with festivity.
To see one of their own, a common-born woman, stand beside a prince of the realm—it was a dream they never thought possible.
The wedding itself took place in the throne room, where tradition met defiance.
The council had much to say about the matter of a three-year-old child born out of wedlock.
The old nobles whispered. "An illegitimate daughter can never be a princess."
They barely got past the word "illegitimate" before Gilgamesh stood up and said, "Speak another word, and I'll have your heads mounted as decoration for the feast."
Silence.
Absolute. Silence.
That was the end of that conversation.
When The Ceremony Began
Arthur stood proudly at the right of the throne, dressed in elegant but simple attire.
He knew Cesealia was never the fancy type. She was finally marrying him, and that was enough.
Rhyssand, his best man, stood at his side, hiding his wings to keep the attention where it belonged.
And then—
The music started.
The petals rained down from tiny hands. Calisto walked ahead with a serious expression, taking his duty of "petal commander" very seriously.
Seraphina, despite being younger, was just as precise, floating hers down with careful magic. Lizzie, the flower girl, was less delicate about it. She grabbed entire handfuls of petals and launched them like she was declaring war.
Then came the bride.
Arthur Saw Her. Saw her.
The moment she stepped through the grand doors, He felt his breath leave him.
Tears welled up instantly.
Artizea caught sight of her brother's face and immediately turned to Rhyssand.
"Why didn't you cry at our wedding?" she whispered accusingly.
Rhyssand barely turned his head. "Because your father said it had to be perfect. All eyes on you, not the crying bird."
She snorted, covering her laugh behind her hand.
"That does sound like something he'd say."
The vows were exchanged.
The words were spoken.
The priestess announced them husband and wife.
And when Arthur tilted Cesealia's face up to his and kissed her, the hall erupted in cheers.
Then, Lizzie ran to them.
Arthur lifted his daughter into his arms, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek before kissing his wife once more.
The Family's Reactions?
Grandma Rosetta was crying, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
Arthuria? Crying. Again.
"My boy," she sobbed into her husband's shoulder.
Gilgamesh, who had spent the last twenty-five years shaking his head at this son, rolled his eyes.
"I don't see what you see in that boy," he muttered under his breath.
Yet, when Arthur looked toward him—For the first time in a long time…He smiled at his son.
Dinner was lively. Arthur had stories to tell, and the family listened.
The hall was filled with laughter.
Lizzie, Calisto, and Seraphina played together like they had never been apart.
And finally, when the plates were near empty, Arthur stood and raised his goblet.
His voice was steady, sure, full of love.
"My father raised me to put family first. And despite everything, despite all the ways we clash and all the ways we are different, he always did."
He turned, looking directly at Gil.
"That is the kind of father I want to be."
The hall was silent.
Arthur saw his father's hand tighten into a fist—not in anger, but because—
For the first time in his life—
He saw his father holding back a tear.
The dinner was lively—joyful, even. The air was filled with laughter, stories, and for once, no one was trying to overthrow a kingdom, run away to sea, or throw a couch at Rhyssand.
Everything was perfect.
Until Arthur—damn Arthur— with a knowing smirk said.
"Now the only ones left are Eugene and Elaine—" he paused dramatically, "—and let's face it, it's just Elaine."
Eugene scoffed. " Very funny."
Gil, who was already tuning out most of the conversation, leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine.
Without even opening his eyes, he pointed his goblet at Eugene.
"You will stay in the library or—god forbid—whatever realm you've conjured up for yourself."
Eugene brightened at the thought. "You mean it? Gods, Father, say less."
Gil ignored him.
He turned to Elaine.
"And you—" his red eyes slightly cracked open, voice as casual as ever, "—are forbidden from marriage."
Elaine choked on her drink.
"What?! Until when?"
"Until the day I die." He waved a hand dismissively. "No more weddings. No more babies. Your father is tired."
The table erupted in laughter and then… Silence. Amidst the joy and chatter, something was off.
Artizea was too quiet, and Everyone noticed.
Rhyssand—normally one to add to the conversation—was suddenly mute.
Arthur's grin slowly faded as he narrowed his eyes at his sister.
Eugene squinted.
Elaine frowned.
"No. Way."
Arthuria, ever perceptive, turned to Gil.
He was counting, to what number? No one knew.
He had the look of a man who had lived too long and suffered too much.
She blinked. "Gil—"
And then—
The silence was broken by Artizea, who pressed her lips into a thin line and muttered—
"Surprise…"
The king wanted to die. A long, suffering sigh escaped him as his head fell into one hand, fingers massaging his temple, as if he were trying to physically push away the headache forming.
Arthur leaned over, waving a hand in front of his father's face.
"…Father, is this the best time to mention we are also expecting…?"
Gil slowly lifted his head, face blank.
He looked at Arthur.
Then at Cesealia.
Then at Artizea.
Then at Rhyssand—
"Do any of you have nothing better to do —I will gladly give you something to do—"
Artizea slowly turned to Cesealia, eyes narrowed. "You too??"
Cesealia blinked, then gave a sheepish smile. "When are you due?"
Both women answered at the same time.
"April 3rd."
Gasps.
Rhyssand's head whipped toward Arthur. And he stared right back.
No words. Just pain.
Both men slammed back their wine.
This was going to be a very long nine months.
Eugene gagged. "Gross."
Elaine squealed, practically bouncing in her seat.
"OMG, twinssss, AGAAIN! I wonder who'll be next to beat the Blonde Curse!"
Gil raised one hand. A single, exhausted gesture.
"Go."
Everyone stood.
Fast.
Eugene whispered, "I think we broke him."
Arthur bit back a laugh.
Back in the dining room.
Arthuria sighed deeply. "You'll be fine."
Gil, without looking up, just pointed at the nearest bottle of wine.
She grabbed it for him.
And as he drank straight from the bottle.
In the brightest of mornings,
The king wasted no time in making sure the place where his son and family call home is perfect.
The sun stretched golden fingers over the rolling hills as they stood at the edge of the newly designated site for the cottage.
It was perfect—perched on the high cliffs overlooking the sea, a place where the waves kissed the borders of their kingdom.
The advisors, ever the cautious lot, had grumbled about the potential dangers of such a location.
"But Your Majesty, A child could fall—"
But Gil had cut them off with a single wave of his hand, voice sharp and unwavering:
"My granddaughter wants to see the sea. She will see the sea."
And that was the end of that.
The king's golden hair was down, cascading over his shoulders in waves, while Arthur's hair—longer now—was haphazardly pulled into a messy bun atop his head.
They looked eerily alike, though neither would ever admit it.
Just as they were about to finalize the foundation plans, a small, determined voice rang through the crisp morning air.
"Daddy! I found a baby chick! Can we keep it?"
Arthur sighed, already preparing to do the impossible task of telling his daughter no, but paused when he turned to see her beaming at him, holding the tiniest fluff of feathers in her hands.
He peered down at the fragile thing, then back at Lizzie, and without missing a beat, deadpanned—
"We eat the chickens, Lizzie."
Lizzie's tiny face crumbled in absolute betrayal.
"Well… can we not eat this one?" she argued, hugging the chick closer to her chest like a prized possession.
Arthur sighed again, rubbing his temple. Because how do you explain to the embodiment of kindness, the chicken will die anyway, either by a wolf or her father. "Baby—"
"I already named her!" she interjected quickly, as if that somehow made it official and legally binding.
He raised a brow. "Oh yeah? What's her name?"
She grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Hope."
His brows furrowed. "Hope?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"Mommy said hope brought you back together. So maybe Hope will keep the family together forever ."
The world went still.
Arthur blinked, staring at his daughter.
Then, slowly, he turned his gaze toward his father.
He had turned away, his broad shoulders stiff, his golden eyes suspiciously averted toward the horizon.
Arthur smirked.
"Father… are you crying?"
A harsh scoff.
"Nonsense," he dismissed, clearing his throat. He folded his arms and tilted his chin higher, feigning indifference. "It is the salt."
And then—
He walked away.
Arthur watched him go, lips twitching in amusement.
Lizzie giggled, pressing a tiny kiss to the baby chick's head.
Arthur shook his head, looking down at her.
"You're something, you know that?"
Lizzie's cheeks dimpled with pride as she laughed, cradling Hope.
Her small action changed the course of fated chicken itself.
It must be a Pendragon thing.