The night passed without incident. When Guinevere awoke, it was already the next morning.
By then, the King of Knights' lingering warmth had long dissipated, but Guinevere could still see the imprint of her body on the bed beside her. A few golden strands of hair clung to the pillow.
As for Guinevere herself?
The first thing she noticed upon waking was that her clothes had been changed into a light, thin nightgown. It was obvious who had changed her—no one but the King of Knights would have dared.
She was currently hugging the pillow the King of Knights had slept on, rolling around on the soft, large bed.
"Embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing! How could I have fainted over something like that?!"
"Aaaaah, I can't even handle her? And I dare call myself a seasoned viewer of adult content?!"
As she rolled around, recalling her last memories before fainting the night before, Guinevere couldn't help but cover her face with both hands, her earlobes flushing crimson.
The King of Knights she had idolized, inviting her to serve while half-undressed—the mental shock was simply too much for Guinevere to bear.
For her, it was as if her two-dimensional waifu had suddenly become real.
"Pfft! She is my real wife, and I won't react like this next time!"
Having been a girl in her previous life, and possessing a body even more beautiful than the King of Knights in this one, Guinevere easily regained her composure.
After lying back and giggling foolishly for a while, her heart fully accepted that the King of Knights was her partner. She grew increasingly embarrassed about her behavior the previous night and felt an urge to slash something.
Throwing back the covers and getting out of bed, Guinevere found her nightgown still neat. The King of Knights had simply changed her clothes after she'd slept, and they'd spent an ordinary night together. The white dress from yesterday was neatly laid out beside the bed.
"That idiot," she muttered, "
At nearly nineteen, wearing this dress would stretch it in an unflattering way.
Tsk, it's fortunate Lia's growth has been stunted. Otherwise, how could she have concealed her true gender for so long?
As she carefully folded the White Lily Dress and put it away, Guinevere imagined what the King of Knights would look like had she grown up normally, envisioning her mature form in the future.
No, how could I be so greedy? After all, I don't even...
Still muttering to herself, Guinevere recalled the humiliating scene from the previous night, when she had been effortlessly defeated.
After sulking in a corner for a while, Guinevere regained her composure, her murderous intent growing even stronger.
Finally, she summoned a maid and instructed her to find Alice and have her bring all the clothes from her temporary chambers.
By the time Guinevere, now clad in her knight training attire, walked through the palace halls, it was past noon. She noticed the guards were unusually lax today; the knights who usually patrolled everywhere were nowhere to be seen.
Frowning, she instructed Alice, who had followed her, to find Tristan while she headed straight for the King of Knights' Council Hall.
As she walked, the emptiness grew more pronounced. Even the Training Ground, usually bustling with knights drilling, was deserted.
"Tell me what happened."
Pushing open the doors, Guinevere entered the Council Hall. This was her first time meeting Agravain, and also the first knight she had seen today.
Beneath the throne, sunlight streamed through the glass windows, yet Agravain remained shrouded in gloom. His gaze fell upon the massive Round Table, now in disarray after its recent use. He recalled how the King, summoned here last night, had for the first time displayed visible anger—a stark contrast to her usually impassive demeanor.
It was precisely because it was their wedding night that the Five Foreign Kings, their judgment clouded by malice, chose to launch their attack. They had timed their assault perfectly, knowing that a large number of the King of Knights' knights were gathered in Camelot City.
By the time Camelot City received word of the invasion, the attackers had already captured several small border towns, slaughtering all in their path and plundering everything they could find—acts of pure barbarism.
"The King of Denmark? The King of Ireland? The King of the Vale? The King of Soleise? The King of the Isle of Longtains?"
Agravain made no attempt to conceal the truth from Guinevere's inquiries. After all, such matters couldn't remain hidden. As Guinevere recited the names of the Five Kings, Agravain experienced firsthand what his colleagues had described—the Queen's bloodthirsty and maddening magical presence.
"Queen, the King has instructed me to inform you that he has not taken the knights you brought with you. He wishes for you to defend Camelot City."
"Do you think I'll be content merely defending the city?"
Guinevere's face wore a "You're kidding me, right?" expression, and her urge to hack something apart grew stronger. She wondered what strange looks her knights would give her if she met them now.
But who could blame Guinevere? She had succumbed to the onslaught last night and had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep—something she never would have imagined possible.
"Agravain, continue with what you know."
The King of Denmark, the King of Ireland... these were all foreign monarchs. But it was precisely because of this that they dared to launch surprise attacks. Their military strength far surpassed that of the Vassal Kings of England.
Take the five native kings defeated by Guinevere and the King of Knights, for example: even the strongest among them could barely muster a hundred knights.
Yet each of the Five Foreign Kings now invading England could command well over a hundred knights.
England had been divided and fragmented for far too long.
"How many enemy troops are there?"
"According to the knights who fled back from the border cities, the enemy force numbers at least seven hundred mounted knights. They've also conscripted over thirty thousand commoners as auxiliary troops. Judging by this, they intend to wage a war of annihilation."
Having spent a moon in Camelot, Guinevere had a rough idea of the King of Knights' military resources. Under her command, the total number of knights who could truly be called knights likely didn't exceed two hundred.
Even with the two hundred knights and the several dozen Guinevere had brought, the ratio of knights remained only about three to one in their favor.
However, the King of Knights still needed to garrison her territories and guard against the ever-restless Vassal Kings. She couldn't afford to deploy her entire knightly force for this campaign.
Precisely because of this, the King of Knights needed not only to win, but to win swiftly. Otherwise, the scheming Vassal Kings would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to kick her while she was down.
Guinevere's reckless actions upon arriving in Camelot had already left the native Vassal Kings trembling in fear.
"Agravain, tell me the King's chosen battlefield!"
Without a map, they relied on a sand table. Following Guinevere's instructions, Agravain quickly prepared the sand table, arranging pebbles to represent the positions of both armies.
"Hamburgh?"
Hearing the name from Agravain's lips and confirming on the sand table that it lay barely twenty miles from the vanguard of the Five Foreign Kings, Guinevere felt a growing sense of foreboding.
Most disturbingly, after rummaging through her memories, she vividly recalled the battle's description in Le Morte d'Arthur:
In this battle, the King of Knights suffered an initial defeat before rallying to victory, falling victim to a night ambush born of haste and overconfidence.
Given the full knightly army's marching speed, this ambush was likely to occur tonight.