The grand feast of Britannia was in full motion. The jesters performed, tumbling across the floor in dazzling displays of acrobatics, while dancers moved in hypnotic rhythm, silks trailing behind them.
The scent of spiced meats and honeyed wine filled the air, mingling with the sound of lutes and flutes, the soft murmur of noble conversation, and the occasional roar of laughter from boisterous warlords.
Tonight was a night of alliances and diplomacy. The Great Kings of the human realm had been summoned. And one by one, they arrived—each with their banner-men, each with their gifts.
The first to enter was King Rajendra of the Eastern Plain. His gold-threaded tunic shimmered beneath the glow of the chandeliers, his sharp black eyes missing nothing as he approached Arthuria. "King Arthur," he greeted, placing a finely carved chest before her. "Within this is silk spun from the imperial looms of my kingdom—delicate as air, yet strong as steel." Arthuria inclined her head, accepting the gift. "You honor Britannia, King Rajendra." He took his seat, his advisors murmuring to one another in hushed tones.
Then came King Hrothgar of the Northern Clans.
A massive man, clad in furs and chainmail, his beard a thick tangle of red and gray, his laugh thunderous.
"Your grace," he greeted. "I bring you the finest mead of my homeland—aged in barrels older than my grandfather!"
His men set a massive cask before her, the scent of rich honey and oak thick in the air.
Arthuria smirked slightly, nodding.
"I shall drink to your generosity, King Rogar."
He grinned, taking his seat, already reaching for a flagon of ale.
Then came the next arrival. And the room stirred with excitement.
Alexander the Great.
He entered with unmatched confidence.
His golden locks gleamed beneath the candlelight, his blue eyes sharp and filled with unshakable certainty.
His banner men bore the sigil of his empire, a golden sun against a crimson backdrop.
And behind him—
A gilded bull was led forth on a tether of silk.
The creature was massive, muscles rippling beneath its polished coat, its horns adorned with rings of gold.
Alexander grinned as he approached Arthuria."Pendragon!" he boomed, placing a hand upon the beast's powerful flank. "A gift, from one conqueror to another. May it bring strength to your people."
Arthuria tilted her head slightly, then inclined it in thanks.
"A magnificent creature," she acknowledged. "You have my gratitude, Alexander."
He took his seat beside her, pouring himself a goblet of wine before flashing her a smirk.
"I see the Northmen drink heavily. I have no doubt our two kingdoms shall get along just fine."
The feast had almost begun.
But then, surprisingly, one more guest arrived. A murmur rippled through the hall. The moment the figure stepped through the towering doors, the hall fell into stunned silence. A crimson cloak billowed behind him, his half armor gleaming in contrast to his black underclothes.
Arthuria scowled. Only for a second. Then, she smoothed her features into calm indifference."King Gilgamesh," she greeted, her voice carefully measured. "What a pleasure."
His gaze swept over the gathered monarchs before finally settling on her. The Babylonian King smiled—but it was not a friendly one."Is it?" he mused."Because I happen to feel very insulted, your grace."
The gathered kings and lords exchanged uneasy glances.
She tilted her head. "And why is that?"
Gilgamesh exhaled slowly, his smirk widening. Challenge accepted, "My invitation must have been lost."
The court shifted, while Alexander looked entirely too amused.
"Nevertheless," he continued, "I bring gifts."
He lifted a single hand, and at his signal, His men stepped forward, chest after chest carried upon their shoulders. The lids were lifted, revealing mountains of gold, rubies, sapphires, and relics of incalculable worth. The room stirred at the sheer wealth on display.
Arthuria's teeth clenched. She forced a tight smile and spoke through it."You are too kind, your grace."
"Am I?" His tone was mocking, his crimson eyes gleaming as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
"I will be sure to find the culprit behind your missing invitation," she said smoothly, "Do enjoy the festivities."
Alexander clapped his hands loudly, summoning a servant."Bring another chair for the great king!"
The servant rushed forward, placing an ornate chair directly next to her own.
Arthuria internally sighed. As fate would have it, He sat beside her. Before she could even maneuver herself out of it.
Red met Blue.
Gilgamesh took his seat, his smirk never fading."Such hospitality," he mused. "Truly, Pendragon, your kingdom is as generous as its ruler."
Arthuria lifted her goblet of wine and took a slow, measured sip—not for pleasure, but to keep from saying something she'd regret.
"This shall be an interesting night," she murmured.
Alexander, meanwhile, watched the exchange with thinly veiled amusement.
The greatest rulers of the known world sat at a long, polished table. Their golden goblets brimming with the finest wines, their plates overflowing with the richest meats and fruits. And yet—Arthuria found herself drowning in insufferable conversation.
The world's most powerful men debated endlessly over what it meant to rule. To her right sat Alexander the Great—his presence as commanding as his conquests. He was a man who spoke with his whole chest, who laughed as boldly as he fought. To his right, King Neilos of Arcadia—a ruler with the calm, calculating demeanor of a man who knew the ocean better than the land. His dark, bronze skin glowed beneath the torchlight, his hair a deep shade of blackened silver, braided back in Atlantean fashion. Further down the table, two others commanded attention—King Hrothgar of the Northern Clans, a brute of a man, his fur-lined armor draped over broad shoulders, his long reddish-brown beard stained with wine, his laugh booming over the hall. King Rajendra of the Eastern Dynasties, a man whose shrewd gaze missed nothing. His golden jewelry clinked softly as he shifted, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his goblet.
Then, of course, to her left there was The King of Babylonia. His crimson eyes flickered with amusement as the other kings argued, his goblet swirling lazily in his fingers, then shifted to hers.
Arthuria turned away quickly, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else.
One by one, the princesses approached, curtsying with perfect poise as they made their case for Mordred's hand. They were either too desperate, too foolish, or too transparent. One fluttered her eyelashes too much, her voice like honey-dripped arrogance.
"My Lord, it would be an honor to rule by your side, to give Britannia the queen it deserves."
Arthuria stared at her. But before Mordred could respond to her proposal. She cut him off. "You're saying it is lacking something?"
The girl blinked, flustered, before bowing too quickly and scurrying off. Another spoke in melodic tones, offering her kingdom's wealth and connections.
"My father has ships that could double the reach of Britannia's trade."
Arthuria exhaled slowly. It was like Herman was speaking instead of his daughter. Her gaze shifted to another girl who giggled too much, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.
"My father always said I should marry a strong warrior. And they say no knight is stronger than Prince Mordred!"
Arthuria fought the urge to grimace.
Mordred, standing beside her, was growing more irritated by the second. Finally, he snapped. "Is my opinion on my bride not needed?"
Arthuria arched a brow, not even sparing him a glance. "If it were up to you," she said flatly, "You would have picked the first maiden with the biggest breasts in the six realms."
Mordred scowled, jaw tightening, upon storming away. A flicker of silver armor, a flash of frustration, and he was gone—disappearing into the crowd.
A low chuckle rumbled from beside her. Arthuria gritted her teeth. "What, pray tell, is so funny?"
Gilgamesh, reclining in his seat like a Lion watching a pack of deer, swirled his wine lazily, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement. "Your distaste is a delicacy, King Arthur…" he mused.
She stiffened. "You watch too closely, Your Grace."
He smirked."And you dismiss too quickly."
Another princess approached, her dress shimmering in faint gold threads, her voice light as the wind. "Your Majesty," she curtsied deeply, "a warrior like you must desire an equal, someone who understands the burden of the sword."
Gilgamesh lifted a single brow, glancing toward Arthuria. "A warrior queen, Pendragon? Sounds ideal."
Arthuria barely spared the girl a glance. "Go back to your father."
The princess blinked, stunned, before stepping away.
Gilgamesh chuckled again. "No interest in warriors, then?" he mused.
Another princess passed—one with long black hair and deep blue eyes.
"Perhaps you prefer something more delicate? A maiden untouched by battle?"
Arthuria rolled her eyes."Half of them haven't even bled yet."
Another noblewoman approached, her gown plunging dangerously low, her painted lips curling into a sultry smile.
"Perhaps," he continued, watching Arthuria carefully, "You prefer someone a little more… experienced?"
For the first time, Arthuria's lip curled in mild disgust. "Enough," she muttered.
Gilgamesh only smirked wider. Because he was testing something. He had noticed something. Every king he ever had the displeasure of accusing had a vice. Every king, even the purest, had some earthly desire that called to them. Yet this—King Arthur Pendragon— had not once looked upon any of these women with interest. Not once had his eyes lingered on curves, on beauty, on a promise of pleasure. It fascinated him. Because—what king is not a whore? Unless… His gaze traveled lower. To the cut of the tunic.To the slope of the shoulders. To the subtle, almost imperceptible softness of the jawline.
And then—he saw it.
A hint of feminine sharpness beneath the cold mask of a king. The way Arthur moved—not with the stiff weight of a man, but with something slightly too fluid, slightly too restrained. The way the tunic was bound was just a little too tightly at the chest. The way anger flared in his eyes when met with scrutiny.
Gilgamesh's smirk deepened. How Fascinating.
"A king must lead with strength," Hrothgar declared, his voice gruff. "Loyalty is earned through fear and power."
"Tyranny leads to ruin," King Rajendra countered smoothly, "Only a ruler who understands the will of his people will keep his throne."
"Fools," Neilos muttered, taking a slow sip of his wine. "A true king controls the flow of power. Like the ocean—sometimes it is gentle, sometimes it must crash with force."
Arthuria tuned them out.
She had no patience for pointless philosophy.
But then, Alexander turned to her. "And what about you, King Arthur?" he asked, grinning. "Why do you refuse to take a bride ?"
Arthuria felt the weight of all their gazes turn to her. She sighed, swirling the wine in her goblet before answering bluntly. "I simply have no taste for women." It wasn't a lie.
The table fell silent.
Then, Alexander threw his head back and laughed. "Aha, all is fair in love and war!" he declared, slamming his goblet onto the table. He gave Arthuria a wicked grin. "I've had my fair share of masculine concubines—I never thought you would swing that way."
Arthuria's stomach turned. She did not bother correcting him. She just wanted out of this conversation.
And yet—Alexander was not finished. He turned toward Gilgamesh, raising an eyebrow. "And you, Gil ?" he mused. "Why haven't you ?"
Gilgamesh barely lifted his gaze from his wine. "Simple," he said smoothly. "I do not need one."
Alexander chuckled, leaning forward with interest. "And what of an heir?"
He smirked. "Any cunt can provide a child."
Arthuria's jaw clenched. It was as if her bastard father was still alive. That was it. She turned sharply toward him, eyes burning with disgust. "Ah– there it is," she muttered. "The great King of the South, known for his tyrannical and insufferable nature ."
He tilted his head, unfazed. "Offended your delicate sensibilities, did I?" he mused.
"You speak as if women are nothing but vessels for your convenience."
He laughed softly, setting his goblet down. "They are what they are, Pendragon."
"And what are they to you, then?" she shot back.
"Foolish, vain creatures who let their hearts lead where their minds should ..if they even have any."
Her eyes narrowed. "And yet, for all your wisdom, you're still alone at your table."
He smirked. "Alone? Or unchallenged?"
Arthuria scoffed. "A king who surrounds himself with no equals will never know true challenge."
Gilgamesh leaned in slightly, his gaze glinting."You assume I have an equal ?"
"You did once."
She was referring to Enkidu. The stories say he was the king's only friend and brother. Their glares clashed, an unspoken battle of wills between two rulers who had never once bent to anyone.
Alexander watched them with keen interest, smirking behind his goblet. "This is far more entertaining than the jesters," he muttered to Neilos.
The tension between the two kings was only broken when the servants finally arrived, laying fresh plates of food upon the table, signaling the beginning of the night's entertainment.
Just as she was beginning to feel somewhat Guilty for the mention of a fallen kin. She glanced toward Gilgamesh only to see his signature smirk. But she did not falter; she kept her head on.
He enjoyed the fire in her eyes. And because he had already figured her out. He had not spoken to him since the feast had begun, because he was conflicted. He had been observing—his brain calculating, undressing…
He saw the way his fingers tensed around his goblet when he spoke. The way he avoided the wandering hands of the concubines who approached them. The way he had no interest in the women who lavished him with flirtation and praise. And then, at last, he struck. Leaning in, his voice a mere breath against his ear, he whispered—
"Tell me, Your Grace, if you have no taste for women, why do you value them so?"
Arthuria stilled. Her grip on her goblet tightened ever so slightly. She did not turn to face him. Instead, she simply exhaled, slowly. "It is no wonder your invitation was lost," she murmured. "You are the greatest of headaches."
He chuckled softly, as if her words were a mere compliment. "Ah," he mused, taking a lazy sip of his wine, "so it was you."
Her jaw clenched. Damn it!
He pressed on. "Humor me," he continued, his tone mocking, smooth. "What is it I have done to deserve such hostility?"
She finally turned to him, her blue eyes sharp and cold. "Must you truly ask?"
His smirk widened. "I must."
She huffed a bitter laugh, shaking her head slightly before taking a slow sip of wine. "You are arrogant," she murmured. "Entitled. You speak of women as if they are objects, dismiss alliances as if they are beneath you. You enter halls where you are not welcomed, demand seats that were not offered, and worst of all—" She set her goblet down with a soft clink against the wood."—You seem to find endless amusement in being the bane of my existence."
"Sounds about right." He leaned in, his eyes screamed, Fun. "It is hardly my fault that you are so entertaining."
She scoffed. "Entertaining?"
He lifted his goblet to his lips. "A king who values women but does not desire them? A ruler who commands with strength but avoids indulgence? A man," he dragged the word out slowly, "Who has not once entertained a concubine, male or female."
Her brow arched. "And how would you know if I'm simply not interested in you?"
He chuckled, a low, rich sound that deepened into laughter, as if it were impossible to believe."You presume to know your own effect…" he said at last.
"You presume to know my bedroom habits—"
"Enough games." He set his goblet down, turning his body slightly toward her, his voice dropping to something silkier, more dangerous."I have conquered many lands, Pendragon, and ruled over thousands of men. And yet I have never met a king who does not hunger."A slow smirk curled on his lips as his eyes flickered toward her clenched jaw, her stiff shoulders, the tension in her fingers."Unless, of course," he mused, "he is no man at all."
The room was filled with conversation and laughter, but between them, there was only silence.
Arthuria remained deathly still. Then, slowly, methodically, she turned to him.
"You are mistaken."
He tilted his head."Am I?"
"Yes. What you are suggesting is treason—"
He lifted a brow, feigning innocence. "Well. There's one way you could prove me wrong… but knowing these 'kings,' they would only turn it into a competition of who has the longest member ."
She froze. "I have nothing to prove," she said quietly.
For a split second—a flash, a betrayal of thought—Arthuria's mind flickered.
Not to the revolting conversation. But to him. To the question. To the answer. No— she snapped herself back. The most dangerous man in the land was onto her. And she was wasting precious seconds entertaining impure thoughts.
As if he could hear her, Gilgamesh's voice cut through her spiraling mind, low and devastating, "Don't bother pondering a question you already know the answer to."
He hadn't moved. He hadn't smirked wider. But she could feel the satisfaction emanating from him. Like a beast that had found a new, fascinating prey. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but her exterior remained cold iron.
"Tell me," he leaned in closer, his lips just shy of her ear, "Your name. Your true name."
A chill ran down her spine. For the first time in years, true unease slithered through her veins. Her mask of iron and stone did not falter, but inside, her pulse thrummed against her ribs like a war drum.
"I beg your pardon?"
He smirked. "Do not insult my intelligence, Pendragon." He took another sip of wine, rolling the goblet in a slow circular motion, before setting it down."Tell me your name, or I shall choose a random delivery mail boy and personally send his head to you."
Her blood ran cold, she knew. He was not bluffing. When she dared look him in the eye.There was no humorous comeback waiting. Only a man who was used to the idea of getting what he wanted, when he wanted it.
Arthuria's fingers tightened beneath the table. For the briefest moment, she considered lying. Considered calling his bluff. But if the rumors about the tyrant king were true, then that was no option. He would find out one way or another. And so, for the first time, she surrendered. A single breath. Then—she muttered it.
"Arthuria."
He smiled in victory. Then, he simply turned away. As if that was all he needed. As if the game was now over. His attention shifted back to the entertainment, back to the feast. As if nothing had just transpired. As if he had not just forced her into a corner she never thought she would be in.
And Arthuria—Could do nothing but sit there. Her stomach tightened with something too bitter to name. Because he was now one of the few people to know her secret.
A secret that could destroy everything she built.