Another half-month passed. In London, as the snow melted and skeletal remains began surfacing across the land, Guinevere found herself busier than ever.
One morning, she personally executed the entire family of a Vassal King who refused to provide manpower and funds to search and clear corpses from his territory.
"Your Majesty, she's actually serious."
"Your Majesty, isn't she being too cruel?"
"Your Majesty, how could she kill even a three-year-old girl?"
A murder committed in the morning had spread across Great Britain by afternoon—such was the speed of information dissemination in an era when mystery still lingered.
As the rumors spread, the Vassal Kings grew increasingly eager to declare their fealty, with one exception: Guinevere's reputation gained a new dimension—tyranny.
Previously, even when Vassal Kings rebelled, Guinevere had traditionally spared their families.
"Your Highness, you're sacrificing too much. Let me take responsibility for this. I'll bear the full burden."
"Sir Gaheris, can you truly bear it? If you were to take the blame, the Vassal Kings wouldn't fear us. They would simply petition the King of Knights to execute you."
"But Your Highness, while some are now diligently following orders, others have sent petitions demanding your removal as Queen. They accuse you of lacking virtue and call you a Wicked Queen."
"That's why I've sent knights across the realm to inform them that even if I'm deposed, they must obey my commands. Otherwise, I'll slaughter their entire families."
In the very castle where the Vassal King's family had been massacred, the three-year-old girl rumored to be dead trembled in Guinevere's arms.
According to Guinevere's own orders and her memories of stories where failing to eliminate the root led to future consequences, she should have killed the child in her arms. Yet, gazing at the pitiful, chubby-cheeked little girl, Guinevere found herself unable to act. Instead, she instructed her attendants to spread rumors of the child's death.
As for whether this child would seek revenge in the future...
"Little one," Guinevere whispered, playfully twirling a strand of hair near the child's ear. "If you want to kill me to avenge your family, you'll need to train diligently, grow stronger, and do it quickly! Don't wait until I'm dead and you still can't even touch my heel.
"You know, I've already killed nearly a dozen Vassal Kings and countless Knights and Lords—hundreds, perhaps thousands. There's no shortage of people who want me dead."
Cradling the child, Guinevere twirled a strand of hair near her ear, her gaze fixed on the girl's trembling form, gradually hardening with nascent hatred and a spark of life. Guinevere couldn't help but smile.
In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. If she feared even this tiny creature, how could she ever hope to change her fate and that of the King of Knights?
Truth be told, if Guinevere had simply chosen to stay in the Royal Palace, embroidering and ignoring all affairs of state, she might have easily altered her own destiny.
But what of the King of Knights' fate?
Smiling playfully, Guinevere glanced down at the child in her arms...
She knew this little one now wished to live. But who would raise her? As the young daughter of a Vassal King, the child had a host of knights, nobles, and royal relatives to choose from. Finding a foster family of impeccable character wouldn't be difficult.
After her smile faded, Guinevere handed the child to a knight standing by, ready to take her away, then turned her gaze to Gaheris.
As one of Gawain's younger brothers, Gaheris had previously served as Gawain's attendant. But with Guinevere's shortage of personnel, Gaheris and several Attendant Knights from the Knight Academy who had recently developed magical abilities were assigned to her en masse.
He was young, resolute, and possessed the same silver-gray hair as Guinevere. It was baffling how Morgan had managed to give each of her children such distinct traits—hair color, temperament, physique—all so different from one another.
Though she secretly cursed Morgan's name, Guinevere couldn't bring herself to imagine the worst, simply because Morgan wore Artoria's face.
"Hmph, time to return to Camelot," she sighed.
The King of Knights was already on her way back, and Agravain would relieve her of dealing with the now-slightly-fatter Barbarian elderly and infirm.
From Gaul, Lancelot sent word that his wife was pregnant. To spare her the rigors of travel, he requested to remain in Gaul for another two years and continue his mission of procuring provisions for Camelot.
Has Lancelot overcome his ordeal? Or is it too early to relax? Either way, I need to see him in person to confirm whether he's truly moved on...
Clad in full armor, Guinevere strode through the Vassal King's castle, built of bluestone, the metallic clangs of steel against steel echoing through the halls. As Guinevere pondered, Gaheris and the other knights followed closely behind, their armor amplifying the metallic din as they moved.
Come to think of it, they've started calling me the Wicked Queen. I'm getting this title much earlier than Guinevere in the legends, aren't I? Does this count as altering history?
Though her inner thoughts were lighthearted, Guinevere's heart remained heavy. She dreaded seeing the King of Knights again, uncertain what expression her liege would wear: a cold glare or something worse? Had she truly gone too far?
They hadn't seen each other in four months. Guinevere longed to see her, yet trembled at the thought of facing her.
"Your Highness, are you thinking of the King?" an Attendant Knight asked. "Given His Majesty's martial prowess, it's inconceivable that he would truly depose you as Queen. At most, he might voice some complaints when the two of you are alone."
Everyone knows you couldn't resist personally executing the Vassal King of this region. It was because he neglected his duties, allowing a devastating plague to ravage several villages under his rule.
We, too, have jointly petitioned His Majesty on this matter. When the Round Table convenes, I, my brothers Gawain and Agravain, and knights like Kay will all speak in the Queen's defense."
Gaheris, still young at barely sixteen, spoke with youthful innocence, never considering the possibility that the King of Knights might publicly rebuke her based on the opinions of the vassal kings.
But Gaheris's words rang alarm bells in Guinevere's heart. If so many knights believed she shouldn't be punished, and yet she was, these knights would inevitably harbor resentment toward the King of Knights.
Now, Guinevere desperately hoped the King of Knights wouldn't do anything foolish. If he truly intended to punish her, it would be best if it were done in private, just the two of them, perhaps even on the bed.
Filled with apprehension and anticipation, Guinevere's party reached the gates of the Vassal King's castle. But as they emerged, they were greeted by a sight that shouldn't have been possible: a company of knights in full armor.
Clad in full armor, the knights couldn't dismount to offer formal bows. Instead, those belonging to Guinevere's Knight Order struck their right fists against their chests and lowered their heads in a silent salute.
Tristan, whom Guinevere considered an early friend, strummed his harp and sang a song that made both her and the King of Knights blush—a tender poem expressing the King's longing for her.
As the poem reached its climax, the fully armored King of Knights dismounted, removed her visor, revealing her face—slightly thinner than before, yet still graced with a gentle smile.
She strode forward steadily, and when she reached Guinevere, her restrained smile blossomed into a radiant one.
"Guinevere, you've worked hard. I've come to take you home."
By now, the King of Knights' hand was extended toward Guinevere.
Leaning close to the King's ear, the clinking of armor muffled her words, Guinevere whispered in a voice only the King could hear, "Lia, who taught you that...?"
At this, the King of Knights' earlobes flushed even redder, but she merely wrapped her arm around Guinevere's waist.
"If you want the truth, it's simply that I longed to see you again as soon as possible."
Her words, spoken in their usual earnest tone, resonated deeply with Guinevere. There was no trace of flattery or insincerity, only genuine sincerity.
She understood now: the King of Knights had come solely because her own heart had urged her here.
The King of Knights had arrived in such haste that she likely hadn't yet received the Vassal Kings' memorials from across the land.
However, after this incident, Guinevere no longer cared whether the King of Knights rebuked her.