"Hiss... Ouch, ouch, ouch! Lia, be gentler..."
The sparring match had ended with Guinevere taking an iron sword to her back. Even though Lancelot had pulled his strength at the last moment and Guinevere had promptly used her magic to defend, an inevitable bruise had still formed.
Now, she lay sprawled on the large bed she shared with the King of Knights. After dismissing the maids, the King of Knights herself was applying medicine to the wound.
"Lia, now you're being too gentle. It's okay to press a little harder!"
With her face buried in a pillow and her body lying prone, the King of Knights had initially tried to sit by the bedside. But finding it awkward, she hesitated before—at Guinevere's insistence—sitting on her hips and thighs.
On Guinevere's jade-like, fair, and delicate back, a dark bruise stood out starkly, looking quite severe at a glance.
"Guinevere, are you being so... dramatic... just because I'm the one applying the medicine?"
All knights were accustomed to severe injuries; it was commonplace. If Guinevere were truly so delicate, she would have been content to live as a noble lady rather than rushing to the Training Ground every day.
Thus, the reason for her shrieks at the slightest touch—or even heavier pressure—became glaringly obvious.
The King of Knights may have lacked romantic experience and emotional intelligence, but she was far from lacking in intellect.
As she spoke, the King of Knights deliberately increased the pressure of her hand, pressing harder than ever before when applying the medicine.
Yet, Guinevere didn't cry out in pain this time. Instead, she began to giggle foolishly.
"Hehe, Lia's little hands are so fragrant and soft... and her butt is just as soft and petite."
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. With the King of Knights sitting on Guinevere, Guinevere could keenly feel every point of contact between them.
Guinevere's lewd remarks and giggling proved too much for the King of Knights. She couldn't resist slapping her lightly, inflicting a blow slightly gentler than Lancelot's sword strike.
"Hiss..."
This time, Guinevere truly cried out in pain. The King of Knights, finally realizing what she had done, felt utterly flustered.
She stared at the small handprint that had bloomed on Guinevere's fair, bare back, wondering if she should have returned to apply the medicine after all.
"Lia, your concern for me is the best medicine I could ask for," Guinevere said, her heart swelling with warmth as she buried her face deeper into the velvet pillow, her smile growing sickeningly sweet. Her words drew a sigh from the King of Knights, who felt a surge of satisfaction threatening to overwhelm her, forcing her to forcibly calm herself.
She fell silent, gently scooping up some ointment and continuing to apply it to Guinevere's skin without another word.
During the application, Guinevere also remained quiet, silently basking in the gentle care.
Once the ointment had been applied, the King of Knights sat back. The young girl, dressed in casual men's attire, stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror across the room, her expression tense, her cowlick twitching slightly, and her earlobes flushing crimson once more.
"Guinevere, later... let's spar. I want to see how much you've improved under Sir Lancelot's tutelage."
"Yes!!"
At the mention of sparing, Guinevere's hands itched for action once more. She was equally eager to gauge her progress and yearned for a rematch with the King of Knights to compare her current abilities against her previous performance.
"Lia, speaking of which, when is Lancelot planning to marry? Do you think he might actually grow to love his wife?"
"Guinevere, Sir Lancelot... does he truly harbor feelings for you?"
"I'm not blind, and for knights, the clash of weapons reveals the heart most clearly.
When we first sparred, he focused solely on the exercise, handling me with effortless ease. But as our duel progressed, his swordplay changed—becoming gentler, hesitant—allowing me to repeatedly exploit openings in his guard. It wasn't until he sensed the possibility of defeat that he finally grew serious."
Guinevere's meaning was now clear. Yet hearing "I'm not blind" for the second time made the King of Knights begin to suspect she was the one who couldn't see what everyone else saw.
Still, blind or not, the King of Knights was no longer the naive ruler Guinevere had first met. She still remembered Guinevere's fury from that time.
"In that case, after Sir Lancelot's marriage, I shall bestow upon him a fiefdom. I'll send him to conquer Ireland; for every territory he claims, I'll grant him land in equal measure."
Still lying prone, reluctant to rise and reveal her figure to the King of Knights, Guinevere unexpectedly felt shy.
Instead, she merely turned her head, gazing blankly at the King of Knights' retreating figure.
She couldn't believe her influence was so profound. She...
"Lia, you haven't been taking those strange potions from Lady Morgan, have you?"
Amused yet slightly irritated, the King of Knights turned to meet Guinevere's gaze.
"What do you think? I'm not a complete fool. After my sister tried to kill me multiple times, I'm hardly going to trust her now.
She's my sister. She brought me Sir Gawain, Sir Agravain, and other crucial knights. I won't kill her, but I certainly won't trust her—let alone drink her suspicious potions.
But you... you've been sneaking off to my sister's chambers every afternoon for the past month. You haven't... fallen for her, have you?
My sister's face is identical to mine, yet her body isn't frozen at fifteen like mine. I..."
The King of Knights suddenly stopped, realizing she was saying things she didn't even understand herself.
"Lia, are you... jealous?"
Her face was a blank canvas. Accustomed to showing her emotions freely around Guinevere, she made no attempt at concealment.
Yet despite her confusion, she didn't understand what "jealousy" meant.
Seeing the King of Knights' expression gradually hardening, as if preparing to retreat behind defensive walls, Guinevere quickly abandoned her probing tone, replacing it with gentle reassurance.
"Cough, cough, cough, Lia, if you don't understand now, you'll figure it out eventually. Besides, don't worry about me falling for Lady Morgan. She may be tempting, but I don't like married women!"
"But... technically, aren't you and I married women too?"
"Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough! By 'married women,' I mean someone else's wife! Your own wife doesn't count as a married woman!"
From bewilderment to suspicion, the King of Knights seemed genuinely concerned about Guinevere's relationship with Morgan.
It was as if she wasn't afraid Guinevere might have something with Lancelot, but feared something with Morgan instead.
Yet despite her fears, she still didn't understand why she felt this way. And after Guinevere's reassurance, she believed her.
"Hey, Guinevere, I feel like I've been slacking off lately. I spend so much time thinking about you every day. Can someone like me still be a good king? Shouldn't I..."
"No! There's no 'shouldn't'! If you think you're not doing well enough, go ask your knights! I dare you to find a single bastard who says you were better before!"
Suddenly agitated, Guinevere instinctively sat up, exposing her smooth upper body completely to the King of Knights' gaze.
At that moment, the King of Knights unexpectedly felt dizzy, just like Guinevere had earlier.
"Understood. I'll ask them. Also, do you agree to grant Sir Lancelot a fiefdom?"
Turning her head away from Guinevere, who was blushing crimson and burying her face like an ostrich, the King of Knights spoke deliberately and solemnly once her dizziness had subsided slightly.