Later that night.
Gilgamesh entered their chambers, rolling his shoulders lazily, the weight of the day melting away as he caught sight of Arthuria already nestled against the pillows, of their bed.
She looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "What?"
He smirked, stripping off his cloak and tossing it onto a nearby chair. "You look at peace."
"I was promised it, I'm taking it."
Gilgamesh chuckled, "By all means."
"How was your day?"
"Excellent, our daughter put Alexander in his place today."
She snorted. "Did she now?"
"She did." He stretched, groaning slightly. "Right to his face."
She shook her head, clearly amused. "You must have been proud."
"Beyond words. She spoke like you."
He dropped onto the edge of the bed, leaning back onto his palms, his gaze lazy and warm as he watched her.
And then, she said something unexpected. "Arthur asked for another sibling today. He says Artizea bullies him in training."
"Is that so?" He hummed, filing the information away for later. He made a mental note to shower the boy with praise in the morning. And an ice patch.
Oblivious to her husband's scheming, Arthuria continued, brushing a hand through his golden bangs. "Now that I think about it, Artizea did mention she wanted a younger sister one day—she has this obsession with putting bows on the horses."
He stilled. Then casually made another mental note. Artizea was getting the pony she wanted for her birthday.
Arthuria turned back to him, but the moment she met his crimson gaze, something shifted. A slow, dangerous kind of amusement flickered there. It was too late to back out.
"Gil?" she said warily.
His eyes were dark with intent. "Think carefully about the words you wish to say to me right now, Arthuria." His voice was a low purr.
His hand traced her jaw, his fingers tilting her chin up—forcing her to look at him. "Because I will take full accountability for the consequences of my actions."
She stilled, realization crashing over her like a tidal wave. He wasn't talking about council matters. He wasn't talking about war or diplomacy. No. He was talking about putting another child inside her. The Gods above can't save her now. She wasn't safe.
"Admit it, Gil, you have a problem," she muttered, trying to slowly remove herself from his sight.
His smirk widened, his gaze following her like a predator amused by his prey.
She tried to get off the bed, "I didn't mean now—"
"Too late."
And then, he moved toward her like a man on a mission. The shift in the air was instant.
She flushed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. "Gil—"
He cornered her, one hand braced against the headboard, the other trailing up her arm.
It was as if he knew she was ovulating before she did.
Artizea had been purposefully planned. But Arthur? The specifics were still unknown; all they knew was that persistence was indeed key… And now…
She swallowed, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she realized she was most definitely ovulating. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his breath hot and deliberate.
"What did I say about running from me?"
Her breath hitched.
Before she could protest, he kissed her. Slow and Deliberately
Arthur and Artizea were small, but their ambitions were grand.
It had started as a simple mission—sneak into the royal kitchens, acquire as many desserts as possible, and retreat without detection.
They had been successful.
The evidence? A platter of Honey Cakes and Tarts clutched between them, sticky fingers covered in stolen sweetness.
Now, they just had to get back to their rooms without anyone noticing.
Creeping through the dimly lit hallways, the two golden-haired culprits tiptoed past the great doors of their parents' chamber when— THUD.
They froze.
Another thud.
Arthur tensed. His wide blue eyes darted to his partner in crime. "Maybe a lion snuck in?"
Artizea tilted her head, her expression entirely unbothered. Then, in a tone far too casual for the horrors she was about to unleash, she said—
"No. I think they're having sex."
He turned his head slowly, confusion wrinkling his brow. "What's sex?"
Artizea, being the eldest sibling, took it upon herself to educate him.
And by the gods, did she educate him, she did.
In graphic detail. She explained everything.
The positions. The noises. The fluids.
Arthur, who had up until now lived a life of blissful ignorance, was subjected to the most horrifying imagery imaginable.
His stomach twisted, his face paled, and then— He physically gagged.
The honey cake fell from his hands. His entire soul left his body.
He was the one who requested such a thing.
Artizea popped another Tart into her mouth, entirely unaffected.
That night, at the tender age of three, Arthur Pendragon experienced his first trauma
Nine—unapologetic— months later.
Gilgamesh sat beside Arthuria once again, waiting for fate's next cruel joke. The moment their third child entered the world, Arthuria stilled.
She lay in bed, exhaustion weighing down her limbs, as the midwives gently placed the newborn into her arms. Gil stood beside her, his eyes fixed on the child—their third son. His irises were green, deep, and ancient, like the forests of a forgotten kingdom.
And when the midwives carefully placed their third child into his arms, he felt something snap inside him. Green eyes. Not red. Not blue. Green. Arthuria's breath hitched. The midwives and attendants froze, exchanging uneasy glances. Even Gilgamesh narrowed his gaze, something unreadable flashing across his face. The color of Morguna's eyes. The air in the chamber shifted, heavy with unspoken tension. And yet, as Arthuria stared down at her son, as he blinked up at her with unwavering innocence, she felt something else. Not fear.
No doubt.
But certainty. She brushed her fingers over his small face, her voice steady when she finally spoke.
"He's perfect."
From the moment he could walk, Eugene Pendragon was different. Where Arthur was loyal and fierce, where Artizea was untamed and disciplined, Egune was… curious. He did not wield wooden swords like his siblings, nor did he study war strategies with feverish devotion. Instead, he read. He wandered the palace halls speaking to scholars, asking too many questions, sneaking into the royal library when no one was watching. And then— The first time it happened, Gilgamesh and Arthuria were taken aback. The second prince reached for a small, flickering candle in the study—and the flame rose at his touch. Not with wind.
Not with breath.
But with magic. The King and Queen exchanged glances. Arthuria's grip tightened slightly on the arm of her chair. She had known many mages in her lifetime—Merlin, Morguna, countless others. Some had been her greatest allies. Others had been her worst enemies. Morguna. But Magic was neither good nor evil—it was simply power. And power could be twisted. The King studied his son with narrowed eyes, watching as the child giggled, completely unaware of the weight of what he had just done. Arthuria exhaled.
"We'll keep an eye on him," he murmured. Arthuria hummed in agreement, but her gaze did not waver. They had fought wars against magic.
They had lost kingdoms to magic.
They had seen what it could do.
And now, magic ran through the blood of their son.
They would not suppress it.
They would not deny him his gift.
But they would be watching.
Very, very closely.
By the time Arthuria's fourth child was announced, it was as if time had flown by.
Then the labor began, Gilgamesh sat outside the chamber with a glass of wine, drinking in silence. "What color will they be this time?" he muttered to himself. "Gold? Purple? Perhaps the gods will truly curse me and give me brown."
Then came the wail of a newborn. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and stood. By the time he entered the chamber, Arthuria was already cradling the newborn in her arms.
"It's a girl," she muttered.
He stepped forward cautiously, bracing himself for the inevitable disappointment. And then—blue. He froze. Arthuriablinked at his silence before peering up at him. "Well?" He was stunned into absolute, speechless victory. Finally. His lips curled into a slow, victorious smirk. "I win."
Arthuria scoffed. "You win? this was not a—"
"Oh, but it is." He reached down, gently brushing a finger along his daughter's tiny cheek. "A daughter with your eyes. I have won."
She groaned, rubbing her temples.
"Elaine…Pendragon," Gilgamesh decreed.
"Why ELAINE?"
"Close to Elenor…just cuter."
"Cute..? Who are you and what have you done to my husband?"
As if hearing the conversation, she let out a soft coo, her little fingers reaching for him. The king, who had spent three pregnancies cursing the heavens, was now staring at this tiny, blue-eyed creature as if she had single-handedly restored his faith in the gods. And just like that, she had him wrapped around her tiny little hand.
Arthuria sighed. "Not another one."
Gilgamesh barely spared her a glance. "Fine, I shall leave you be."
Arthuria half smirked as he took their daughter in his arms, hoping that was not how she imagined its true meaning.
"My joy…" he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He had finally won at life.