The cold bit into her skin. Arthuria shivered, her body battered and broken, her wrists raw from the iron shackles that kept her bound. The dungeon walls felt like they were closing in, the thick scent of damp stone and old blood suffocating. Her breath hitched as she struggled against her restraints, but there was no strength left in her limbs. She had lost count of the hours. Perhaps even the days.Then, footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. A Stiletto of a man emerged from the shadows first. Footsteps echoed in the dark.
A figure emerged from the shadows, his presence unnatural, his beauty ethereal.
The faint glow of the torches cast a golden hue on his sharp features—his skin tanned and kissed by magic, his silver hair flowing like water down his back.
His pointed ears twitched slightly, and behind him, folded wings shimmered faintly with the colors of dusk and starlight.
She didn't need to see the crown resting upon his brow to know who he was. He was the King of this realm. King, Zion. Behind him, another figure gilded forward, her presence sending a shiver down Arthuria's spine. Morguna. Arthuriadidn't lift her head in defiance. Morguna.
"You said you'd help revive my son," she said coldly. "In return, I brought you what you asked for."
He did not turn to her.
"And I always honor my bargains," he replied. "Your son will live. You have my word."
A cocoon of magic shimmered behind him — Mordred, still slumbering, but not breathing. Preserved in a stasis of light and thorns.
Arthuria's heart clenched at the sight.
Morguna had done it. She'd bargained with creatures older than time, just to bring him back — and now Arthuria would pay the price.
"What do you want with me?" she asked, her voice hoarse but steady.
The Fae King stepped forward, the keys in his grasp jingling softly. He studied her for a moment before tilting his head slightly. "When a grieving woman comes to my court with a dead child in her arms, seeking justice—or vengeance—well… I find it difficult to ignore being the sin of "
Arthuria's jaw clenched.
"You should have died on that battlefield," Morguna sneered. "But this… this is far more fitting."
Arthuria flinched away from her touch, glaring through the haze of exhaustion clouding her vision. "What do you want, Morguna?"
Morguna only laughed, the sound light and musical. The Fae King remained silent, watching. Calculating. Arthuria'spulse hammered as she saw the silver dagger Morguna withdrew from the folds of her robe. It was small, delicate—but no less sinister. The witch ran her fingers along the blade, her nails painted black. "I require something from you." Arthuriastiffened. In a flash, Morguna struck.
Pain. A searing sting bloomed across Arthuria's skin as the dagger sliced into her, its bite sharp and precise. Blood welled from the fresh wound, the crimson dripping into the small vial Morguna held beneath it. Arthuria's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she clenched her jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of her pain. Morguna sighed, as if bored. "Do you know why I need this?" She tilted the vial, watching the blood swirl inside it like liquid fire. "A Pendragon's blood is powerful, tainted with unearthly power. But that's not enough…" She smiled darkly. " I need Excalibur's power, and unfortunately, it still only answers to you." "So yours will do perfectly for the spell to bring my son back into this world."
He took another step closer, his towering frame now looming just before her.
His wings fluttered slightly, the soft rustle of magic against the stagnant air sending an unnatural chill down her spine.
"Your husband is on his way," he said, watching for her reaction.
Arthuria exhaled sharply. "He's not my husband."
The Fae King only smiled, his eyes glinting like molten gold.
"Doesn't matter," he said simply. "He will come. And when he does… he will die."
Arthuria flinched but said nothing.
The king continued, his voice a cruel whisper against the dim light of the dungeon.
"But not before you. No… I need something from you first."
He lifted a single finger, tracing it through the air as if drawing a symbol.
The chains around her wrists flared with magic, the runes glowing dimly before fading.
"I need your heart," he said, his tone soft but absolute.
Her stomach twisted.
"To give to Mordred," he clarified, watching her expression darken with realization. "To bring him back—not as the boy you remember, but as something new. Something greater."
Arthuria's blood ran cold.
His smile widened slightly as he leaned in, close enough that she could see the veins of gold running beneath his skin, his divinity humming in the space between them.
"And once I have what I need," he murmured, his breath brushing against her cheek, "I will kill your king… and take his kingdom," he murmured,
His fingers pressed against her jaw, tilting her head up so she had no choice but to look into his glowing, otherworldly eyes.
His grip was firm but not bruising, like a man used to handling fragile things—things he fully intended to break.
Arthuria's breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest. She yanked against the chains binding her to the cold stone floor, but it was useless. The iron dug into her skin, burning with a magic unfamiliar to her.
Fae magic.
This is why her father executed Morguna's mother. She was half Fae.
Dangerous. Sly and vain.
The very definition of Morguna.
Arthuria's stomach turned. "You're making a mistake," she rasped. " You don't know what he will become."
Morguna chuckled. "I do not care." She leaned in, her lips brushing against Arthuria's ear, her voice a whisper of poison. "Mordred was always meant to be king. And now, he will."
The Fae King finally moved, stepping closer, his luminescent eyes gleaming with something unreadable. He rose to his full height, casting a long shadow over Arthuria.
"You possess what no other does," he said. "The Avalon Core. The final fragment of the old gods' breath. But to extract it, the vessel must be opened."
He ran his fingers along her cheek again, almost reverent.
"And to open such a thing,… You must be made fertile."
Arthuria's eyes widened.
"Ah," the king said, watching her reaction. "You understand now."
Morguna stepped forward. "Take it. Take her. Use the bloodline. Her core. Let her birth you a new era, and when she's empty — I'll take her head myself."
But the Fae King only smiled.
"Us fae cannot reproduce naturally, you see, all about the great balance of things, and I have waited too long for the perfect heir. So much so, I'll do it properly. Personally ."
He raised his hand.
A ripple of magic spread through the room. The bindings on Arthuria's body glowed, melting into the stone beneath her.
She collapsed forward, gasping for air as the gag vanished. Her hair clung to her sweat-slick skin. She tried to rise — but the magic drained her limbs.
She rasped.
The king crouched beside her. His voice was low, almost intimate.
"You'll beg me for it, little lion. You'll think it's your choice."
She lunged at him — or tried to. Her body barely moved.
But he didn't flinch.
"Tonight, I will begin the rites."
He stood.
"When it is done, the child you bear will be the new evolution."
He turned to Morguna.
"Then, you may do with her as you see fit and burn the rest of Britannia to the ground."
And from the darkness, Arthuria whispered through clenched teeth:
"Over my dead body."
To which the Fae King smiled and said—
"That's exactly the plan. " A cold hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look up. Morguna's expression softened—mockingly so. A parody of affection.
" A pity," she murmured. "I guess you get to live a bit longer."Arthuria's vision blurred with fresh tears. Then, just as suddenly as they had come, they were gone. The heavy door groaned shut, and she was alone. The silence pressed against her like a weight she could not shake. Her body trembled, her wounds burned, her wrists ached. But none of it compared to the hollow despair threatening to swallow her whole. She curled into herself, her shoulders shaking, her tears hot against her cold skin. She could not stop them. Not now. Not when she was left in her defilement, her dignity stripped from her, her body no longer her own. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face into the crook of her arm, and whispered the only name she had left.
"Gil…" Her voice was barely more than a breath, carried by the wind through the cracks in the stone walls.