In the privacy of their chamber, Morgan took Lot's hand, her voice brimming with excitement.
But mere words couldn't contain her joy.
She reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his face firmly into her chest.
[Mmm~ This "facial cleanser" smells quite nice.]
Lot couldn't help but think to himself.
Morgan paused then immediately understood what he meant.
"What filthy thoughts are you having now?"
She pinched his waist, "menacingly" glaring at him.
Lot raised his hands in surrender, his expression the very picture of innocence.
"I was just thinking about how magnificent you'll look during your coronation, Your Majesty."
Morgan rolled her eyes.
You're really good at acting, aren't you?
If I couldn't read your mind, I might've actually believed that.
"And it won't just be my coronation. Yours too."
Lot pointed at himself.
Morgan nodded matter-of-factly.
"Yes. You told those nobles that their absence mattered to you. Well, your place in Camelot matters just as much to me."
Since you've given me everything I'll give you everything in return.
That's what it means to be husband and wife.
"Ah… but I'm more of a laid-back guy..."
Lot reflexively tried to refuse
Only for Morgan's fingers to dig into his waist like a vise.
"Are you going to be Camelot's king with me or not?"
Her eyes bore into him, unblinking.
"Ow ow ow fine, fine! I'll do it! Geez, most people are paranoid about sharing power, and here you are shoving it at me!"
Lot yelped, surrendering under the pain.
"That's more like it."
Satisfied, Morgan finally released him.
Then, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes half-lidded, shimmering with affection.
"Now then, Lot… there's one more thing we need to do for Camelot."
Lot blinked, confused
Until Morgan leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered:
"Give Camelot its next heir, of course."
Then Lot swept her off her feet in a princess carry, depositing her onto the soft bed.
Morgan tested the sheets with a pat.
"Hmm, sturdy enough. They probably won't tear later."
She mused to herself.
With Britain still embroiled in conflict, the coronation ceremony was kept simple.
By the next day, preparations were already underway.
Morgan had ordered the city scrubbed clean overnight.
Under the promise of generous rewards, Camelot wasn't spotless but it was certainly revitalized.
By dawn, the knights were already in motion.
They combed through the procession route, ensuring no assassins lurked to turn the ceremony into a farce.
Leading them was Artoria.
Her focus was absolute no lapse in vigilance.
Even Kay couldn't match her intensity, yawning and bleary-eyed beside her.
"Dear brother, why must you be so diligent? Waking up this early is unnatural."
"This is part of a knight's discipline, brother. No complaints."
Artoria replied sternly.
"Discipline? Please. You just want the extra meal that comes with early duty."
"A knight does not engage in idle chatter during duty."
Artoria's face remained impassive
But the flicker in her eyes betrayed her.
Kay merely chuckled and resumed his duties.
Now I see why Lot and Morgan love teasing her so much.
Behind them, Galahad scanned for threats.
"Mother… you'd never have imagined this, would you? Me, standing in Camelot during the era when King Arthur first drew the sword from the stone. And now, I serve Lady Morgan."
He hadn't yet found the chance to ask Morgan about his origins or his father.
But as he gazed at Camelot's streets, a premonition stirred.
We'll meet again soon.
Once the Knights of the Round Table secured the route, they lined the streets.
By mid-morning, the citizens of Camelot had gathered, aware that today, Morgan would claim the throne.
They had no objections.
In fact, they welcomed it.
Morgan and Lot's rule had already proven prosperous. The citizens trusted them to lead Camelot to greater heights.
Some in the crowd were paid attendees but most were genuine well-wishers.
Among them, however, stood a group of richly dressed nobles.
Their faces were etched with bitterness.
These were the "Huang Silangs" who had knelt before "Zhang Mazi."
The nobles who had "voluntarily reformed."
They attended not out of loyalty, but fear.
If you show up, Morgan and Lot might forget you.
The nobles shuddered at the thought.
At noon, the ceremony began.
Knights raised long horns to their lips and blew
A deep, resonant call echoed through Camelot.
Then, atop the highest tower, a certain white-haired mage cast his spell.
The city bloomed a stage of flowers unfurling beneath the sky.
"Ah, if only my poor, gluttonous disciple could've been the star of this show."
Merlin muttered as he worked.
But there was no changing things now.
Sabotaging the coronation would achieve nothing but petty chaos and Merlin was above such childishness.
So he played his part, weaving magic into the ceremony like a dutiful special effects artist.
(Though he did have one last task to fulfill.)
Amidst the floral splendor, the main event arrived.
A lavish carriage carried Lot and Morgan forward.
Both were clad in regalia.
Lot wore silver armor, a cape bearing Orkney's crest billowing behind him. His golden hair cascaded freely, framing his sharp features.
Beside him, Morgan was resplendent in a blue gown, her hair elegantly pinned up. A veil obscured her face, leaving only her piercing, authoritative eyes visible.
"Damn you. Why do you get to smile so warmly? If you're playing the approachable one, I have to be the stern queen. Ugh, this is exhausting."
She wanted to grin like Lot.
The crowd erupted in cheers at their appearance.
The people's hearts belonged to Morgan.
Among them, Lancelot watched, his gaze sharp.
He hadn't left Camelot. Until he understood why Galahad despised him, he wouldn't.
Fleeing would only cement his "villain" status no amount of denial would change that.
"What did I even do?"
He lamented silently.
"I've never even been in a relationship! How am I a 'scum'?!"
Lost in the festivities, neither Lot nor Morgan noticed Lancelot in the crowd.
Lot's mind was occupied by visions of "Queen.play" scenarios.
Morgan, meanwhile, fought the urge to murder him and become a widow.
"I just put this on, and you're already thinking of ways to ruin it?!"
"Couldn't you wait until tonight? I'd let you do whatever you want then!"
The carriage rolled on, parading the royal couple before the adoring (and envious) masses.
Handsome. Beautiful. Wealthy. Powerful. And now, rulers of Camelot.
Life just isn't fair.
Some are born in Rome.
Others are born as beasts of burden.
After circling the city, they arrived at Camelot's grandest cathedral.
Nobles and clergy stood in reception.
[Not bad. In Camelot, the gods are respected but the Church doesn't overshadow the Crown. Acceptable.]
Morgan, hearing his thoughts, eyed the fawning priests
And mentally assigned them all to border garrison duty.
"If he fears it, I'll crush it before it takes root."
The cathedral doors swung open.
At the far end stood Merlin, holding two crowns.
"Come. Let me crown you both."
He smiled benevolently.
Traditionally, the crowner was a superior a parent or elder.
(Because kings must bow to receive the crown.)
Merlin, ever the opportunist, saw his chance.
As Uther's trusted advisor, who better to "bestow" the crown?
[Oh? Trying to make me bow, you white-haired hack? Not happening.]
Lot's eyes gleamed with defiance.
Morgan nodded imperceptibly.
No. We won't give him the satisfaction.
Merlin waited, smile unwavering
Until Lot strode forward, reached out, and snatched the crowns straight from his hands.
[If Napoleon could seize his crown, so can I.]
Merlin's smile twitched.
Ignoring them, Lot handed one crown to Morgan.
[Here. Put it on yourself.]
[This crown isn't given it's taken.]
Morgan's grip tightened.
As they crowned themselves, Merlin sighed.
"This… isn't tradition."
"Since when have Morgan and I cared about tradition?"
Merlin chuckled ruefully.
Morgan nodded in agreement
Then suddenly, her stomach lurched.
A wave of nausea hit her.
Before Lot and Merlin's stunned eyes, Morgan doubled over, retching.