For nearly a month afterward, the celebratory atmosphere in Camelot City grew increasingly fervent. Guests from across the land nearly filled every inn and lodging in the city.
Besides her daily training, Guinevere was also compelled to undergo "bridal refinement" under the tutelage of experts.
"So, why are you the one teaching me?" Guinevere asked.
Just as on their first encounter, Morgan was dressed in strikingly revealing attire—a semi-transparent black gown that barely concealed her adorable navel. Despite being the mother of several children, Morgan's skin remained smooth and flawless, as if her aging had ceased altogether.
"Guinevere," Morgan replied, "I am King Arthur's sister. Who could be more qualified to instruct the new bride of my royal brother?"
"Hmm, very well, you are indeed the most qualified. But don't you think what you're trying to teach is a bit... excessive?"
At that moment, the two were in Guinevere's temporary chambers. All the other maids had been dismissed. Guinevere sat on the bed, while Morgan stood before her.
Just moments earlier, Morgan had tossed Guinevere a small illustrated book and a piece of jade carved into an unspeakable shape.
But when Guinevere caught the new jade, she showed neither the bewilderment Morgan had expected nor the discomfort of holding a hot potato. Instead, with a slight squeeze, she shattered the pristine jade into hundreds of tiny pieces that scattered across the floor.
"Speaking of which," Guinevere asked, "you know the King is a girl, yet you haven't revealed this?"
Morgan showed no reaction. She still wore her veil, but her malice remained undisguised.
"Guinevere, if the knights won't accept a queen, why would I bother seizing the throne from her? And if they do accept a queen, why would I risk open conflict with such crude methods?
Guinevere, you shouldn't be so foolish."
Morgan's voice dripped with mockery. With a flick of her hand, the shattered jade pieces reassembled themselves, flying back into her palm. Then...
"Are you planning to take it back for your own use?"
Morgan had hoped to awe Guinevere with her magic, to make her respect it, but she failed. Her demonstration of magical power only provoked Guinevere's mocking retort.
Beneath her veil, Morgan's face stiffened abruptly. Without thinking, she hurled the jade at Guinevere, who shattered it even more completely.
"It seems you truly have no need of my guidance," Morgan said coldly.
The atmosphere froze, as if swords were about to be drawn. Morgan remained still because she still wanted to witness the spectacle of the two girls' wedding. Guinevere remained still because this woman was still the King's sister.
However, one couldn't blame the King of Knights for favoring and indulging her. After all, besides their sisterly bond, Morgan had given birth to a host of exceptional knights, including Gawain and Agravain. Out of respect for these knights alone, the King of Knights had no choice but to show favoritism and indulgence.
Though Guinevere harbored no murderous intent, her desire to test Morgan's limits persisted.
Just as Morgan turned to leave, Guinevere, clad in her magnificent gown, suddenly sprang from the bed and lunged at her. Morgan's passive-activated magical artifact momentarily restrained her.
In the room, Guinevere remained frozen in her hand-dagger strike pose. Her thrust had pierced the semi-transparent Magic Circle, creating cracks across its surface.
"So easily provoked?"
"Just a test."
Though she hadn't drawn her sword, Guinevere's half-strength strike was easily blocked. She abandoned any further probing.
However, Guinevere didn't immediately withdraw. Instead, she increased her force until the Magic Circle cracked further and finally shattered.
Beneath her veil, Morgan's expression remained unreadable, and she made no further moves. Guinevere truly harbored no murderous intent.
After shattering the Magic Circle with her increased force, Guinevere sat back on the bed as if the attempted assassination had been a mere illusion. She smiled and continued in a mocking tone:
"Sister Morgan, let's end this trivial matter here. Just days ago, you came to me to declare your ambition to usurp the throne, and now you come to provoke me. Don't you think you're acting too willfully?
Sister Morgan, can you be honest and tell me what you truly seek from me? You're not just acting on a whim or going mad, are you?"
What was Morgan's motive for seeking out Guinevere? She merely wanted to observe the new bride. Her declaration of ambition had been a casual threat, nothing more.
As for her offer to guide Guinevere in her bridal preparations, it was genuine—Morgan was the most qualified.
And the jade ornament wasn't a deliberate provocation; it was merely part of the teaching materials prepared by her subordinates.
Looking back now, Morgan realized that giving Guinevere—a girl she knew was marrying a girl—a gift like that had indeed been a provocation.
Guinevere had accused her of acting on whims, driven purely by madness. After further reflection, Morgan admitted to herself that this was true.
Whether dispatching Gawain or Agravain, or repeatedly scheming against the King of Knights, she had never planned for the long term.
With this realization, Morgan lost all desire to speak further. She turned and headed straight for the door.
Yet, just as she was about to open it, she turned back and said, "The King needs an heir. How do you intend to bear children with the King in the future, Guinevere? The Pendragon bloodline must not be tainted, even if the King herself permits it."
Morgan departed, leaving behind her cryptic warning.
She actually cares about the Pendragon bloodline? Guinevere mused. Despite herself, she couldn't dismiss Morgan's warning. In fact, it further lessened her desire to kill Morgan.
She acknowledged the validity of Morgan's concern about an heir. In that regard, Guinevere recognized that she might need Morgan's assistance in the future.
In her memory, Morgan's most infamous feat was her artificial creation of Mordred.
After Morgan left, the maids entered the room, their expressions tinged with confusion. To them, the room was too clean, as if Lady Morgan had taught Guinevere nothing at all.
"Your Highness? The King has time this afternoon and wishes to invite you to dine with him. Also, Sir Tristan has returned from his mission and seeks to report to you. I've asked him to wait in the corridor."
"Alice, let Tristan in—no, take him to the Training Ground. I'll be there shortly. As for the King, I'll attend."
Though Guinevere wore a gown, it wasn't particularly private. And while this was a temporary chamber, it wasn't convenient to have her knights enter.
After dismissing the maids to deliver the messages, Guinevere quickly changed into her training gear and headed straight to the Training Ground, a place she had become quite familiar with.
"Tristan, it's been a few days. You look exhausted."
"Your Highness, please spare me your teasing. I accept my punishment for failing to defeat Lancelot. From now on, I'll dedicate more time to training."
"So, Lancelot is truly that strong?"
"Two of me still wouldn't be a match for him. Three of me might barely hold my own."
Tristan was no weakling; even Guinevere could only barely handle two of him. From Tristan's words, Guinevere finally grasped the vast gulf between her own abilities and Lancelot's.
"Three of you could barely hold your own against Lancelot. Was he still holding back?"
Guinevere knew Lancelot was truly formidable. In her memory, during the battle when he was caught in adultery, he had slain several of the Round Table Knights, all among the most powerful.
During his daring rescue of Guinevere from her pyre, he had cut down countless more Round Table Knights.
In terms of raw martial prowess, even the King of Knights was no match for Lancelot. Only Gawain at high noon could face Lancelot head-on.
"Your Highness," Tristan said, kneeling on one knee, even abandoning his lute. "I cannot say whether Sir Lancelot held back, for I was unable to force him to use his full strength."
This crushing defeat was a source of deep shame for Tristan.
To publicly admit his inferiority to Lancelot—that it would take three of him to even challenge a Lancelot who might still have been holding back—left the assembled knights at the Training Ground utterly stunned.
"Sir Tristan," one knight remarked, "you're that strong? Only three of you could match Lancelot?"
After Guinevere's persistent efforts over the past few days, Bedivere had grown quite comfortable with her, making him the only one bold enough to offer words of comfort.
Though he intended them as comfort, Tristan heard only mockery in his words.
Afterward, Tristan and Bedivere engaged in a duel. The knights at the Training Ground realized Tristan hadn't been boasting—he truly was formidable, though nowhere near as strong as Lancelot.