Morgana Le Fay suppressed a scream that rose to her throat, her body trembling uncontrollably.
After setting down Mangeum, who was writhing and whimpering, she remained frozen in place, prompting the mercenary and Lennox to cautiously ask again.
“M-Morgana?”
“Milady, y-you must be terribly shocked…”
Instead of answering, Morgana pressed both hands against the floor.
Clenching her teeth, she suddenly shot up like a sprinter at the starting signal and bolted out of the shop.
Behind her, Mangeum sprinted after her with vigorous energy.
On the way to Morgana’s mansion, located not far from the bustling district, a crowd had already gathered upon hearing the news, murmuring among themselves as they watched the royal knights from a distance.
“When else would I get to see His Majesty being escorted from a commoner’s home?”
“Sigh… Still, things might improve under the new ruler, no? I mean, the late king was always so extreme…”
Panting heavily, Morgana stared in bewilderment at the knights standing in perfect rows before the mansion’s massive iron gate.
Their rigid posture, perfectly aligned heads—even the exact same angle of their feet.
As Morgana approached them, the knights parted like waves, kneeling on one knee in succession to clear a path.
At the end of that path stood Lancelot, one hand over his chest, bowing his head in formal greeting.
The man, who usually carried himself with relaxed grace, seemed unnaturally stiff today, adhering strictly to protocol.
“By the oracle’s decree, we have come from the royal court to escort Lady Morgana, who is to ascend the throne following the late king’s passing.”
Watching the scene, Morgana felt a surge of resentment.
She had never once wished to become king. She would rather live as a wealthy layabout than sit on that troublesome throne.
But it seemed it was already too late.
💫
A massive carriage adorned with the emblem of the Kingdom of Britain in gold on a green background entered the palace grounds, and all the attendants flocked to greet it.
Even the faces of the family heads—rarely seen together outside the council—were spotted here and there.
The palace maids were no exception.
Bowing their heads and waiting behind the ladies-in-waiting for the carriage door to open, the maids exchanged glances and whispered among themselves.
“Did you hear who’s arriving?”
“No idea. I hope they’re at least decent.”
“Princess Guinevere herself came out to greet them, so it can’t be bad. They must have met in the Holy Kingdom.”
Ignoring their murmurs, Lancelot stepped forward and opened the carriage door amid the gathered attention.
The moment the escorted figure stepped out, the area where the princess’s maids stood buzzed silently.
“Is that Morgana?”
“Who is that? Their face looks familiar.”
“Wait, that’s—the one who skyrocketed from probation straight to the princess’s direct service and even received a title…!”
“Gasp!”
More than a few maids froze in shock.
Morgana, stepping down from the carriage with her escort, clutched Excalibur tightly in her free hand.
Unlike her, whose mind was in turmoil, he was practically whistling with excitement—My people, I have arrived!
Scanning the surroundings, she spotted familiar faces.
Most of the maids she had once lived with in the princess’s quarters were wide-eyed, their expressions unguarded in disbelief.
The nobles who had at least glimpsed her in the Holy Kingdom remained relatively composed.
“Morgana, you’ve finally entered the palace!”
All except Guinevere.
With a complicated smile, she lifted the hem of her dress slightly and offered a brief greeting—a courtesy befitting a princess to a king.
But the formalities lasted only a moment. Soon, Guinevere was chattering cheerfully, grinning as usual.
“Do you know how shocked I was when I heard you left the temple without even seeing me?”
“Ah, well, things just turned out that way.”
“I suppose this was meant to be. Isn’t this what they call fate?”
In a way, it wasn’t entirely wrong.
Originally, Guinevere was destined to marry whoever pulled the sword from the stone. She moved forward as if guiding Morgana to the princess’s palace and added an explanation.
“Since my father passed away suddenly, the main palace is being reorganized. Do you have any interior preferences? We’ll reflect them in the remodeling.”
Though the nobles behind Morgana seemed eager to speak, Guinevere only focused on saying what she wanted.
“Stay with me in the princess’s palace for now. A shared bedchamber might be a bit too soon, don’t you think?”
As Guinevere rubbed her chin seriously, Morgana hastily steered the conversation elsewhere.
“W-what about the knighting ceremony?! Wasn’t today supposed to be the day for that?”
Guinevere, walking ahead, blinked in disbelief and turned back.
“How can we hold a knighting ceremony for the royal knights without a king?”
“But since the late king originally intended to grant the titles, couldn’t we just proceed?!”
Anything’s better than sharing a bedchamber.
Sweat from nervousness made the hilt of Excalibur slippery in Morgana’s grip.
Guinevere, however, simply laughed and shook her head.
“No. First, we need to prepare for our royal marriage.”
“Royal marriage?!”
Unlike Morgana, who jumped in shock, Guinevere remained utterly composed.
“Of course! Since you don’t originally have the right to succession, marrying me is the only way for you to officially ascend the throne.”
Her determination was unmatched, as if she had been waiting for this day all her life.
“You’ll be busy with imperial studies, so leave the wedding to me. I’ve already picked out a wedding dress!”
“No, this is way too sudden!”
“Sudden? I’ve been preparing for this since the day I was born.”
Imperial studies?
Morgana had never taken such lessons—nor did she ever plan to. Her head was already pounding just thinking about that damned Holy Grail, and now she was expected to study for a throne she never wanted in the first place.
Meanwhile, the excitable Pomeranian puppy pranced around Morgana in delight.
“King!”
“Oh my, what’s this adorable little fluffball?”
When Guinevere calmly greeted Morgana, one of the nobles following behind cleared his throat.
“Your Highness. May I humbly offer a word?”
Only then did Morgana realize that the nobles had stubbornly followed them all the way to the princess’s palace.
Most of them were faces she had glimpsed in passing at the temple, but she had never directly conversed with them before.
Among them, a middle-aged man stepped forward. His stern eyes and wrinkled features were offset by a well-groomed mustache and sharp gaze, giving him an air of authority beyond his appearance.
After clearing his throat, he spoke respectfully.
“The late king’s funeral rites have yet to be held. Is there truly a need to proceed so hastily?”
At the reasonable remark, Guinevere scoffed.
“I understand your point, Marquis Oren. But leaving the throne vacant any longer would be an even greater issue, wouldn’t it?”
“Delaying the knighting ceremony was already unprecedented. Even Prince Mordred is rushing back from the Academy as we speak.”
“Oh? Well, once I marry, there will be celebrations to attend to anyway.”
“That’s not the issue…”
Marquis Oren paused briefly, his gaze flickering toward Morgana.
Sensing the unfriendly atmosphere, Morgana quietly met his eyes without flinching—in fact, she glared at him quite intensely.
“Ahem…”
Uncomfortable, the marquis averted his gaze first and forced himself to address only Guinevere.
“The late king did not prioritize the line of succession.”
“So what? The oracle stated that the one I marry will become king. Is there a problem with that?”
“Put another way, it also means His Highness Mordred stands on equal footing as a potential successor.”
A glint of sharpness flashed in Guinevere’s eyes, which had been lazily skimming over the conversation.
No longer speaking as Guinevere, she addressed him with the demeanor of a princess.
“So. You’re displeased that I’m temporarily acting as regent, is that it?”
It seemed Viscount Aestiva had come prepared for confrontation from the start.
Judging by the stiff expressions of the nobles behind him, they shared his stance.
As the viscount bowed his head, the nobles followed suit.
“Since you are yet to marry, we believe it is only fair to seek Prince Mordred’s opinion as well. Your current actions are unilateral, Your Highness. Much like the late king’s.”
At his words, Guinevere gritted her teeth. To accuse her of behaving like Vortigern—the very man she despised above all others.
‘They’re blatantly targeting my weakness.’
They must be Mordred’s supporters.
Morgana observed the bowing viscount and nobles before speaking nonchalantly.
“Then I won’t take the throne.”
The oracle had named Morgana as king.
Though Merlin disliked it, he knew the power her oracle held across the continent.
And the fact that most people believed those words as absolute truth.
So…
“I wasn’t keen on taking on more burdens anyway—let alone studying kingship. Fine, I won’t do it.”
If she refused the throne, the backlash would fall upon Viscount Aestiva, who had defied the oracle.
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