As I sat there on my throne, I could feel my knights vibrate in their armor—shaking to act. And I fully understood why they felt like that.
Even if I didn't share their frustration. Instead, I felt nothing but amusement at the whole situation.
But I was clearly the only one who felt amused about any of it.
"How! The sheer gall! How dare you, ungrateful curs, come here to question His Majesty!" Agravain finally couldn't keep his tongue.
And he wasn't the only one at his limits. Honestly, I was just happy Mordred wasn't here, or I feared Steve Rogers would have already lost his head.
Though that risk hadn't passed entirely, because he still managed to anger all my knights—even gentle Bedivere was angered.
"I meant no disrespect," Steve defended himself. "I am here because that is what I should be. This is the duty entrusted to me, and I can't shy away from it, no matter the reason."
I had to give it to him: he had courage enough. Few could face my angry knights and remain unaffected.
"You clearly forget that it was by the King's grace you were given that authority you now dare wield against her; rebellion is what it is!" Agravain would accept none of Rogers' excuses.
On the other side, Rogers also didn't back down, backed by his belief in the righteousness of his actions.
Personally, I just found it funny—though in equal part I was impressed it came to this. I knew Rogers was a man who followed his heart, but clearly, others had whispered into his ear. He wouldn't be here on his own.
"Enough, Agravain." I raised a hand to silence him. Then I spoke. "Rogers… it didn't take you long to settle into your new role with the Illuminati, and to think the first target you would set your eyes on would be me."
The room grew tense as I spoke; my knights were like coiled springs, ready to unleash my fury should I command it. "Surely you understand why Sir Agravain reacts like this. After what we did for you, it isn't painting you in a positive light that you come before me."
Steve, despite the tense situation, didn't falter. "I understand that. But as the representative of the Illuminati, it is my job to deal with threats to Earth— and to humanity— and you, Your Majesty, are one of the biggest threats there are."
Agravain was about to interject at the disrespect, but I waved him to silence.
"I imagine Fury put this idea in your head. No way the rest of the council would have pushed forward this idea," I mused aloud.
"Director Fury has indeed been advising me, but the council… well, it's hardly united in anything other than wanting Earth not to be destroyed." The frustration in his voice was clear to everyone.
I couldn't blame him. The Illuminati was a group of extraordinary individuals who all had very different views on a lot of very important topics.
It's surprisingly hard to form a group of people who are both powerful and righteous. Without Inhumans, there was no Black Bolt, and this universe had a Danvers, not a Maria Rambeau. Steve perfectly stepped in for Carter, and we had both Reed and Charles.
But we also had Magneto. We had Stark. We had many people—all with great big egos.
Some seats were empty, and someone had to fill them. The Illuminati couldn't just be one or two people; it needed to be strong enough, charismatic enough, skilled enough, smart enough.
And that costs heavily on the group's internal cohesion.
I let the silence stretch, watching Rogers carefully as the weight of the room pressed down on him. He stood alone, unarmored, unshielded, yet immovable in his convictions. There was no fear in him—only resolve.
It was this strength—this unshaken will—that earned him a seat among the Illuminati. He wasn't stronger than the others; far stronger people weren't welcomed among that select group.
No, he earned his place there not with power, not with force, but with heart.
Someone who wouldn't lose sight of what was right.
"You call me a threat," I said calmly, resting my chin against my knuckles. "Yet here you stand, in my hall, under my protection, speaking freely. Do you truly believe a tyrant would allow this?"
"That isn't the question," Steve replied. His jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. "The question is whether you would continue to allow it if Earth ever disagreed with you."
Ah.
There it was.
Not accusation.
Not paranoia.
A contingency.
My knights shifted again—metal whispering against metal—but I did not look away from Rogers.
"You see?" I said, amused. "This is why you were chosen. Not because you are the strongest man in the room… but because you are willing to imagine a future where you are wrong."
That earned me a flicker of surprise.
"I don't enjoy that imagination," he said. "But I'd be failing everyone if I didn't consider it."
"And what do the others think?" I asked lightly. "Your council. Your Illuminati. Do they share this concern?"
Steve hesitated.
That told me everything.
"They don't all agree," he admitted. "Some believe this is unnecessary. Others believe it's overdue. Magneto thinks questioning you is foolish. Doom thinks it's inevitable." He exhaled slowly. "Reed thinks it's statistically irresponsible not to."
Agravain scoffed. "So you come here because your council cannot agree, and you expect our king to soothe your indecision?"
"No," Steve said firmly. "I came because I agreed."
That gave me pause.
I leaned back fully now, fingers steepled, studying him with renewed interest.
"And the Professor?" I asked. "What does Charles Xavier think?"
Steve's expression softened, just slightly. "He believes that power without accountability—even benevolent power—eventually becomes something else."
A familiar argument.
An old one.
"And Magneto?" I pressed.
"He believes you're the only reason mutants are alive in peace right now," Steve answered honestly. "And that anyone who challenges you risks breaking that peace."
I smiled faintly.
At least Erik hadn't disappointed me.
I had always known that despite his actions—his hate—he was a good man, someone who wanted to help, but knew only how to harm.
There was a reason that, despite everything, Charles Xavier still trusted the man over anyone else.
Then again… I suppose being able to read people's thoughts made it easy to figure out who to really trust.
Though that hardly explained why he kept trusting in the good of humanity.
Humanity had infinite capacity for goodness, but far too often its potential was tainted by the harsh truth of reality.
"And what of the Sorcerer Supreme?" I asked, though I already knew.
Steve grimaced. "Despite our attempts to reach out, they have not made contact with the rest of the Illuminati."
I laughed then, genuinely amused, and the sound echoed through the hall. Several of my knights relaxed despite themselves.
"Yes, that is very much like what I expected from her. She is above politics—something you as well should be," I said. "That was the whole point of the Illuminati: to stand above it all."
"That," Steve said quietly, "is why we're here."
The room did not erupt.
It didn't need to.
"You stand above politics," he continued, carefully choosing every word, "but Earth doesn't have that luxury. Every decision you make—every treaty, every intervention, every silence—ripples outward. Nations rise or fall on them. People live or die by them."
He met my gaze again.
"And if you ever stopped caring… if something happened to you, or changed you… there would be nothing on this world that could stop the consequences."
There it was.
Not a threat.
Not an accusation.
A responsibility.
For a long moment, I said nothing.
I did not need to look at my knights to feel their outrage simmering beneath the surface. To them, the idea that anyone might presume to judge me was an affront beyond reason.
But I was not listening to them.
I was listening to him.
"You believe," I said slowly, "that the existence of a power greater than Earth requires a counterweight."
Steve nodded. "Yes."
"And you believe," I continued, "that counterweight should be you."
"No," he corrected immediately. "Not me. Not alone. The council. A system."
I smiled—a sad smile, the kind a parent gives a child when they proudly claim that one plus one is three. They are wrong, but they tried, and so they get a smile.
"You are wrong," I said softly. "I didn't help create the Illuminati because I wanted to create a counterbalance for the truly strong. I didn't sit back while people such as Magneto and Doom claimed seats because I wanted a peacekeeping force."
I paused, looked him deep in the eyes. "I hope that the Illuminati will one day rule this world."
He gasped.
I rose from my throne.
Not abruptly. Not angrily.
Simply… inevitably.
The sound of armored boots against marble echoed through the hall as my knights straightened, every instinct screaming that something fundamental had shifted. Steve noticed it too—not with fear, but with the quiet awareness of a soldier who had learned to recognize moments before history bent.
"You are not wrong to question me," I said at last. "Nor are you wrong to fear me."
That alone made him stiffen.
"But you are wrong," I continued calmly, "if you believe those two things grant you authority."
I descended the steps of the dais, each measured pace closing the distance between us. I did not loom. I did not threaten. I simply was.
"You speak of oversight. Of accountability. Of safeguards." I inclined my head slightly. "These are human constructs. Necessary ones. Noble ones."
My gaze sharpened.
"They are also meaningless to a god."
A ripple passed through the chamber. Not anger—disquiet.
"You fear what I might become," I went on. "You imagine a future where I make war with the world, where I expand Albion, where I become a danger—a tyrant—where I become evil."
Steve did not deny it.
"Evil, good, cruel, merciful—all these are human concepts," I continued, my voice steady, unraised. "They exist because humans are fragile. Finite. Because pain matters to you in a way it does not to something eternal."
I walked across the room, stopping in front of the large window overlooking Camelot.
"Tell me, Sir Rogers," I asked suddenly, "are you a pious man?"
(End of chapter)
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