In the end, Lancelot only entertained the thought briefly. He bought no women's clothes for himself, nor did he consider fleeing back to Avalon to beg the Lady of the Lake, who had raised him, to transform him into a girl.
Lancelot may have cherished his affections, but he wasn't yet driven mad by them.
In the blink of an eye, the day of Lancelot's wedding to Princess Elaine arrived.
"My apologies, Lady Elaine. For certain reasons, I cannot offer you a lasting memento of your union. I wish you both enduring happiness and hope you capture his heart soon."
"Oh, by the way, I made today's cake myself. I hope you both enjoy it."
The wedding ceremony for Guinevere and the King of Knights was almost identical, except they wore crowns, while Lancelot and Princess Elaine exchanged a kiss.
At that moment, as the two kissed, most of the knights in the cathedral breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to relax and smile with genuine joy.
After Guinevere whispered her blessings into Princess Elaine's ear, she finally announced loudly that the new dessert at tonight's banquet was her own creation...
All eyes immediately fell upon the colossal cake, which dominated the center of the hall, displayed on a round table brought in specifically for the occasion.
"Sir Lancelot, Lady Elaine," Guinevere declared, "with my permission, you may now approach the table and cut the cake."
The cake, five meters in diameter and over three meters tall, had required considerable effort from Guinevere. With the King of Knights' permission, Lancelot took Princess Elaine's hand, and together they stepped onto the table to cut the cake, personally serving slices to all the guests at the banquet.
For the knights, it was merely a lavishly made and improved version of cake. But for the ladies, a single bite of the soft, sweet delicacy was enough to win them over completely.
"King, aren't you going to rescue the Queen?"
"Foster Brother, does she need rescuing?"
The cake had split the ball in two: on one side were the men, who cared little for dessert; on the other were the ladies, who had crowded around Guinevere, eager to learn the recipe for the improved cake.
Thanks to the cake, the grand ball had ground to a halt, with no one dancing at all.
Just as Kay was about to try a different approach—suggesting the King of Knights remove the source of the ladies' gathering—Lady Morgan, who was also attending the ball tonight, glided forward. She took the initiative and pulled Guinevere away from the crowd.
"Care for a dance?"
Though her veil remained, Morgan had changed into an evening gown befitting the ball's atmosphere. As Guinevere placed a hand on Morgan's lower back, she felt only smooth, delicate skin.
-
"King, you seem... angry?"
"I am not."
Ever since drawing the sword at fifteen, the King of Knights had grown accustomed to concealing her emotions, maintaining her regal authority with a stoic expression.
She watched Guinevere dance with Morgan, her own male attire merely a return to her usual appearance.
Yet this simple change was enough to make Kay want to laugh. His sister had recently been shedding her robotic demeanor, but now she had abruptly reverted to her "human-machine" state. The reason was self-evident.
You don't mind Lancelot and Guinevere sparring every day, but you object to Guinevere sharing a dance with Morgan? Kay mused inwardly.
At that moment, before he needed to say anything, Morgan, having finally obtained the cake recipe, finished her dance and set Guinevere down. The King of Knights strode forward, extending a hand to Guinevere, who was quickly being surrounded again.
"May I have this dance, My Queen?"
As the Fated King, Artoria had been trained from childhood not only in martial prowess and governance but also in every royal etiquette befitting a ruler.
Once again placing her hand in the King of Knights' grasp, Guinevere rose with a smile. Leaning close to Artoria's ear, she lightly nipped her earlobe and whispered, "I'll play along at the ball, but back in the bedroom, you're changing into the new outfit I bought for you and dancing for me."
The King of Knights didn't immediately respond, as she had no idea what Guinevere had purchased.
Lately, Guinevere had been buying countless outfits and constantly trying to coax Artoria into wearing them, wanting her to embrace a more feminine side, but only in her presence.
"Lia, if you refuse, the next time Lady Morgan invites me to dance, I'll accept again."
Guinevere was playing with fire, but she wanted to see if the King of Knights would flare up in response.
As it turned out, Guinevere's gamble paid off. Though the King of Knights' expression remained unchanged—calm and majestic as ever—her hand gripping Guinevere's waist tightened considerably. Guinevere silently thanked her own meticulous hygiene; at least she wouldn't be embarrassed by being caught with dirt under her nails.
"Guinevere, what on earth are you thinking? Didn't you say you wouldn't fall for a married woman?"
"Lia, it's just a dance. It's nothing, right? You're the one overthinking it," Guinevere replied with a smile, whispering into her ear as they continued to dance.
Their intimacy was on full display for everyone in the ballroom, painting a picture of perfect harmony.
As one dance ended and they began a second, only Princess Elaine was left to stomp on Lancelot's foot in frustration.
Princess Elaine now understood: her resentment toward Guinevere was pointless. The Queen, more than anyone, wished Lancelot would stop loving her.
The problem between Guinevere and Lancelot lay solely with Lancelot, who had fallen for someone he shouldn't have.
"How much longer are you going to stare at her? Shouldn't you be sincerely wishing them happiness?"
Furious, Princess Elaine didn't even use his name, yet her words were undeniably reasonable.
Lancelot tore his gaze away and looked at his wife—a woman just as beautiful as Guinevere, but with completely different features.
"Elaine," he asked again, "are you truly certain you don't mind me having another woman in my heart?"
"And I'll say it again: I love you, and I'm confident I can make you love only me."
Beautiful women often possess an inexplicable self-assurance, and Elaine, being not only beautiful but also a princess, was even more so.
She understood that Lancelot's love was destined to be unrequited. She simply hoped the day she finally captured his full attention would come sooner rather than later.
Hearing his wife's words and watching Guinevere and the King of Knights glide across the dance floor, Lancelot remained silent for a long time.
After another dance concluded, the King of Knights and Guinevere raised their joined hands high. The King of Knights announced:
"My Queen has declared that after the ball, she will find time to open a cake-making class, guaranteeing that every interested lady and young miss will be able to learn."
"Hooray! Long live the King! And long live the Queen!"
-
The dance floor was alive with cheers, celebrating the King of Knights and Guinevere. But where Lancelot and Princess Elaine stood...
"Lancelot, do you want me to learn?"
"No. Let me forget... I will try to forget."
With those words, Lancelot took a deep breath, cupped Princess Elaine's face in his hands, and pressed a bitter kiss to her lips. She received it with a mixture of joy and sorrow.
When their long kiss ended, the King of Knights and Guinevere led the applause, their faces radiating genuine relief and happiness.
"Sir Lancelot," the King of Knights said, "let's change the plan we discussed earlier. The Queen and I will personally lead the campaign in Ireland. You and Princess Elaine will remain in Camelot to enjoy your newlywed life for a while.
"Rest assured, even if I conquer Ireland myself, the fief I promised you will still be yours."
"No, my King," Lancelot replied. "Let me lead the campaign in Ireland. I am your subject, and you are my monarch. How could I trouble you to conquer a fief on my behalf? Please, be at ease. This war will not take long. I will depart tomorrow and, in three days, return with victory for you, for the Queen...
...and bring back victory for my wife, Elaine!"
As he spoke, Lancelot knelt on one knee, the very image of the perfect knight he had been before meeting Guinevere. Outwardly, it seemed he was truly willing to abandon his illicit desire for her.