A king without ambition will only stagnate. All the King of Knights can do is protect the people within the darkness—yet she cannot lead them out of it.
Leon held his wine glass, speaking with a tone of sympathy.
"No… that's not true…"
Guinevere shook her head in disbelief.
Although the King of Knights was a woman and could neither ease her loneliness nor fulfill her expectations, anyone living in Britain would still believe in her.
She was a true queen; her holy sword would guide their way and protect the land toward eternal peace.
"Eternal peace is nothing but an illusion. No, she should never have chosen the path of peace. Even as the King of Knights who brings peace, Britain will certainly be destroyed."
Leon spoke decisively, like an unyielding judge pronouncing guilt without mercy.
"You are well aware of your country's lack of resources. You cannot grow enough food to sate your hunger, nor do you have mines to produce gold, silver, or jewels. Yet there are countless dangerous monsters attacking everywhere."
"If I were the ruler of that land, I would order conquest and invasion without hesitation! I would claim more territory, more food, more wealth, and people from beyond your borders."
"But Artoria is a noble, just queen without desire—so she will never commit aggression. That means your country will only continue to suffer from internal conflict and decline."
Leon raised his hand and tilted Guinevere's chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Have you truly not realized it? Your king has won every war, yet none of it has brought prosperity. Why do you think that is?"
"Because she simply drives the enemy away…" Guinevere replied, her voice trembling.
Yes—she merely repelled the enemy. Even as the victor, she never demanded compensation or launched a counterattack. She was only a protector.
Leon's lips curved into a look of disdain.
How could dignity be established in such a way?
Even with overwhelming strength, she would only defend when attacked—never striking back, never taking spoils. How beautiful, how kind, how noble…
If it were Leon, any who dared to strike his kingdom would be hunted down and killed, no matter how far away they fled.
The offending realm would be razed to the ground before it could even apologize.
"That person is without a doubt a noble saint—but a saint is unfit to be king. She should be nothing more than a knight. After all… a true king must be prouder and more prosperous than anyone else. They must possess desire and ambition."
Such people have clear goals and will never remain idle—and those who follow them will be inspired to move forward.
If the king does not advance, how can their subjects follow?
Artoria was a guardian, not a leader. She could grant peace and safety, but not happiness or a future.
"It shouldn't be like this…"
"Stop running from reality, Guinevere. You know this better than anyone. Tell me—does the one you follow truly make you happy?"
As Leon spoke, he pulled the beautiful queen into his arms, holding her briefly—less than ten seconds.
"See? Even this little contact excites you. You must be quite thirsty indeed."
"S-stop talking…"
Guinevere crossed her arms, trying to restrain her pounding heart from the warmth of Leon's embrace and the emptiness beneath her gown.
At the same time, she acknowledged the truth.
Yes—just as the prince had said.
The one she followed could never give her happiness or a future.
"Then none of it means anything…"
"Yes. Your kingdom is doomed. Sadly, no matter what you do now, it's already too late."
"Then what have I been doing all this time?"
Guinevere smiled bitterly.
The reason she had married Artoria was nothing like the romantic tale presented to the public. It was merely a purely political and strategic marriage.
What Artoria sought was her family's wealth and support—along with the dowry of the massive Round Table.
According to legend, the royal palace of Camelot housed a colossal round table large enough to seat one hundred and fifty people at once. The King of Knights and the Knights of the Round Table would gather there daily to discuss affairs.
That table was, in truth, Guinevere's dowry.
As for their marriage—it was nothing but a farce.
Guinevere could never forget.
On their wedding night, Artoria revealed everything to her—and told her that she, too, was a woman.
The emptiness and confusion she felt in that moment…
The man she had hoped to spend the rest of her life with turned out to be a woman. Guinevere was not a woman who loved women—and it would be unreasonable to blame her for that.
Even so, she could not complain. She had to accept the truth, support Artoria, help guard her secret, and rule Britain together.
Knowing how hard Artoria worked to end the civil war, Guinevere could not bear to disappoint the King of Knights for her dedication and sacrifice.
And before learning the truth of Artoria's gender, she had secretly admired her.
But reality was cruel.
When she finally married the man she admired, she discovered her wish had been nothing but an illusion.
From that day onward, "being the wife of the King of Knights" became Guinevere's chain—forcing her to maintain the illusion of a harmonious couple.
After all, to save a kingdom devastated by war, one needed an ideal king—and beside that king, there must also be a noble and virtuous queen.
But Guinevere felt she was not an ideal queen. At her core, she was just an ordinary girl longing for love and happiness.
Her only wish was to live, grow old, and die alongside the one she loved deeply—a wish so simple.
But in truth—
The King of Knights, Artoria, had been shielded from such a fate ever since she drew the Holy Sword. Her appearance would never grow older or weaker. And so… the only one who continued aging was Guinevere.
Though she was still the most beautiful woman in the land,
In twenty or thirty years, the wrinkles of age would inevitably appear upon her face, and her skin would no longer be smooth and flawless.
And by then, her "husband" Artoria would still look youthful.
Guinevere both desired and admired Artoria, even trying to imitate her way of life—devoting everything she had to Britain.
But to live such a life, she was far too ordinary a woman.
Guinevere had given ten years of her youth, and she had reached her limit.
Yet she did not dare to admit it—
Admit her longing for true love.
Her wish for someone to comfort her.
Her hope that the arms holding her tightly would not belong to a female knight-king, but to a real man.
Just like this prince…
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."