Arthuria stood before a blank canvas.
The cottage was small, as he had promised. Quiet. Remote. A place untouched by war. She had expected to hate it. She had expected to feel trapped, restless, suffocated by the knowledge that it had been given to her by him. And yet—
For the first time in years, she was at peace. She had nothing left to fight for.
No kingdom to rule. No war to win.
She had never been an artist. Never had the time to create something without destruction following it. And yet, here she was.
Painting. A strange calm had settled over her. Who said A Former King can't have a hobby? At first, it was nonsense—simple strokes, fleeting colors, empty landscapes. Then, slowly, shapes began to take form. Golden-red sunsets over a ruined battlefield. The faint silhouette of a sword embedded in stone. And a golden lion resting beneath a tree. She frowned, setting her brush down.
Damn him. She thought.
Even now, he still lingered in her mind. She exhaled, stepping away from the canvas, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Maybe, just maybe— She could pretend, for a while, that she was free. Even if she knew, deep down— It was another lie. She dipped her brush into deep blue paint, dragging it carefully across the canvas. She felt something she hadn't in years. Peace. True, quiet peace. Perhaps she could stay here. Forget everything. Forget him. Forget—
Just then, A shadow fell over her painting. She stilled. A presence, too familiar, too heavy, too golden.
She sighed. "Do you ever tire of ruining my peace?"
A chuckle. Deep. Rich. Infuriating. "I find it rather amusing."
She turned, glaring up at Gilgamesh.
He stood just behind her, hands behind his back, dressed in his finest silks, his golden eyes filled with that ever-present amusement.
"Why are you here?" she demanded.
"To see you."
"I am not yours to see."
He smirked. "Fine then, I came to see your wonderful painting skills."
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain calm. " You know—Some—people wait until they're invited to one's home before showing up. You weren't invited then, and you're not invited now."
"You never invited me, Is correct." came his amused reply. "And yet… here I am and was. So get dressed. We're going to the city."
"No." She said flatly, "Goodbye."
He tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. Did she just tell him… no? That was a new word to add to his dictionary. Then, with no warning, He smiled as he reached out and dragged a single finger through the fresh paint on her canvas.
Smearing it. Ruining it.
Arthuria stared. Then slowly turned her gaze back to him. Her voice was dangerously low. "I wasn't done."
"Oh, but the painting thought so."
"You are. So…. insufferable." She growled
"I have been called worse."
Damn him. Damn his arrogance. Damn his presence. Damn, the way he looked at her like he already owned her. She grabbed the nearest thing and threw the paintbrush at his face. He dodged it effortlessly, laughing as the brush landed uselessly in the grass. "We have got to work on that Temper of yours, my dear Arthuria."
"Get out!"
She was going to kill him. Or at the very least, break something over his head. The image of him lying unconscious in a field flashed before her—blissful— silent for once. She would have to make a cover-up plan. Or two. Bandits, she mused. A tragic accident. Or maybe he slipped on something very sharp and very fatal. Before she could finish the murder board in question, he stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"I have a surprise for you," he murmured, "Something that will finally make you smile."
She hesitated. Something in his tone was different now. Less teasing. More serious. "…Fine," she muttered, grabbing her cloak. "But if anyone runs screaming, it's because of you."
The capital of the city was lively.
Through the lower merchant path, where cobblestone streets warmed in the sunlight and fragrant bread stalls mixed with perfume vendors.
Arthuria watched closely, prepared for the panic. The terror.Instead—
"Your Majesty!"
A blur of limbs darted across the square as a gaggle of children ran straight toward him.
"Your Grace!!" one girl cried. "Do you have time to play today?"
Arthuria tensed—but Gilgamesh only knelt, squatting to the girl's height with a smirk."Not today," he said, "I'm on a date."
The children gasped in unison."A date??"
One girl leaned in, whispering, "Your grace, is it with that woman over there?" She giggled, pointing squarely at Arthuria.
Arthuria's eyes widened in horror. She immediately looked everywhere except at them, silently trying to merge with the nearest fruit stand.
Gilgamesh leaned closer to the girl, as if sharing a generational secret. "Shhh… I'm trying to make her my wife. Don't scare her off."
The girl's eyes twinkled. "She's so pretty!"
Another child grinned. "Good luck, Your Majesty!"
Gilgamesh ruffled their hair before sending them off, a quiet warmth softening his usually unrelenting features.
Arthuria approached slowly, arms crossed, brow arched.
"You… play with them?" she asked, trying to sound unaffected.
He looked at her, still crouched low to the earth where the children had left him."There's more to being king than wearing the title," he said simply, rising. "You, of all people, should know that."
Her breath caught.
And for a fleeting moment, Arthuria saw the man beneath the crown. The man who, even as a king, had time to squat in dirt roads and listen to children speak nonsense dreams.
Later That Evening.
Music began to hum through the streets. Arthuria had only glanced at a tapestry stall for a moment—only to be instantly abducted by a flock of women, laughing and tugging her into the folds of a silk-draped tent.
"Wait—?"
Her voice was swallowed by fabric and perfume.
"You're with the king, aren't you?" one of the women giggled, wrapping a translucent silken scarf around her shoulders. "You must look ravishing!"
"I'm not with—" Arthuria tried.
"Hush hush—Do you want concubine Zinya to be queen??"
They took a minute to scoff, then resumed.
Arthuria was confused. "Concubine who..?"
"She's the favorite of the king and said to be carrying the future heir."
Arthuria's breath hitched.
"But don't worry—You can still catch up!" Another woman said as she circled her with a coil of diaphanous silver cloth.
"I don't—"
"This shade brings out her eyes."
"Wait —I'm afraid you've been mistaken, somehow," she muttered, completely overwhelmed.
"But the silk would be a distraction from her features!" another said.
Arthruia blushed, not because of the compliments but from everything. When they pulled back, she stood before a low mirror, draped in sheer, whisper-thin silk. She looked like a curtain.
Meanwhile, Gilgamesh stood in the middle of the market square with narrowed eyes, scanning the crowd. "Arthuria?" He turned to find only barrels, fabrics, and merchants—not the woman he came with. His expression didn't shift—but there was the faintest twitch of concern before—
"Ahem."
He turned, and his heart stopped. Arthuria stood stiff as a sword, arms locked at her sides, in the translucent ensemble. Trying her best to hide her exposed cleavage, but the sheer of the sun glowed around her like moonlight caught in water. She was now impossible to miss.
"I—don't know what this is," she said flatly. Her cheeks were pink. "Or why I'm wearing it."
Gilgamesh blinked, then grinned. "It can't be helped," he murmured, tapping his chin in mock thought. "Although…" His eyes glinted. "Give it a spin."
"I am not a doll—" she growled.
He rolled his eyes, stepping around her instead like a scholar assessing a statue. "Hm."
"What!?" she snapped.
Before he landed his judgment, his gaze flicked toward a stall nearby. An old woman smiled knowingly beneath her veil.
"Gilgamesh—" Arthuria hissed, but he was gone now.
"Your Grace," the elder lady greeted. "How may I be of service?"
Gilgamesh nodded once. "Do you have anything in sapphire?"
The old woman opened a small wooden box. Inside, nestled on black velvet, sat a pair of delicate earrings—simple, elegant, the same stormy blue as Arthuria's eyes.
He studied them. She never wore jewelry. She had no interest in the ornaments of queens. Still. "I'll take them." He said, paying far more than they were worth.
"You're too kind, my King," the woman said, delighted by the overpayment. "The lucky woman will fall head over toes."
He smiled faintly. "With your help… she just might."
When Arthuria finally found him again, storming through the crowd with fabric billowing like smoke behind her, she hissed. "You are a terrible guide."
He didn't even look at her. "Ah, so what I'm hearing is, you need me."
"I do not need you," she snapped.
"Mm."
"What were you even doing?" she continued, exasperated, "That you left me alone in the heart of your city—"
He took her hand suddenly. She stopped mid-sentence. His hand was warm. Steady. Sure. "It's a surprise." He said.
She narrowed her eyes. "Where are we going now?"
"To the cliff," he said softly. "Where the sunset will conclude our evening."
Arthuria blinked. Sounded like something out of a storybook she read in her youth.
He led her through winding alleyways until they reached the cliffs overlooking the lower city. The sky was bathed in rose-gold and amber, the sun dipping slowly into the horizon like a coin into water. The entire kingdom sprawled beneath them. Lights twinkled in distant windows. A breeze lifted her hair, the silks fluttering around her like wings.
She turned to him, and—for the first time that day—she didn't scowl. "It's beautiful."
He looked at her. "Indeed."
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden ribbons across the sky, the kind that made everything feel softer—slower. Like the world was holding its breath.
Gilgamesh reached into his pocket and drew out a small velvet pouch.
Without a word, he held it out to her.
"This is the long-awaited surprise?" She said.
"Give it a chance." He ushered.
Arthuria took it cautiously, untying the string with suspicion. Inside, nestled like tiny drops of night sky, were the sapphire earrings—deep blue, glinting as if they'd been plucked from the sea.
She blinked at them. "They look expensive," she murmured.
He tilted his head, a faint crease of confusion forming between his brows.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's not a compliment."
"Will you wear them?" he asked gently.
Her eyes darted to him. "If I say no? Will you command me?"
"As if you would listen, no, I will not, but I would like you to," he replied.
"In that case, I won't."
"But… you will make the old lady I bought them from cry if you don't."
Arthuria winced. "Gods, you're manipulative."
He just raised an expectant brow.
"Fine," she muttered, turning the earrings over in her palm, inspecting the sapphires with a wary eye. Then she hesitated."I never got my ears pierced," she muttered. "We do not do such things in the north."
Gilgamesh arched a brow, amused. "Allow me."
She glanced sideways. "Will it hurt?"
He stepped closer, his voice dropping low in that infuriatingly calm way of his. "Well… It's nothing compared to a stab wound."
She huffed, "Fair point." She squared her shoulders and stilled.
Gilgamesh lifted one of the earrings, brushing her hair gently behind her ear. His fingers were warm against her skin, and the closeness of him sent a shiver racing down her spine.
"If you move," he said softly, "It will hurt."
She clenched her jaw. "What am I supposed to do with you breathing down my neck like that?"
He chuckled, "I'll count to three, deal?"
"Deal," she said, bracing.
"One… two—"
A sharp, sudden pinch made her flinch. She sucked in a breath, blinking. "You lied…" she gasped.
He grinned against her ear. "My very first."
"Of many." She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing as he moved to the other side. This time, she didn't speak. She simply closed her eyes, lips pressed tight, letting him tuck her hair back again with surprising tenderness.
"One…two," he began.
"Three…"
Another quick sting, and it was done.
Gilgamesh pulled back to admire his handiwork. "There," he said. "Perfect."
She touched her ears, still adjusting to the new weight. "I probably look ridiculous." Her eyes shot up.
He stepped around in front of her, and for a long beat, he just looked. "You look beautiful," he said.
Her lips twitched, but she didn't smile. "You're stalling."
"I am," he said, watching her carefully. "For your people."
"My people? What about them?" she asked.
"The ones who survived. They are on their way here."
Her stomach twisted. "What? Why?"
"I sent for them."
Silence.
The wind whispered through the trees. The birds chirped in the distance. And Arthuria just stood there, staring at him. She felt like the world had tilted beneath her feet. She exhaled sharply, stepping back, shaking her head.
"I didn't take you for a colonizer, Your Grace."
"I did this for you," he said simply. "Not for conquest."
Arthuria's jaw tightened, "What's the difference?" she hissed. "It's all the same to you anyway—"
Gilgamesh finally sighed, long and tired. As if dealing with her was both exhausting and exhilarating. He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower, almost coaxing."It is to my knowledge," he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear, "That husbands do nice things for their wives. Then they smile."
She blinked, stunned by the audacity—by the ease with which he could say such things. , Stepping back, "From the husband's or the wife's point of view?" she muttered.
He tilted his head, that maddening smirk deepening. "Jealous?"
"Try disgusted," she snapped, too fast.
His smile faltered, but he had found his favorite pressure point and had no intention of leaving it alone."You're never the type to dance around something, Arthuria. If there is something you wish to say, by all means… be your charming self and say it."
The challenge between them crackled like lightning over dry plains.
Arthuria gritted her teeth; it was as if he claimed to know her better than she knew herself, for that was impossible, as she had now been tasked with finding herself, the next words forcing their way up her throat like a battle cry she hadn't meant to release.
"Why did you do what you did?" she demanded, voice raw now. "Why did you take your own people's wives before they could? Why pretend you're better than the kings you mock?"
For once, he didn't laugh. He didn't smirk. He only said, very quietly, "Everyone has done things they are not proud of, Arthuria."
She advanced a step, refusing to be cowed."That's just it," she spat, voice trembling, "I can't tell if you're proud or ashamed. Or angry. Or sad. It's all a mask!"
The accusation hung in the air between them, heavy as a sword left unsheathed. Gilgamesh tilted his head again, studying her as if she were a painting he could never quite finish. Then he spoke, and the weight of it nearly undid her. "Coming from the woman who masked herself as a man for all her entire life…that hurts." He smiled, but it was brittle, laced with something more dangerous than anger. "As painful as it is for you to accept," he said, his voice smooth, "I did this solely to see that smile of yours for the first time."
Her face flushed. No…No, no, no. That wasn't possible. That can't be right. Gilgamesh did nothing without gain, without benefit. He was a king, a conqueror, a ruler who bent the world to his will. Right? He had no reason to care about her happiness.
"You're lying," She whispered, her voice sharp, but there was a tremor beneath it.
A warning.
"I am many things, Arthuria, but a liar is not one of them. I simply take care of what's mine," he said, as if that alone justified it.
Her grip tightened. "My people aren't yours—and neither am I," she whispered, her throat tight. "I am not your wife." She said flatly.
"Not yet." His gaze did not waver. Not yet.
She exhaled sharply, stepping back, shaking her head as if that could somehow shake him off, shake off the weight of his words. "You—" she started, her voice uneven. "Don't get to own me like you own everything else."
He sighed, the sound almost bored, but there was something behind it. Something less than frustration, more than patience."If you could put aside your undivided hatred for me for an hour," he murmured, extending his hand to the great wall before them, "I can show you." Then extended his other hand to her.
Damn him.
She stared at his outstretched palm. She shouldn't take it. But somewhere, deep down, beneath the anger, beneath the exhaustion, beneath the walls she had spent years building. There was curiosity.
Because what if—The Tyrant King was telling the truth? Before she could stop herself, she reached out and placed her hand in his. He wasted no time. His grip was firm yet careful, leading her up the winding path to the highest point of the meadow, where the world stretched far beyond the palace walls.
The climb was silent, save for the rustling of the tall grass and the distant hum of the city below.
The wind swept through her, almost carrying her with it. Until a hand held her steady.
Arthuria froze, looking up to meet a crimson gaze through the loose strands of her bangs as they swayed.
Gilgamesh tilted his head, motioning back to the cliff.
Then, at the peak, she saw it.
Babyloniayah, bathed in the golden light of dusk, its towering gates standing strong, its streets alive with movement.
The marketplace buzzed with merchants and travelers. The scent of spices and roasted meats drifted in the air, mingling with the distant echo of laughter.
But it wasn't the city itself that made her breath catch in her throat.
It was them.
Beyond the gates, her people marched through the city streets, their tattered banners trailing behind them, their weary faces turning toward their new surroundings with hesitant hope.
The lost remnants of Britannia. Her people.
They were here. Safe. Alive.
Her lips parted, a breathless gasp escaping before she could stop it.
Tears welled in her eyes, burning hot, but she blinked them away furiously.
She would not let him see her like this. She would not let him be the reason she broke.
But he already knew.
Gilgamesh stood beside her, silent, watching. He said nothing—there was no smug remark, no gloating victory, no taunt about how she owed him now.
Just silence.
For the first time, she didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to feel.
"Would you like to see them in person?"
She shook her head and said, "No, at least not yet."
He simply nodded.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure she had any reason left to hate him.