"Lia, Lia, don't get up so early. Give me a kiss first~"
Another morning dawned. Ever since their impulsive kiss several days ago, Guinevere had clung to the King of Knights every night before bed and every morning upon waking, demanding a kiss.
But after that impulsive act, overwhelming embarrassment made the King of Knights unwilling to do it again. Moreover, she once again began to doubt whether she had changed too much.
Ever since pulling the Sword from the Stone, she had painstakingly suppressed her own human emotions to become a worthy King, hoping to avoid any mistakes when handling official duties.
However, she now had to admit that ever since meeting Guinevere, many of her decisions had been influenced by her personal feelings—like choosing Lancelot to conquer Ireland.
"Lia, what's so bad about smiling more? At yesterday's Round Table meeting, didn't you ask the sixty-plus knights present whether they preferred the old, expressionless you or the you who's now more willing to show emotion?"
"Guinevere, you saw right through me, didn't you?"
"Lately, all your turmoil has been about feeling uneasy over your own changes, hasn't it? But you've already accepted the Round Table. It's impossible to return to your former, aloof self now!"
As part of her dowry, Guinevere had brought the massive Round Table, which was already in use—and not just as a cake table at their wedding feast.
All Round Table Knights, regardless of gender, age, or status, were permitted to sit at the same table as the King of Knights, argue with her, and even quarrel among themselves. When disputes escalated to table-slamming and glaring, it was the King of Knights who had to mediate.
With constant bickering and commotion, how could the King of Knights maintain her aloofness?
"Guinevere, you haven't been plotting against me since you first gave me the Round Table, have you?"
"No, silly!"
Guinevere feigned innocence, but the King of Knights sighed in exasperation. After a moment, she finally admitted that things were better as they were now.
As for the Round Table Knights' opinions, most preferred seeing the King of Knights display her emotions. It made them feel like their King was by their side, not charging ahead and leaving them far behind.
"Hehe, Lia, just one kiss, please? Consider it an advance on my reward. I'm going to be teaching at the Knight Academy soon, you know..."
Guinevere's skill at being coy grew with practice, but thankfully, she reserved this behavior solely for the King of Knights.
Held firmly around the waist and forbidden from leaving the bed, the King of Knights glanced at the sunlight streaming through the curtain gaps. She knew they'd miss today's Round Table meeting if they didn't leave soon.
With a resigned sigh, she helped Guinevere sit up, pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, and said sternly, "Satisfied now?"
"Not really, but this will do for now."
Guinevere wasn't seeking mere lip-to-lip contact; she wanted a gradual, progressive approach.
She rose and first helped the King of Knights dress, then had the King of Knights help her dress. Today, in addition to her tailored training attire, she wore a veil she had obtained from Morgan.
To recruit instructors for the Knight Academy, she would attend the Round Table meeting today. Lancelot, who had recently returned victorious from battle, would also be present.
Thus, partly to declare her stance, Guinevere requested the veil.
A dozen minutes later, in the Throne Room, at the Round Table capable of seating over a hundred knights, Guinevere sat resolutely beside the King of Knights, watching servants fill the massive table with dish after dish.
Mountains of meat, loaves of bread, and pitchers of milk covered the table. If the initial spread proved insufficient, servants would bring second servings.
Influenced by the lingering 'divine' aura, Great Britain teemed with colossal beasts, and its agricultural output far exceeded its needs, allowing for stockpiling and export—a state that persisted until at least the previous year.
"Ugh, Gareth, is mutton the main course again today?"
Gareth, a young girl of twelve or thirteen, was one of Morgan's daughters and the younger sister of Gawain and Agravain.
Currently, due to her immaturity, she was allowed to sit beside her elder brothers at the Round Table, but Kay had assigned her to kitchen duties as a helper.
As a result, complaining to this little sister about the day's menu before meals became a daily ritual for some of the more jovial Round Table Knights.
"What are you even saying?! I'm just a kitchen helper, not the purchaser or the head chef! How am I supposed to know what we're eating every day? If you have complaints, go complain to Uncle Han directly!" Gareth retorted, hands on her hips and head held high, showing no fear of being "bullied."
"Besides, it's not like they want to serve mutton every day! The shepherds said the spring and summer rains were too weak, the pastures are poor, and there's not enough fodder stored for winter to feed the livestock. Otherwise, we wouldn't be stuck eating mutton every day!
If you're really unhappy, go curse the damned heavens for holding back the rain!"
Gareth's defiance was abruptly cut short when Agravain, whose face remained perpetually grim, slapped her on the head.
Following this brief exchange, most of the knights erupted in laughter, and even Guinevere couldn't help but chuckle.
Throughout her life, there had been several years with poor rainfall, but she had never given it much thought, assuming it was just another instance of unfavorable weather.
It wasn't until Lancelot, who had recently returned from a campaign in Ireland, frowned and forced himself to look away from Guinevere before speaking:
"Your Majesties, esteemed colleagues, this matter is no laughing matter. As you know, I have just returned from Ireland, where their pastures are also failing, forcing all the shepherds to slaughter their sheep.
The newly crowned King of Ireland pleaded with me to find markets for their sheep upon my return to Camelot. But if our own pastures are also failing...
...then shepherds across Great Britain will face dire straits.
Moreover, the drought isn't just affecting shepherds. The lack of rain is also causing poor harvests of wheat and other staple crops. Shepherds at least have sheep to slaughter, even if it means hardship. But farmers without state support may struggle to survive this winter."
Regional droughts were common enough, but for Camelot to suffer a drought while even distant Ireland was affected was an extremely rare occurrence.
Most importantly, Great Britain is an island nation; there should never be a nationwide drought.
At that moment, everyone around the Round Table simultaneously realized the gravity of the situation.
"My King," Sir Lancelot suggested, "we could temporarily reduce the number of knights stationed at the Knight Academy and dispatch them across the land. We need to determine the full extent of this year's disaster first."
If this were Le Morte d'Arthur, the Kingdom of Camelot's collapse would be almost entirely due to human folly.
But this world was rooted in Fate. Therefore, the Kingdom of Camelot's downfall had to consider the rapid decline of magic after a certain point. This had caused Great Britain's climate to become erratic, crop yields to plummet, and public resentment to boil over.
Guinevere, at that moment, was envisioning this very future.
She understood that while the calamities brought about by Morgan, Lancelot, and others might be averted, the inevitable decline of magic—a force inherent to the world itself—was a natural disaster she was powerless to prevent.