Simulator in Type-moon, Starting with becoming Morgan husband!

Chapter 65. The Day the Princess Declared Her Sovereignty

[Artoria had proven with her actions that she was worthy of the Sword in the Stone, the symbol of the throne.]

[With that determination, she was granted permission to enter the royal dynasty.]

[However, the coronation ceremony required more preparation time.]

[During this period, Artoria would reside in the palace as the unofficial king.]

[Even though you tried to arrange her quarters as far as possible from both yours and Morgan's, their encounters were inevitable.]

[The maids serving in the palace referred to this as "The Harsh Winter of Camelot."]

Palace Corridor

"Good morning, Princess. Good morning, Lord Ian."

"Good morning."

"May you have a productive day."

Ian smiled in response to the maids' greetings. After sending them off, pleased by their brief exchange, he whispered to Morgan beside him:

"Princess, it's rare for you to neglect formalities like this."

"You don't seem to be in a good mood today."

"Indeed." Morgan didn't bother to hide her thoughts.

"I'm not in a good mood at all right now."

"Ian, tell me, why has that Artorius been allowed to move into the palace? You must know I don't want to see her face."

What was bound to happen had finally come.

This question was something Morgan would inevitably bring up sooner or later.

But Ian wasn't worried—he had a clear explanation to provide to Morgan.

"Princess, because I realized we've overlooked an issue."

"Overlooked an issue?" Morgan frowned slightly.

"That's correct." Ian nodded. "Princess, although Vortigern has not sent troops to invade for some time..."

"His strength cannot be underestimated. I believe you understand this even better than I do."

Morgan wasn't foolish.

As soon as Ian said this, she immediately grasped the underlying implication.

"You're suggesting—"

"To use Artorius to eliminate Vortigern?"

"Exactly. That way, we can avoid a great deal of unnecessary trouble."

"Moreover, I have one more thing to tell you—Artorius's true name is actually Artoria."

Morgan didn't reply to Ian's words.

She simply took his hand, and that was enough of a response—she accepted his explanation.

The two continued walking until they reached that familiar garden.

Looking at the still-unbloomed buds, Morgan spoke again:

"The flowers are about to bloom again."

"Ian, I command you to answer this question once more—between me and the flowers, who is more beautiful?"

"This time, I don't want to hear you say I'm more beautiful than the flowers, nor do I want to hear that the flowers are more beautiful than me."

Ian gave a soft smile and swiftly replied:

"Princess, there is only one answer, isn't there—"

"You and the flowers are equally beautiful."

"And this time, how do you plan to explain yourself?"

"Quite simply."

Ian looked at Morgan beside him.

"Because of your presence here, the flowers gain the words to describe their beauty."

"You are the flowers, and the flowers are you."

"That's why you and the flowers are equally beautiful."

"Where on earth do you learn such sweet words?" Morgan gently pinched the back of Ian's hand. "You really know how to please people."

"Because you need them, so I learned."

When Morgan was about to say something more, a voice called out from behind them.

"Oh? Sir Ian, why are you here?"

Ian and Morgan turned around simultaneously, spotting Artoria standing there.

The moment her gaze met Morgan's, a chilling air enveloped the corridor.

It was invisible snow and concealed wind.

Everything fell silent.

But this silence was far from peaceful.

This was the essence of what the maids called "The Harsh Winter of Camelot."

"Good morning, Artorius."

Morgan, with a calm expression, looked at Artoria. But she deliberately pulled Ian closer to herself, pressing his arm against her chest.

This was a "battlefield" where Morgan held a natural advantage—a place where Artoria had no chance of winning.

Watching the two so intimately close, Artoria's eyebrows furrowed like a cascading waterfall during a flood.

"Good morning to you both."

"I have some matters to attend to. Excuse me."

The loser was Artoria, hastily retreating—but in truth, she merely hid around the corner of the hallway to observe from a distance.

She placed her hand against the wall, peeking out just enough to watch what was happening.

Unbeknownst to Artoria, Morgan had seen through all her actions from the start.

Morgan leaned in close to Ian's ear, whispering gently:

"Ian, I order you to kiss me."

"…"

Though he didn't understand why Morgan gave such a command, Ian knew he didn't need to think twice about it.

"As you wish, Princess."

Ian lowered himself, embracing Morgan's soft, flowing hair, and kissed her lips.

This was a natural gesture between husband and wife—none of the maids would find it unusual.

It was enough to demonstrate to Artoria just how intimate the two of them were.

But Morgan had no intention of stopping there.

As their lips remained locked, Morgan's hand slid downward.

The Princess guided the knight's fingers to trace along the delicate curve of her chest, creating a series of tantalizing sensations.

She knew all too well how to "command" her loyal knight in moments like these.

Morgan's lips curved into a triumphant smile.

Artoria pulled herself back, leaning tightly against the wall.

She looked down at her own hands, then glanced at her chest.

Her emerald-green eyes, deep as a forest, seemed to hold a certain resolve.

[Morgan was unusually assertive today.]

[The slightest bit of privacy was all she needed to make you feel the allure of her body.]

[From one hand to both hands, each action pushed further beyond the limits.]

[You could sense something unusual about this—but did it even matter?]

[You knew well, deep within your soul, the desire you had for Morgan's body.]

[And you had no intention of denying it.]

[Morgan's allure was powerful enough that you failed to notice Artoria's presence lurking in the shadows.]

[Time slipped away amidst this bliss, and soon it was time for a bath.]

"Ian, wait for me a moment."

Morgan, carrying the satisfaction of a victor, walked toward a screen.

Clearly, she intended to give Ian yet another lesson on how a princess should be treated.

But just then, a hand touched Ian's shoulder.

He turned around, and standing before him was Artoria.

Why was she here?

"You…"

Before Ian could finish his sentence, Artoria placed a hand over his mouth.

"Sir Ian! Please don't raise your voice! I snuck in here!"

"..."

Ian, somewhat confused, nodded slightly.

Seeing his response, Artoria let out a small sigh of relief, her face turning red as she spoke:

"The thing is…!"

"Sir Ian, please come to my room tonight!"

Before Ian could agree or refuse, Artoria quickly fled.

As always, she was full of little tricks—so long as she didn't hear an immediate rejection, she wouldn't feel embarrassed.

However, Ian didn't have much time to think about this.

From behind the screen, a pair of long, pale legs stretched out.

The legs, covered in soapy suds, carried a damp allure that could easily lead one's thoughts astray.

Morgan's commanding voice rang out immediately after:

"Ian, my legs are tired. Come here and massage them for me."

[Morgan possessed an extraordinary charm in her legs.]

[While you massaged her, she would "massage" you in return with her own legs.]

[The warm bathwater washed away soap and other traces, leaving both of you immersed in a shared intimacy.]

[This seemed to elevate Morgan's mood significantly.]

[She once again ordered you to act as her "steed," indulging in the service of her knight.]

The warm water rippled gently around Ian and Morgan's lower bodies.

Morgan's fingers lightly traced along Ian's firm chest, droplets of water trickling down his muscles as they moved.

This continued for a while, as though Morgan were creating a masterpiece.

Finally, she stopped and tilted Ian's chin upward, asking softly:

"Knight, do you know what I wrote on your chest?"

"Princess, it must be your name, right?" Ian replied without hesitation.

"Oh? You noticed?"

"Of course. Since it's your name, it's only natural that I'd remember it."

"Then—"

Morgan wrapped her arms around Ian's neck, ensuring his gaze could focus on no one but her.

"Ian, do you know why I wrote my name on your chest?"

Ian shook his head slightly.

"Princess, I do not."

"Then let me tell you—"

Morgan leaned closer.

She bent down and gently bit Ian neck, leaving a mark that wasn't too large but was clear enough to be seen.

Morgan lifted her head, her gentle smile locking onto Ian's gaze.

"A name written on parchment becomes a private note."

"A title etched onto a blade becomes someone's weapon."

"Ian, I've inscribed my name onto you countless times."

"So, you belong solely to me. Understand?"

"Princess."

Ian met Morgan gaze, unwavering.

"Isn't that a given?"

"But there are those who might think otherwise."

Morgan's fingers glided over Ian's face, tracing the marks of time etched there.

"What should we do about that?"

"..."

Ian, of course, caught the implication behind Morgan's words.

"Princess, please speak plainly. You know I always take your desires as my guiding goal."

"Hmm..."

Morgan leaned slightly, pressing Ian's blade back just a little.

"Then let me clarify."

"That Artoria, she's been lurking in the shadows, watching you all day."

[Morgan's words bring clarity to you.]

[You suddenly realize that Artoria's earlier appearance was no coincidence.]

[She's been holding back all day, looking for an opportunity like this.]

[Meanwhile, Morgan has spent the entire day asserting her absolute claim over you.]

"Princess, so that's how it is?"

"Hmm?" Morgan tilted Ian's chin upward.

"Ian, didn't you notice?"

Ian nodded.

"I truly didn't realize."

"Because your presence, Princess, makes it impossible for me to look away."

Morgan was thoroughly satisfied with this answer.

Still, she pressed further:

"I heard from Gawain that you're quite close with Artoria, is that true?"

"Yes, Princess," Ian admitted without hesitation.

"I need to learn more about her—like her real name, 'Artoria,' which is part of that discovery."

"I believe, in time, I might uncover the secrets of the power she possesses."

"That would be greatly beneficial to you."

[Morgan has no doubt about your words.]

[After all, she knows that making a girl disguised as a boy reveal her real name is no easy task.]

[You sense her deep-seated determination.]

[You know she still can't let go of her desire for the throne.]

"Ian, do you remember you promised that you would help me ascend to the throne?"

Morgan embraced Ian, resting her head against his chest.

Her hair spread out in the water, floating like fallen lotus petals.

The clear, warm water gently covered half of her body, giving her already fair skin a delicate pink hue.

"I always believe in that promise."

"I have never forgotten my vow, Princess."

Ian gently caressed Morgan's back, feeling the softness like a freshly peeled egg.

"Every moment, I am working towards that goal."

"It's just—"

"It will take some time."

"I understand."

Morgan closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of Ian's heartbeat.

"Your heartbeat is always steady, which means you're not lying to me."

"But I truly wish to reach that day soon…"

"Ian, do you think I'm strange for being this way?"

"Not at all, Princess."

Ian's hand paused on Morgan's back.

"Princess, everyone has their own obsessions."

"It's just that yours stand out a bit more."

"So, Ian, do you think it's possible?"

"Of course." Ian responded without hesitation. "I've never doubted it for a second."

"Someone like you, Princess, deserves to sit on the throne."

"You fool… always saying such foolish things, making it impossible for me to love you."

"But Princess, isn't it true that knights don't need to be that smart?"

[Morgan didn't say anything more.]

[She just held your hand tightly.]

[You realize that many of her life's aspirations rest on your shoulders.]

[The bath ended in a delicate and pleasant atmosphere.]

[Morgan kissed you, then chose to leave alone to the Magecraft workshop—it seems she wanted to calm herself down a bit.]

[You watched her retreating figure, deciding to forgo your meeting with Artoria tonight.]

Ian didn't lack the desire to see Artoria.

After all, he knew he carried the last of her emotions entrusted to him.

It's just that today was truly not suitable—he'd find another opportunity to explain to her later.

But Ian never expected.

As he turned a corner in the hallway, intending to return to his room, a familiar figure appeared there.

It was Artoria, in a pristine white dress.

"Sir Ian, good evening!"