Meanwhile, in Avalon, just as the Reverend Priest was worrying that Merlin might intervene...
The lecherous old Merlin was pursuing the faerie Nimue with fiery intensity.
He had collected a massive pile of Fou's shed fur and woven it into a pair of warm gloves. The problem was that not all of it was fur; these gloves, brimming with the aura of "Primate Murder," failed to win the favor of the faerie Nimue.
A slap to the left, a flying kick to the right—the precious gloves were incinerated by flames. Merlin, wearing an innocent expression, allowed his two "friends," whom he could easily manipulate, to bully him.
Once they had their fun and he was satisfied, he leaned against the window again, his gaze losing focus.
In his mind's eye, the future he saw transformed from a misty haze into a tangled mess, yet the fate of the King of Knights remained unchanged.
No matter how chaotic the tangle, every thread eventually converged on the same point.
"So there's no need to interfere, is there? I don't see any part for myself in this tangled mess either," the unreliable mage murmured to himself, his understanding of human emotions as stunted as ever. This time, he reached out to grab the Fou who was about to deliver another flying kick, petting it like an ordinary "bunny."
Fou struggled and resisted, but to no avail, just as Merlin hadn't yet seen the tangled threads that might lead to a different outcome.
For Merlin, only if a different ending existed—and if his actions played a part in reaching that ending—would he consider guiding the future toward that timeline.
Only then would he truly have a choice.
"Such a pity, Guinevere. You haven't quite done enough. You need to try harder~"
"Fou! Fou!"
Lost in thought, Merlin unconsciously tightened his grip, finally provoking Fou to bite. A sharp sting—this tiny Beast IV, the primate predator, had finally broken free.
Yet its future still reverted to the point where Merlin's hand reached out.
Meanwhile, in Camelot City, in the royal bedchamber shared by the King of Knights and Guinevere, the King of Knights was still asleep, with Guinevere at her side.
"Lia, you're so beautiful."
Guinevere held her liquor far better than the King of Knights, and as Queen, she hadn't been pressured to drink as much by the knights.
For once, she had awakened first, allowing her to gaze sideways at the unguarded King of Knights.
"Lia, your drinking etiquette is truly awful."
By the end of yesterday's revelry, the King of Knights had completely climbed onto the Round Table. Standing at its center, she pointed at each knight in turn, demanding they drink with her. This disregard for hierarchy, however, paradoxically brought her closer to her knights.
Of course, this was also thanks to Agravain, the most rigid and rule-bound knight, being absent.
"Lia, hee hee."
Guinevere gently touched the King of Knights' face with a strand of her own silver-gray hair, both hoping she would remain asleep and yet longing for her to open her eyes.
Once, twice, three times...
Guinevere received only a dismissive wave, a roll over, and a drowsy murmur: "Guinevere, stop teasing."
"Hehe."
The King of Knights remained asleep, turning her bare back toward Guinevere, providing a new playground.
Extending her right index finger, Guinevere traced it down the King of Knights' spine, finally stopping at the tailbone before stealthily shifting it to a spot that made her heart race.
But it must have tickled, for the King of Knights jolted like a startled shrimp. She jerked upright, her eyes still hazy with wine and panic.
Their eyes met. Guinevere stuck out her tongue, feigning innocence, but the King of Knights, now fully aware of what had just transpired, flushed crimson with mortification and rage.
"Ha ha ha ha... ha ha ha ha..."
The laughter erupted violently and continued for some time, but thankfully it remained contained within the soundproofed bedroom.
Unable to endure the tickling any longer, the King of Knights collapsed onto her stomach, declaring surrender. Both their gazes drifted toward the brilliant sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains.
"Lia, lie down a bit longer. I told you yesterday we're resting today—no meetings. You weren't the only one who drank too much last night."
"Oh."
This was the King of Knights' first day of rest since drawing her sword. In the years before she claimed the throne, a Vassal King would rebel almost every fortnight. She would finally subdue them, only to face another uprising shortly after.
During this period, she earned the title "King of Knights," which spoke of her noble character and formidable strength. Yet it also carried a hint of mockery for her excessive mercy and rigid adherence to knightly codes.
As a King, being too merciful could lead to being underestimated.
It wasn't until she married Guinevere who became the ruthless Queen that the Vassal Kings began to behave themselves, finally obeying the commands of the Sovereign of Great Britain for the first time.
"Guinevere, scoot down a bit. I want to hold you."
No one could discern what the King of Knights was thinking; only her serene smile was visible. Though Guinevere was somewhat reluctant, she obediently scooted down, accommodating the petite Knight-King.
Moreover, being able to rest her cheek against the Knight-King's A-cups filled Guinevere with a quiet sense of satisfaction.
They embraced in silence until Guinevere began to fidget.
After a long while, Guinevere, still limp with contentment, was the first to rise and dress. She then drew back the curtains, welcoming the exceptionally bright sunlight into the bedroom.
"Lia, are you going to get up? Let's go feed Lady Morgan together, then take a stroll around.
Come to think of it, we haven't even been on a proper date yet. You rarely get a day off."
Sprawled on the velvet bed, the King of Knights felt utterly drained. The problem lay in her possession of the scabbard named Avalon.
This scabbard rapidly healed its wielder's wounds and ailments, and even provided a degree of relief from excessive physical exertion.
Therefore, in a prolonged battle, Guinevere was destined to lose.
Touching the scabbard to replenish her strength, the King of Knights frowned at the alcohol-soaked clothes strewn across the floor, relieved she hadn't thrown up the previous night.
As she headed to the wardrobe to change into clean casual attire, the King of Knights let Guinevere assist her, warning her never to play with fire on her own again.
The King of Knights harbored no particular fondness for battles in bed; she cherished quiet embraces with Guinevere far more.
Once they were dressed, Guinevere went to the kitchen to prepare a small meal...
This meal, which included Lady Morgan's portion, wasn't delivered to her room. Instead, Guinevere found a small side room and personally set the table with three sets of utensils.
After a considerable wait, just as the King of Knights was urging Guinevere to deliver the meal directly and Guinevere was convinced Morgan wouldn't come, Morgan strode steadily into the room, fully dressed in her usual attire, the Magic-Sealing Necklace still around her neck.
The moment she arrived, Morgan seized Guinevere's wrist and glared defiantly at her younger sister.
"Foolish sister," Morgan purred, maintaining her regal arrogance. "Did you invite me here just to make yourself miserable?"
She maintained her haughty demeanor and leaned in to kiss Guinevere's cheek.
But under the King of Knights' watchful, smiling gaze, Guinevere firmly blocked the kiss.
"Sister," the King of Knights said calmly, her voice unwavering, "you can't take her from me."
Her voice was confident, unwavering—as if stating an unshakeable truth.
Seeing the King of Knights' composure, so different from her disarray at the Training Ground that day, Morgan grew confused, then panicked, her hatred for the King of Knights intensifying.
"You... why do you deserve happiness?!" Morgan spat, momentarily losing her composure. The root of her hatred for the King of Knights lay in her resentment toward King Uther, stemming from his treatment of her mother. It was also fueled by envy for the King of Knights' divinely ordained destiny to rule.
Now, she hated that this King of Knights possessed what Morgan had long since lost.
But having come this far, leaving without a fight was impossible. Before she could decide whether to attack or retreat, Guinevere firmly clasped her from behind, pinning her in place.