"Dress myself up?"
Artoria looked at her hands, then at her clothes with a puzzled expression.
"I thought I already was…"
"What do you do in the morning?"
Morgan put her hands on her hips.
"You just splash some water on your face and call it a day, right?"
"How'd you know?!"
"And after farming, you just wash your hands and move on, right?"
"Spot on!"
"You're amazing!"
Morgan sighed.
As expected, her country bumpkin of a sister knew nothing.
Still, it was remarkable she could maintain such looks growing up in such a rough environment.
Morgan felt a strange sense of superiority rise within her.
"That just won't do, my sister."
"You're now the King of Britain."
"If you keep treating yourself like this, the other knights will think you're some careless, unworthy ruler."
"Eh?"
Morgan's words hit right where Artoria was most sensitive.
She glanced at Ian, who was still waiting quietly behind her, and began to feel uneasy.
"Then... what should I do?"
The girl asked nervously.
"What can I do to live up to this title?"
This was exactly the kind of attitude Morgan wanted from her.
"Don't worry, I'll teach you."
"Come with me—"
—
About ten minutes later.
Standing in front of a room with a broken door, Artoria looked a bit embarrassed.
Because she knew this was Morgan's personal room.
As for why the door was gone...
She glanced at Ian beside her and sighed helplessly.
"This is awful."
"I'll arrange for someone to fix it immediately—"
"No need."
Morgan stopped her mid-sentence.
"After all…"
"I'll be leaving Camelot soon."
"Just leave it. I don't mind."
Just as she finished speaking, the sound of knocking and hammering rang out.
They turned to see Ian already at the broken doorway, repairing it.
"That won't happen again."
"Morgan, I promise you."
"…"
Artoria had been about to ask Ian where he even got the repair materials, but quickly dropped the idea.
When it came to him, there was no need to pry too deeply.
She held her tongue—but Morgan was caught off guard.
This was the first time she'd met someone like him.
As someone who had never been considered a legitimate heir to the throne, Morgan was never truly valued by King Uther—perhaps even regarded with some suspicion.
Even earlier, when she'd volunteered to help, Uther's words had carried a subtle note of reservation.
Because of that, Morgan had always believed in a cold life principle: "Other people are devils."
Maybe it was just the natural mindset of someone who'd grown up with no support.
Unimportant people have no real place. That's how the world worked.
If it had been anyone else, they definitely wouldn't be fixing her door right now.
In fact—
No one else would have come at all.
"Sister?"
Artoria gently waved her hand in front of Morgan's face.
That finally brought her out of her daze.
"What exactly are we doing?"
"…"
Realizing she'd just been lost in her thoughts, Morgan gave her head a light shake and returned to her original plan—to help Artoria blossom.
"It's simple. Just follow my lead—"
"Okay, I understand."
Truth be told, Morgan wasn't exactly teaching Artoria how to be more attractive out of kindness.
But when it came to matters of appearance, status, and presence—things that define a royal identity—Morgan couldn't help but take it seriously.
Besides—
When she looked at the mirror, at that face so similar to her own, something stirred inside the princess once cast aside by Britain.
If she were the one who pulled Caliburn—
If she were the chosen king—
If only…
"…Done."
Brushing away that brief ache in her chest, Morgan finished the final touches of makeup on Artoria's face.
She looked at the girl in the mirror—hair down, appearance polished—like a refined version of herself.
The princess of Britain spoke softly.
"Take a look. Doesn't that look much better?"
"…"
Looking at her own transformed reflection, Artoria visibly blushed.
Because of her adoptive father, Ector, she had never even considered doing something like this.
Without thinking, she called out:
"Ian!"
"Come look—"
"Look at me now—"
But halfway through the sentence, she realized something wasn't right.
Morgan was still here.
Wasn't calling out to Ian like that... a bit too intimate for someone with the title of "king"?
Yet, Artoria didn't realize—
That was exactly the reaction Morgan was hoping for.
"Want to confirm something?"
"That's a very reasonable instinct."
Morgan turned around and walked over to Ian, stopping his hands as he was still busy fixing the door.
"Artoria's calling you."
"The door can wait."
"Go to her."
"…"
Ian nodded.
He walked up to Artoria.
"So... what do you think?"
There was clear shyness in her voice.
Normally, she never had chances like this—chances to show Ian her softer side.
"Do I look good?"
"…"
Ian didn't say a word.
Artoria immediately began to panic.
"Is it... not good?"
She frantically tried to fix her hair, reaching up to tie it back quickly.
But just then—
Her hand was taken by Ian and gently guided toward a certain spot.
"Artoria, what now?"
"Because of this—"
"I just can't help it—toward you—"
"Ugh—"
Feeling Little Ian in her hand, Artoria's face turned bright red.
She had received the highest possible praise from him.
But...
Why did it have to be at a time like this?!
"Well?" Morgan chimed in, completely unaware of the awkward tension.
"Did your knight find you even more stunning?"
Wait—
She didn't notice?
Artoria awkwardly stood up, then used all her strength to push Little Ian back down.
"Hold it in."
"Whatever you do, don't turn around."
After giving that desperate instruction, Artoria forced a strained smile.
"Amazing!"
"Thank you, big sister!"
"Mhm, I knew it—"
Morgan beamed with pride.
She knew she couldn't possibly lose in this department.
But this was only step one.
Now that Artoria had experienced the benefits of refining her appearance, it was time to go even further.
The princess walked over to a wardrobe.
Fwsh—
The doors opened.
Inside was a vast collection of women's clothing—all Morgan's.
"Artoria, pick a few outfits for traveling—"
"Let's say they're gifts from me."