The path leading to her cottage was lined with freshly planted flowers, delicate and bright, a stark contrast to the warrior who had once wielded a sword as easily as she now wielded a trowel. She was outside when he arrived, kneeling in the dirt, her hands stained with soil. The sun had begun its descent, bathing her golden hair in amber light. She had been out here all day.
Digging.
Planting.
Over and over again.
Her movements were too methodical, too precise, as if she were trying to bury something deeper than just flower roots.
He had seen many things in his lifetime—But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the sight of her like this.
She looked so small. So unlike the warrior who had once stood against him with fire in her eyes and steel in her spine.
The woman who had defied the gods and fate itself—reduced to this.
He should have come sooner.
He had told himself he was giving her space.
That he was honoring her grief, her pain.
But deep down—
He knew the truth.
He had been a coward.
He had let the woman he spent years searching for be taken, broken, hurt.
And he had done nothing.
Nothing.
He had hid behind letters, behind distance, behind the pathetic excuse of giving her time—because the truth was, he couldn't face her.
He was afraid.
Afraid he couldn't look her in the eye and unsee what had been done to her.
Afraid he couldn't face the possibility that the happy woman who haunted his dreams might now look at him with nothing but emptiness.
Afraid he had cost her happiness.
But no more.
He had already failed her once. He wouldn't fail her again.
So he stood there, watching as she drove the small shovel into the ground, again and again and again, as if she could bury her pain beneath the flowers she planted.
He stepped forward cautiously.
Then his soul left his body.
The cottage walls stood silent, the air thick with the scent of roses.
Arthuria stood before Gilgamesh, her wrists still bound by the lingering presence of the chains that had held her moments before.
The weight of Excalibur, discarded in the corner, seemed distant now. But its purpose, its burden, was never far.
She had spoken her truth.
"Morganona won't stop until she gets my Avalon core." Her voice was low, trembling but resolute. "Without me, she can't win."
He stared at her, his crimson eyes burning with something far beyond fury.
"You were going to end your life for a sword and a witch," he growled, his voice thick with disbelief. "Do you not value your life above such nonsense?"
Her hands curled into fists. "Nonsese..? Everyone in my life is dead, everyone and everyhting I fought for, every sacrifice would be meaningless, if in the end victory should be given to Morgonna." She clenched her teeth, her wrists straining against the chains. `"I don't expect you to understand."
"Then what do you expect me to do?" he asked bitterly.
"To get out of my way," she snapped.
The words lingered. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her.
"Fine," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Look at me, then."
She remained silent.
"Look at me," he growled, his hand reaching beneath her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. "And tell me you want this."
But she couldn't. She wouldn't.
"Look at me," he commanded again, his voice trembling now. "And tell me you don't want to live. Because I've seen you. I know you."
Her lips parted, but no sound came." You do not know me," she whispered. "No one does—"
His jaw clenched, his patience hanging by a thread. "I—know— You." His crimson eyes burned with fierce resolve. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you want to die."
"I do," she said, though the words cracked as they left her lips.
He didn't flinch; she was telling the truth."Not on my watch."
"Why?!" she cried out.
"Because I— care—about you."
"Don't give me that shit—" Arthuria hissed. "Im your perosnal amusemnt, oh how amusing you find me, i bet your waiting until i finally cave in and slepe with you then youll forget all about how amusing i am to you. With so many who've warmed your bed, you couldn't possibly care less about me, let alone anyone else!"
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed, almost hurt "That," he said quietly, dangerously, "is what you think of me?" his molten gold catching the flames. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. "Fine." He reached for the dagger resting by the hearth. With slow precision, he drew the blade across the flames, heating it until it glowed faintly red.
She stiffened. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
Gilgamesh didn't look at her. "You think I collect women like trinkets. That I play with them. Use them." The heat from the blade lit the lines of his face, casting him in firelight."That I want you as… what? Another toy in my palace? An overglorified concubine?" He finally turned to her—eyes burning hotter than the metal in his hand. "If all I wanted from you was to fuck you, Arthuria," he said, low, "I would have when you asked me to, the first time."
Her lips parted, "I have never asked you to—"
"You were drunk that night." He lifted the heated blade between them, not threatening, but solemn.
"But you insult my honor. My restraint. My intentions. And that"—his voice cracked like tempered steel—"is something I cannot leave unanswered."
He lowered the blade, offering it to her hilt-first.
"If you truly believe I see you as nothing," he murmured, "then cut me. Mark me.
Let your accusation stain my skin the way it stains your voice."
The fire behind him roared.
"I will not defend myself with words, Arthuria," he said. "Not when you do not believe them." He turned to her, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness until the skin of his chest was bared—strong, scarred, and unyielding. The golden chains fell away, clattering uselessly to the floor. He then pressed the hilt into her hand.
"Engrave your name," he said. "On any part of me. If that's what it takes to show you the truth, you eyes refuse to see for themselves."
Her breath caught. "Wait—" She blushed despite herself, fingers trembling around the blade. "You're insane," she whispered.
"We both know that—" he replied, gaze burning through her.
She swallowed hard. She rose slowly, the dagger still in her hand, and pressed the tip to his bare chest, just above where the heartbeat thundered. He didn't flinch; instead, he unfastened the chain and let it fall, baring himself completely. Her fingers tightened on the hilt. "My real name…?" she whispered,
"Engrave them all, should you like." He leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. "Take it," he murmured, "If I must bleed to prove what is already yours—so be it."
The dagger slid across his skin in a careful, deliberate stroke, marking the first letter, and he watched her with a hunger deeper than desire. When she lifted her gaze from her name—her true name— etched in blood and fire over his heart, to his again.
"I can't," she breathed, trembling now.
"Starting something you cannot finish?"
"I do not wish to hurt you."
"Why—" Out of spite, he pressed the tip just over his heart.
"I care for you…too…alright?" she blurted out, but something told her she fell into his trap again. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"I need more." He pressed closer.
"Don't—Gil—I can't take any more of it…" she whispered. "Please—"
Months before, maybe she would have waited for this moment to end it, but she stared at the mark. His hand shot out, catching her wrist and pulling her closer.
"If I called you a liar, now, would it hurt you, too? Because I am at my limit—" he hissed. "With you—with this—with all of it—"
"Just shut up and say what you want you really want to say, you insufferable man—"
"Fine," he growled, voice low enough to shake through her bones. "Fine. You drive me insane, Arthuria Pendragon. Every look, every word—every time you pretend you don't feel— this—I am one breath away from losing my mind, matter fact, I think I lost it the moment I wished for you in the first place, thinking you wouldn't make my life easier to tolerate, only for you to make a spaz of me."
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
His hand slid up her arm, fingers curling around the back of her neck with possessive restraint. "You think I want you to care for me—No—" he whispered sharply. "I want more than that. I want you next to me when I wake up. I want every part of you that you never give to anyone else. I want you, Arthuria."
Her pulse thrashed beneath his thumb. "You wished for me…?" she breathed.
"Is that the only thing you heard?!"
Before she could protest, his lips claimed hers—rough, hungry, and final. The wound on his chest was already beginning to knit shut, but her name remained scorched into his flesh like a vow. She fought at first — her body trembling. But the chains that had held her no longer mattered. Because he was holding her now, and he wasn't going to be gentle about it. He was beyond his patience now. It was raw and desperate — a collision of anguish and longing. His hands cupped her face, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer.
Arthuria gasped against his mouth, but he didn't let her pull away. Not this time.
"If you want to die so badly," he growled against her lips, "then let it be from immense pleasure ."
She gasped, the warmth of his breath igniting a spark beneath her skin.
"If you really think you're beyond saving...Then at least let me give you something to live for," he murmured.
"I feel disgusting."
He didn't hesitate. "How can you say that? You're beautiful."
She pulled away just slightly, her breath mingling with his. "How can you say that? her eyes wide, disbelieving. "Why do you keep looking at me like I'm still pure?" Her voice cracked, raw with anguish, like she was standing on the edge of something too high, too terrifying. "You were wrong." Her hands clenched his chest, as if she could anchor herself there, keep herself from breaking apart. "I'm not an extension of you," she breathed, but the words trembled, betraying her. "I wasn't made for you." Her voice cracked—sharp, aching—like she was trying to speak something into existence that her heart refused to believe. "Even your court thinks—"
"You still think you know everything." His voice cut through her spiraling, low and devastatingly steady. "You claim I don't know what love is. You claim I have no humanity, no kindness with me. And fine—once, long ago, maybe some of that was true, but I am still stuck on the part," he murmured, "where you claim I could not possibly love you."
He leaned in, his forehead settling against hers. His hand slid down, finding both of hers, and he lifted them gently—pinning them above her head, not in restraint, but to still the tremor in her fingers.
Her breath stuttered. A sob cracked out of her, raw and desperate. She tried to turn away, but failed.
"Look at me and answer me honestly."
"Gil—"
"No more running—answer me—How can that be," he whispered, softer now, almost pained, "When your very breath is my air? How can it be, when you invade my dreams every night—steal my peace, steal my sanity—only to leave me empty-handed the moment I awake?"
"Stop it—"
"You call me a liar when I tell you the truth," he continued, voice trembling now, the façade of control fracturing. "You call me a madman when I show you my heart. So tell me, Ria…" His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, catching the tear that never fell.
"…what can I do?" His voice broke like a man brought to his knees. "Tell me what I can do to prove it to you. Once and for all."
"Ria…" she thought she said to herself.
"Can I call you Ria?"
Her head shot up, hesitating before saying, "Yes," she managed.
"Good, because I'm just about out of options." His voice wasn't commanding, wasn't demanding. It was pleading.
She exhaled shakily, her fingers clutching at his tunic, as if it were the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely. "Take the pain away," she begged. "Take the stain away."
Something in his crimson eyes darkened—not with anger, not with pity, but with something deeper. A promise. He cupped her face, brushing his lips against hers—not demanding, not claiming, but offering. Offering her a moment where the past didn't exist. Where the pain didn't exist. And when she kissed him back, desperate, searching, he met her with infinite restraint, infinite tenderness. Before she could draw another breath, he seized her once more. The storm inside her collided with the storm inside him — and it consumed them both. The chains slipped from her wrists like water. The remaining chains themselves seemed to yield, knowing their purpose had been fulfilled. But neither of them noticed.
Because Arthuria was kissing him back.
She wanted this. Too
"Is that what this is about, you thought i would case you aside, is that it, your soaking wet fo rme for months and hadntthe ego to simply ask a simple question, ria, did you think i would say no, were you afraid of acting like an average woman?"
The air between them crackled with heat, the golden chains shimmering faintly in the dim light of the cottage. She lay beneath Him, her wrists still bound above her head. As the warmth of his body against her own seemed to burn away the numbness that had clung to her. But the ache that lingered within her wasn't just one of desire — it was exhaustion. It was weeks of neglect, of refusing food, of sleepless nights spent digging into the soil, that had left her body frail.
His lips moved with a relentless need, claiming her, tasting her — but there was something more. With every kiss, every touch, she felt it. A faint pulse of magic from his skin seeped into her, tingling beneath the surface, spreading like a spiderweb-like wildfire.
Her trembling limbs grew steadier. She gasped, realization dawning. "You're—" Her voice caught, barely a whisper. "You're transferring your strength."
"And what of it ?"
She swallowed, her heart pounding beneath his touch."You don't have to."
For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze searched hers, the weight of his presence pressing into her like a physical force. Then, he spoke, "You'll break. And as much as I would like to see that, it won't be the good kind."
The words hung in the air, thick and unrelenting. The dark truth of them settled deep within her chest. He wasn't merely speaking of the passion between them. He spoke of her body — too frail to withstand him. Too fragile to endure what he truly desired to give.
"Choose."
The choice wasn't truly a choice at all. The man above her — her king, her tormentor, her salvation- would never let her crumble. He would hold her, rebuild her, and ensure she felt every moment of it.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.
A dark satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. His lips crashed against hers once more, the kiss fierce and claiming. The warmth returned, coursing through her veins, filling the hollow spaces that despair had carved into her. Every touch was laced with his power — a surge of golden strength intertwining with her own. Her skin, once pallid, grew flush beneath his fingertips. The sharpness of her bones softened as her body accepted the nourishment he poured into her.
"You think I'll let you slip away from me?" His voice was low, rough. Each word was punctuated with the graze of his teeth against her skin. "Never."
She whimpered, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. She felt the trembling in her limbs steady, the ache in her muscles fading. And still, he didn't stop.
"You'll take all of it," he growled against her lips, his hand sliding down the curve of her waist. "Until you are strong enough to withstand all of me."
She tasted the wine on his lips, the raw desperation of a man who feared losing her. His hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every scar. There was no hesitation, no pause. Only the need to remind her — to make her feel the life still within her. And when he pulled her closer, when his lips moved down the curve of her neck, his hold on her never loosened.
"I liked the chains." The words were soft, but they struck like lightning.
Gilgmaesh didn't move, though something shifted in his gaze. A flicker of surprise — followed swiftly by amusement, then something darker. Something raw. "You liked the chains?" he echoed, his voice low and dangerous.
Her pulse quickened. She didn't waver. "I did."
A wicked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It won't be pretty."
Arthuria stepped closer, the golden strands of her hair glowing beneath the lantern light. Her sapphire eyes gleamed, filled with something fierce.
"Good." She swallowed hard.
His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, as if the mere thought of distance between them was unbearable.
Her body molded against his, her fingers splaying across the solid expanse of his chest.
The heat of him seeped through the fabric, igniting something deep within her.
His kiss was fierce, demanding, leaving no room for doubts.
But there was no fear.
Only desire.
The chains stirred once more, responding to their king's unspoken will. They slithered across the floor like living serpents, glinting in the low light.
The sight of them sent a thrill through Arthuria, her skin prickling with anticipation.
"Is this what you wanted?" He growled against her lips, his fingers trailing along her jaw.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
The chains twisted around her wrists once more, firm but not harsh.
They embraced her like a familiar touch, a silent reminder of who held her now.
But this time, she wasn't fighting.
She welcomed it.
His hand cupped her cheek, his voice low and steady.
"Show me where."
She didn't flinch. Not anymore.
She didn't retreat into silence. Didn't mask her pain in sarcasm or steel.
She lifted her hand slowly… and pointed downward. Lower than her heart. Lower than where anyone had touched her since that night—since that chamber where she had been stripped of choice, of power, of peace.
His jaw clenched.
Not in rage.
In restraint.
She gasped as his lips found the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh before soothing it with his tongue. The chains tightened slightly. She was alive. And she wanted more.
"Gil," she whispered, her voice trembling with need.
"Say it." His voice was a growl now," Say what you need from me."
Her eyes burned into his, her chest heaving. "Everything."
That was all he needed.
With a growl of satisfaction, he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the large bed that stood against the far wall. The silk sheets tangled beneath them as he lowered her down, the golden chains still shimmering around her wrists. He hovered over her, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face, the golden glow of his skin.
He was beautiful — devastatingly so.
And he was hers.
"No more running, Ria," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. "No more chains that bind you to the past. Only the ones that bring you to me."
A promise.
A reason to live.
The golden chains that had once bound her wrists now lay forgotten, discarded on the floor.
The cottage was silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace and the rhythmic sound of their mingled breaths.
The soft glow of the flames danced along their bare skin, illuminating the lingering evidence of their passion.
But even in the aftermath, Arthuria wasn't satisfied.
Her body, once frail and trembling, was now alive — strengthened by the warmth that Gilgamesh had poured into her.
Every inch of her pulsed with renewed vitality, her muscles no longer burdened by the exhaustion that had plagued her.
Yet it wasn't just his power that lingered.
It was him.
And to her surprise, as her fingers traced along his chest, she felt the undeniable rise and fall of his breathing — heavier than she'd expected.
Gilgamesh, the great King, was panting. He had given her more than just strength.
He had given her everything.
She watched him, her lips parting in disbelief as the realization struck.
His golden hair clung to his forehead, his crimson eyes gleaming with a mixture of satisfaction and amusement.
But beneath it, there was something else.
Exhaustion.
"You gave me too much," she whispered, her voice still hoarse.
He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling as he gazed at her with that ever-present smirk.
"You've just been greedy," he replied, his hand lazily trailing down her side.
But Arthuria wasn't finished.
Her fingertips danced along his skin, the heat between them igniting once more.
"Then perhaps it's my turn."
Before he could respond, she shifted, her lithe body moving with newfound strength as she pushed against his chest.
The smug look on his face didn't falter, even as she straddled him, her hands pressed firmly against his chest.
The dominance she'd once wielded on the battlefield now surged through her veins.
Gilgamesh tilted his head, his golden hair tousled, his eyes gleaming with amusement."That's my lioness," he murmured.
She bristled at the nickname — not with anger, but with something far more dangerous.
Defiance.
The strength he had so willingly given her still lingered, thrumming beneath her skin. And this time, she would use it.
"Show me," she said, her voice a breathless challenge.
He arched a brow. "Show you what, exactly?"
Her sapphire eyes gleamed. "What they did."
The amusement flickered, replaced by something far more primal. "Use your words, Artruia."
"Your pastlovers," she snapped.
The tension in the air thickened, the firelight flickering against the sharp angles of his face. But rather than answering, He regarded her with a quiet intensity.
"Arthuria." His voice was low, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her back. "I have no past anything. And I certainly wouldn't stain your presence with a memory such as that."
Her heart twisted, the weight of his words far greater than she anticipated. She lowered her gaze.
But he would not allow it.
"Look at me." His fingers tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"You are the first," he growled, his thumb brushing along her trembling lips. "And the last," he raised her other hand to touch her name.
The conviction in his voice sent shivers down her spine.
She could see the truth in his eyes — a truth that made the air between them crackle with something far more dangerous than lust.
"I can, however," he whispered, the corner of his mouth curving into a dangerous smile, "Show you how to create our symphony."
The promise lingered in the air, thick with anticipation.
And when he moved, it was with purpose.
He shifted beneath her, his hands gripping her waist as he guided her.
The slow, deliberate motion sent a shiver coursing through her, igniting the fire that smoldered beneath her skin.
"Let me hear you," he growled, his head tilting back as the pleasure began to consume him. But Arthuria wasn't one to yield so easily.
With a wicked glint in her eyes, she moved — her body finding its rhythm, testing the limits of her newfound strength.
His hands remained firm, his grip possessive as he allowed her the illusion of control.
The cottage walls bore witness to the symphony they created — the soft gasps, the murmured names, the crackling fire that roared with their shared heat.
"You're learning fast," He rasped, his crimson eyes burning with pride.
Before she could savor her victory, he moved.
This game between them was far from over.
In a swift motion, his hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly.
A gasp escaped her lips as he sat up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
The sudden shift left her breathless, the new feel of him overwhelming.
"Hang on to me."
Some warning.
She gasped, her nails digging into his skin as he pulled her down, the overwhelming fullness leaving her breathless. He didn't relent.
"Relax," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.
But she shook her head, a breath escaping her. "It's not going to fit."
A wicked grin spread across his face. "Is that your wager?"
She clung to him, her fingers tangled in his golden hair as the world tilted.
And from the sound of her moans that followed, it was safe to say —
It did.