Note: I changed the first POV to third POV. I have to admit, first POV sucks, so yeah, sorry if this sounds jarring to you.
Another month has passed. Camelot had successfully united Britannia as a whole in a shockingly short time. However, unification was never a simple task. Racism still festered in various tribes, religious conflicts erupted in the streets, and discontented voices demanding independence echoed through the land.
No matter how hard she tried to force unity, it seemed impossible. Alaya's whispers were a poison in the heart of every human, a primordial instinct for tribalism and chaos. The huge empire she had built was being torn apart from the inside by the very people she had lifted from poverty and saved from Saxon blades.
Even though they lived better lives due to the revolutionary agricultural, fair laws, protection and economic policies she had implemented, it meant nothing in the face of their ingrained fear and suspicion. Gratitude was a weak currency against the coin of ancient hatreds.
Artoria stood on her balcony, overlooking a Camelot that felt less like a capital and more like a gilded cage. The reports on the table behind her spoke of riots in Londinium, Pictish separatists ambushing tax collectors, and Druids preaching open rebellion against her "foreign" rule.
"My king, what do you think we should do?" Merlin finally spoke after a long moment of silence, his eyes scanning the endless reports of unrest and bad news pouring in from every corner of Britannia.
This wasn't just some minor rebellion anymore, it was something deeper, something that threatened the very foundation of Camelot itself.
"If you were in my position, what would you do, Merlin? You're supposed to be the wise sage, aren't you?" Artoria asked coldly, her piercing gaze fixed on him.
Merlin let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending at nonchalance, though his eyes flickered with unease. "I fear I don't quite deserve such a reputation, my king."
Artoria's stare sharpened, her expression colder, almost dangerous.
Merlin knew that look well; if he didn't give her something of worth, his so-called beloved disciple might very well run him through with her lance without hesitation.
Swallowing his nerves, he cleared his throat quickly.
"Ahem… how about this, we begin by recruiting more knights and magi. We could also implement mandatory military service and instill loyalty early through state-run education, binding the next generation to the monarchy and the empire from the ground up."
"That's too slow, and it won't work in the immediate sense," Artoria replied bluntly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "But you are correct about the recruitment. Camelot is not so poor that we cannot afford to bolster our forces."
She gave a small nod of approval.
"I will take up this task myself then, my king," Merlin said quickly, trying to take the initiative before her glare could turn murderous again.
But Artoria's lips curled into something dangerously close to a playful smile, though her eyes remained sharp. "No, you will not. This task will fall to Kay. As for you, Merlin, I require you to cooperate with Morgan. The two of you will root out the true source of this unrest. Find out who the instigators are, who spreads the seeds of disunity, and give me their names… every last one of them."
Her tone had gone icy, her words carrying the weight of execution rather than mere command.
Merlin's posture stiffened, the grin gone from his face as a solemn look replaced it. He knew this tone, this chilling resolve.
His disciple was planning something big, something that might stain the land red and though a part of him guessed what she intended, he chose not to voice it, not even within the recesses of his own mind.
"Understood, my king," he answered quietly, bowing his head.
With that, Merlin departed, and Artoria did not remain in the chamber for long.
She went to meet with her queen, Guinevere.
The woman was as beautiful as ever, delicate yet radiant, her golden hair shining softly under the torchlight. But behind that beauty, there was a look of concern in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Artoria… I'm supposed to be your queen, yet I cannot help you suppress the rebellion, nor fight by your side," Guinevere whispered, her voice trembling with guilt
"Don't be, my queen. Your comfort is more than enough for me." Artoria's tone softened as she reached out, stroking Guinevere's silky blonde hair with a tenderness that contrasted her usual stoicism. She buried her face against it, inhaling its delicate scent, before tilting up and capturing her queen's lips in a fierce, desperate kiss.
Their mouths crashed together, tongues tangling with heat and longing. Artoria's hands slid down, roaming across Guinevere's soft curves, pressing her backward until her body sank against the bed. Every stroke of her fingers across bare skin drew a sweet moan from Guinevere's lips.
"Artoria…" Guinevere gasped, her breath shuddering.
"Guinevere…" Artoria murmured back, her voice heavy with lust.
Then, Guinevere's eyes widened in shock when her hand brushed against something she hadn't expected. Her fingers wrapped around it instinctively, and her breath fastened.
"A-Ah… my king… this… this is… a man's organ? Why do you… why do you have this?" she asked in disbelief, staring at the throbbing cock now pressing against her thigh.
Artoria's expression turned serious, though desire still burned in her gaze. "I asked Morgan for a potion. I wanted you to bear my child, Guinevere. To truly bind us together. What do you think of that?"
Guinevere's face flushed scarlet, her body trembling as her lips curled into a small, shy smile. "If that is your wish… then I am happy, my king."
She spread her legs slowly, deliberately, offering herself fully to her knight, her king, her lover.
Artoria positioned herself, her futa cock thick and throbbing as it pressed against the slick entrance of Guinevere's pussy.
She pushed forward, breaching her tightness in one steady motion.
"Ahhh—!" Guinevere let out a sharp, broken gasp as the cock slid inside her for the first time, stretching her delicate walls around its girth.
Her voice trembled with shock and pleasure. "It's so big, my king… it's inside me…!"
Their lovemaking quickly turned into something fierce, primal, and unrelenting. Artoria's determination blazed—she wasn't just making love, she was breeding her queen, pounding her deeper and harder.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed loudly in the chamber. Guinevere cried out, her voice rising with every thrust, her body quivering under the relentless rhythm.
"Yes, my king! Breed me! Fill me with your seed!"
Artoria growled low in her throat, kissing her fiercely as she pounded into her with renewed force. Over and over, she buried herself to the hilt, determined to paint Guinevere's womb white, determined to leave her swollen with her child.
But that was only the beginning.
On the bed, against the wall pillars, sprawled across the floor, in every imaginable position, Artoria took her queen again and again. From missionary to mating press, from doggy style to standing, Artoria ravaged her with relentless passion, never slowing, never resting.
The sound of slapping flesh, muffled moans, and desperate cries filled the chamber until there was nothing left but the scent of sex and the heat of their entwined bodies.
For that night, and long into the morning, Artoria fucked her queen like there was no tomorrow, breeding her endlessly, determined to make Guinevere hers in every sense of the word.
...
Note: For some reason, updating one chapter or two chapters per day makes no difference in the number of power stones, even though the number of views is rising.
So, I'm going to set update rules for this fic based on the number of power stones. Whether we can maintain this update schedule will depend on how many power stones this book receives.
If it's low, I'll go back to updating only one chapter per day, or maybe one chapter per week and per month.
If it's high, I'll maintain this momentum.