"It's done-nyan!"
Habetrot held up a piece of clothing considerably larger than herself, waving it in front of Artoria.
"My King, see if this suits you!"
"Alright."
Artoria smiled and nodded, then took the finished garment from Habetrot.
"As expected of the legendary wedding dress tailor."
"No matter how you look at it, it is a flawless wedding dress."
Artoria did not hold back her praise, which made Habetrot grow even more proud.
"Of course!"
"Whatever the King commands, I will always do my best!"
"However—"
Habetrot glanced at Ian, who was standing beside Artoria.
"What is this for?"
"..."
Artoria glanced at Ian beside her and revealed a subtle smile.
"It's nothing."
"Just some—"
"Things for adults to do."
Artoria reached out and patted Habetrot's head.
"Alright, you can go and rest now."
"Later, come and attend the wedding."
"Okay!"
Habetrot nodded happily.
"I understand!"
Watching Habetrot skip away, Artoria turned back and held up the wedding dress in her hands.
"Will you help me change into it?"
"Alright, as you wish."
....
Inside the King's bedchambers.
Artoria stood before the mirror.
And behind her was Ian.
"Come on~"
Artoria looked at his reflection in the mirror and raised her arms.
"You know what to do."
"..."
Ian did not answer Artoria, but his hands had already moved to her waist with a will of their own.
Freed from the constraints of the Sword of Selection (Caliburn), Artoria's figure had long since blossomed into an incomparably alluring shape.
It would not be an overstatement to say that a slender branch had borne heavy fruit.
However, because she was usually clad in her thick royal attire, the only person who knew this for certain was Ian.
With a few rustles.
Artoria's thick clothes brushed against her fair skin, making a soft, whispering sound.
Soon, her reflection in the mirror had completely transformed.
"..."
Watching the pair of hands in the mirror, his hands, slowly move up from her waist, bit by bit, Artoria not only did not stop him, but actually revealed a blissful smile.
The fruit grown by the King was thus plucked and held in the dragon's hands.
A light squeeze, and again there were two white rainbows under the moonlight.
"Honestly..."
Artoria spoke words of complaint, yet she stretched out her tongue to lick the substance off the mirror.
"You always love playing with your food."
"It's so wasteful—and that is absolutely not allowed."
"However, I shall forgive you for today."
Artoria licked her lips.
Her legs were parted slightly, as if she were adjusting something.
"Come, help me into my wedding dress."
"Mhm."
Following Artoria's request, Ian gently began to move.
Although Habetrot had no special skills in combat, she was indeed a rare genius in tailoring.
That pure white wedding dress, whether in softness or texture, was of the highest quality.
It passed over Artoria's slightly raised foot, traveled up along her thigh, and reached her waist.
When it reached the location of the dragon's reserve rations, it was like a fishnet, lifting the fruit that was otherwise difficult to contain, and even swayed a few times.
Finally, as Artoria's hands were also covered in a layer of white gauze, Habetrot's design found its most perfect vessel for presentation.
"..."
Looking at herself in the mirror, Artoria momentarily forgot the existence of words.
Some images flashed through her mind.
If—
If she had not met him on that night.
It seemed her life would have been the complete opposite.
The corners of Artoria's eyes grew slightly moist.
It was a sense of relief, born because of him, that she herself had never anticipated.
"Ngh—"
Suddenly, Artoria felt a bite on her neck.
Her consciousness returning, she looked into the mirror.
Ian was holding her tightly, his expression one of rapturous immersion.
"..."
"What is it now?"
Artoria did not object to Ian's actions, but instead asked gently.
"Why did you suddenly bite me like that?"
"Because—"
Ian released his bite.
"Artoria, you're becoming more and more like my mother."
"Eh?"
"Wh-what does that mean?"
Artoria was a little surprised.
"You don't mean that I'm well-suited to be your mother, do you?"
"No."
Ian shook his head.
"My mother's scent is my favorite scent."
"Artoria—"
"You have that scent now, too."
"..."
Artoria laughed.
"Sometimes, I really don't understand what you're thinking."
"It feels like you're about to say you like someone else, but in the end, it's just that same vague feeling."
"You're truly impossible to figure out."
"Then—"
"I love you, Artoria."
"Eh?"
Looking at Ian's serious face in the mirror, Artoria realized she had just heard his most direct confession.
"Do you... really know what that means?"
"I don't know."
Ian shook his head.
"But—"
"I really wanted to say it to Artoria."
"That's... alright, isn't it?"
"..."
"It's not alright," Artoria said, wiping the corner of her eye.
"Bring your head closer, and I'll tell you."
"..."
Ian, naturally, had no defenses up.
He very naturally leaned his head towards Artoria's lips.
And she, at this moment, said softly:
"Idiot."
"You should have said those words the moment you realized them—"
"I've been waiting to hear them for a long time."
"..."
"..."
Ian and Artoria's lips met.
A light touch, an entanglement, then a reluctant separation.
"Ngh—"
Artoria, her cheeks slightly flushed, felt something pressing against her.
"Does seeing me in a wedding dress make you even more excited?"
"Then—"
Artoria blew a warm breath into his ear.
"Today... is my feeding day." (T/N: What the freak)
The room at night grew lively.
Artoria, in her wedding dress, knelt before him, her face flushed in a state of self-abandonment, completely devoid of her usual majesty.
"I love you, too."
"So much that..."
"I want to eat you up."
In the lively night, the King's licking and swallowing became especially clear.
She swore that no matter what, she would make this wedding a success.