What kind of King does she want to be?
Until this day, Morgan had never truly considered this question.
From childhood, blessed by Great Britain, she had been seen as destined to become King, yet she had never received any formal education on kingship.
Her ideal King was likely King Uther, the most deeply ingrained figure in her memory.
Therefore, if she were to become King, she would probably emulate Uther, seizing everything she desired and arbitrarily dominating all under her rule—just as Uther had seized and dominated her own life.
"But as King, Uther met his end in utter ruin. After his death, the Kingdom fractured into warring factions. If you follow his path, the Kingdom you rule will inevitably suffer the same fate."
Guinevere had asked the question, Morgan had answered, and this was Guinevere's response to Morgan's answer.
Moreover, since Uther's downfall had always been Morgan's desired outcome, she found herself genuinely unwilling to argue against it.
"You're right. The path of forceful conquest and domination will inevitably lead to destruction. But I can forge a different path to kingship. I will devote my time to cultivating the qualities of a true king, and I will never abandon this goal easily."
Through this exchange, Morgan only relinquished her vague notion of how to become king, but her ambition to rule remained unshaken.
Yet as she watched Morgan fall into deep thought, Guinevere, who had merely spoken on impulse, felt unexpectedly satisfied. The silent Morgan was breathtakingly beautiful.
With Morgan silent, it was now the King of Knights' turn to speak. She had been listening quietly the entire time, feeling uneasy about Guinevere's reasons for liking her, about Guinevere's declaration to mold her into an ideal ruler, and about Morgan and Guinevere's discussion of the path of forceful conquest and domination.
But... in that very discussion, King Uther—her own father—had been used as a negative example.
Guinevere's response showed not the slightest consideration for the King of Knights' position as Uther's daughter.
"Guinevere, my father was indeed a bastard, but he's dead now. Can't you show him a little respect?"
As a child, the King of Knights had heard Merlin's tales of King Uther in her dreams. She had imagined him as a great hero, nearly unifying Great Britain.
It wasn't until she grew older, especially after learning about Uther's villainy due to Morgan's hatred, that the King of Knights' reverence for her biological father quietly began to change.
However...
As the rightful King of Great Britain, the King of Knights possessed not only the legendary Sword in the Stone, which proclaimed its wielder the Fated King, but also her bloodline as King Uther's daughter.
Blessed by her lineage, she couldn't deny that Uther was her biological father. Despite her discomfort, she would always defend him, occasionally even introducing herself as "King Uther's son."
However, her request was met with...
"I'm sorry, Lia, but if I have to mention King Uther again, I'll try to make my insults more refined."
Stiffly, Guinevere ate, but could only endure in silence. When Guinevere became stubborn, she refused to listen to reason, and the King of Knights had no intention of arguing with her in front of Morgan.
The King of Knights mouthed the words, "Just wait and see."
The King of Knights' furious eating left Morgan dazed once more. She realized her impression of the King of Knights was fragmented.
Can mutual affection truly bring about such profound change?
The fact that the King of Knights no longer bristled at Guinevere's touch was a blow. The degradation of her hazy ideals of kingship to utter worthlessness was another. But the King of Knights' transformation itself was the most devastating blow of all.
Lost in thought, Morgan murmured to herself, her expression twisting into bitterness. Her hatred for the King of Knights burned anew, even more intensely than before.
Once again, she hated her for possessing something she herself had never known.
But after taking a deep breath, Morgan remained silent, listlessly waiting for the agonizing luncheon to end so she could retreat to her room and shut herself away.
"Lia, you can trust me with this. If I can change someone as stubborn and rigid as you, your sister will be no problem at all. However, if you're truly willing to help, her transformation should happen much faster.
So, would you be willing to try this?"
With her mouth still full of food, the King of Knights noticed Morgan's strange demeanor and recalled Guinevere's words when she had first decided to invite Morgan.
She hesitated, her heart pounding wildly, her earlobes suddenly flushing red. But she was, after all, the upright King of Knights. If a small sacrifice could truly change Morgan...
"Sister~ I don't approve of Guinevere liking you as a lover, but she can like you as your new little sister~"
The words were saccharine and cloying, churning the King of Knights' insides. She desperately wanted to punch herself and bolt out the door.
This time, Guinevere forcibly held her in place.
Stunned, bewildered, her lips stretched to their limit, an overwhelming urge to burst into laughter welled up from the depths of her soul.
"Pfft... HAHAHAHAAAA... cackle, cackle, cackle..."
Morgan burst into laughter again, her face flushing as red as a boiled shrimp.
Her laughter made the King of Knights deeply embarrassed, but she secretly breathed a sigh of relief, noticing Guinevere giving her a thumbs-up.
Finally composing herself, Morgan whispered into Guinevere's ear and declared sternly, "Guinevere, there will absolutely not be a next time!"
Her earlobe and cheeks were flushed crimson. Even if this outburst had been remarkably effective, she vowed never to repeat it.
Yet it was precisely because of this outburst that Morgan's gaze toward her lacked its usual hatred, replaced by a hint of pity.
"Foolish sister," Morgan sneered, "seeing you in this ridiculous state, only someone with a brain full of water would want your Guinevere. After all, even if I cling to her again, you won't even get angry."
After her laughter subsided, Morgan recalled the entire luncheon in her mind. The incident at the Training Ground had taught her how easily she lost her temper, forcing her to reconsider many things afterward.
It struck her that her sister and Guinevere hadn't been trying to provoke her, but rather to mend their relationship.
It dawned on her again that she was fundamentally unfit to be King—she simply lacked the capacity.
With this realization, and her continued love for her country, Morgan had finally come to understand:
The King of Knights was born to become King, but becoming King was the King of Knights' own inherent ability.
The King of Knights' throne had never been stolen from her.
Had she succeeded in drawing the sword that day, she would never have achieved what the King of Knights had accomplished.
"Foolish sister, I won't attack you again until I've learned how to be a proper ruler. You can trust this promise."
Though Morgan lacked foresight, she could face the present squarely and wouldn't stubbornly deny reality.
Now, her hatred for the King of Knights stemmed solely from the fact that she was King Uther's daughter.
Guinevere? Recalling the King of Knights' ridiculous transformation, she politely declined the memory.
If all that remained was this...
"Hee, Hee, Hee, Sister Morgan..."
"Shut up! Don't call me that!"
"Ahem, then Lady Morgan, were you satisfied with Lia's recent display of affection? Do you want to play the wicked older sister and bully her mercilessly again? I support you, you know! For instance, you could snatch that roasted chicken wing she's about to fork."
Guinevere's words were like a demon's whisper, causing Morgan's body to move faster than her mind could process. By the time she regained her senses, the chicken wing was already in her hand, while the King of Knights stared at her in dumbfounded shock.
"There you go, you've snatched the chicken wing. Now you can go for that drumstick."
Once she had done it once, doing it again came naturally. Though Morgan knew it was wrong, a violation of the noble upbringing she had received, she couldn't help but find satisfaction in stealing things from the King of Knights.
Whenever she succeeded, an involuntary smile would creep across her face. Whenever she failed, she would seethe with inner fury.
But when Guinevere occasionally helped her snatch food the King of Knights was reaching for, and she could relish her meal under the King's clenched-jawed glares, her sense of satisfaction grew even deeper.
She hated the King of Knights, wishing for her swift demise. Yet hatred, one of the most primal human emotions, at its extreme, could be called care.
"Foolish sister, put that pancake down!"