Night.
The King's bedchambers.
Artoria, sitting with her legs spread in a W-sit, gently stroked Ian, who was resting his head on her lap.
Those eyes, which usually looked upon them with a cold gaze, were now as gentle as water.
"Comfortable?"
"Very."
Feeling Artoria's caress, Ian nodded.
"Artoria, you smell so good."
"..."
Artoria smiled.
It was a look she only ever showed in front of him.
"I haven't heard you say that in a long time."
"Is that what you want?"
"Can the Artoria of now also allow me to do that?"
"But... you're the King now, aren't you?" Ian looked at her and said.
"What are you talking about?"
"To them, I am indeed the King."
"But—"
Artoria's hands came to rest on her royal attire.
Without a shred of hesitation, nor any shy delay.
The King of Camelot, as if unwrapping a piece of food, unveiled something.
"You are different."
"I am not your King."
"I am..."
"Your food."
Speaking words that no one else could ever possibly hear from her, Artoria smoothly picked up a nearby goblet full of wine.
Camelot's recent harvest had been excellent.
The growth of the grapes was delightful.
As such, the production of wine had also multiplied.
Drip—
Drip—
Artoria gently swirled the goblet, letting the pale purple liquid spiral out.
Some of it fell carelessly onto the white silk sheets, blossoming into a beautiful flower.
But most of it was drizzled upon the food she offered to the dragon.
Artoria was perfect.
Therefore, the food she prepared in this way was also perfect.
Artoria put down her goblet.
She leaned back, lying on the bed and closing her eyes.
A smile played on her lips as she whispered an admonition.
"Please, enjoy yourself, you who have come to my side."
"Wine and I make a good pairing, too~"
"Roar—"
A low rumble sounded in Ian's throat.
It was proof.
Although Artoria was extremely proud in public, and her methods of ruling Camelot could be called nearly tyrannical, an unyielding will that paid no mind to sentiment.
But with Ian, she was still like the naive young girl who had found him by chance.
He was the first being to give her the concept of "sexuality."
And the one who made her understand that some things were worth trying.
Yes.
It was precisely because of this that she hadn't completely lost herself and become a kind of living corpse when she drew the Sword of Selection (Caliburn).
To be able to experience normal love, to be able to do what she wanted.
Mhm—
This is what it means to be alive.
As Artoria thought this, she was able to slip even further into the role of "food."
The great dragon's teeth parted slightly.
Grapes are not the only things that can brew fine wine; cherries can as well.
If gently squeezed, they too can yield a delightful wine that gladdens the heart.
Artoria opened her eyes again.
She felt that if she didn't watch at a time like this, she would surely miss many wonderful memories.
"You can..."
"You don't have to be so considerate of my feelings."
Artoria cupped his cheeks in her hands.
Her long legs, freed from the restrictions of the Sword of Selection (Caliburn), were already wrapped around his waist.
"When a dragon eats, it ought to devour its food ravenously, shouldn't it?"
"Mmph—"
Just as she said this, Artoria felt something.
She looked at him, her face slightly flushed.
If what had just happened was a simple touch, then this, now, was truly his feeding time.
"This is how one should eat—"
Saying this, the King tilted her head back slightly.
The legs wrapped around him couldn't help but tighten.
After a long time.
By the window.
Artoria, held in Ian's embrace, stood there with him.
And behind them was a trail of wet tracks, still giving off the faint scent of wine.
The King's legs were gently rubbing against something.
But she herself wore a somewhat apologetic expression.
"You'll have to bear with it like this for a little while."
"I want to save the best for our wedding night."
"If you can't bear it... you can go find Mélusine."
"I will not kill her for it."
"..."
Ian did not answer Artoria directly, but instead took her hands in his, one on the left and one on the right, and guided them downwards.
They held onto something together.
Except Artoria's hand was on the inside, and Ian's was on the outside.
"You don't like it when I do that, do you?"
"Who would like it?"
Feeling Ian's body temperature become somewhat frightening because of her, Artoria no longer shied away as she had in the past.
On the contrary, she was very happy.
At the very least—
This moment, so much like when they had drawn the Sword of Selection (Caliburn) together, was something Artoria cherished immensely.
"I only want you to be mine."
"However..."
"If you really want to keep someone, you don't have to be so ruthless about it."
Artoria said softly.
"After all—"
The King of Camelot began to move.
She rubbed it with extreme skill, as if searching for a vital point.
After her index fingers and thumbs gently squeezed something, causing a torrent of dragon's breath to surge forth, Artoria revealed a proud smile.
"To only be able to watch, but not participate, is already a great punishment in itself."
"What's more, to be an observer who discovers they can't possibly compare to my understanding of you?"
"..."
"As long as you don't harm Mélusine."
Ian held Artoria even tighter.
"Anything else, if you are willing, I will do it."
"Is that so?"
A profound look entered Artoria's eyes.
"Ian, there is actually one thing I need your help with."
"The matter with Mélusine can be considered resolved."
"But—"
"Barghest's situation is not so simple."
"If my sister really did that sort of thing, then the relationship between you two would become quite complicated."
"..."
Ian rested his head on Artoria's shoulder.
"I don't understand."
"Artoria, you know to just tell me what to do."
"It's very simple."
Artoria's gaze became serious.
"The so-called 'illegitimate daughter' issue exists because of the mother's status—"
"Then, if we make her our 'daughter,' that problem would no longer exist, would it?"