Type-Moon: Star Redemption of Arthur Pendragon

Chapter 17 Guinevere

On the seventh day after Morgan took office as the Archon of Magic, a letter from the neighboring country of Camellid arrived on Arthur's desk.

The letter was written by King Cameroon himself, and its wording was respectful yet proud.

To the effect:

Having heard of the ascension of the new King of Britain, I wish for an everlasting alliance between our two nations.

To demonstrate our sincerity, we have dispatched a delegation to discuss the alliance, and my daughter, Princess Guinevere, will accompany the delegation on the trip.

"The alliance is a pretense; the marriage is the real purpose." Bedivere stood beside Arthur, his silver prosthetic arm lightly touching a line on the letter:

"King Camellia had no sons, only a daughter. He wanted to secure his position through marriage and at the same time find a powerful patron for Guinevere."

Kai sat to the side, frowning. "He wants to marry his daughter to you?"

"It's very likely," Bedwell said.

"Although Kamilid is not a large territory, it is geographically important and controls the trade routes to the west coast."

"If we can form an alliance, it will be very helpful to us in our fight against the Saxons."

Arthur didn't speak. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the distant horizon.

"Your Majesty, what are you hesitating about?" Bedivere asked.

"I'm thinking," Arthur turned around, a thoughtful look in his emerald green eyes, "would the princess be willing?"

Kai paused for a moment, then said, "What does this have to do with whether she wants it or not? Isn't it all decided by the king in a political marriage?"

“Not in my case,” Arthur said. “I will not marry someone who doesn’t want to marry me. That would be torture for her, and for me as well.”

Bedivere was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly. "I understand. So, how should we respond?"

"We'll receive the delegation as usual," Arthur said. "As for the marriage alliance... we'll discuss that after I've spoken with the princess."

Three days later, Camerid's delegation arrived in Camerol.

The procession wasn't large, but it was certainly grand enough.

Twenty knights guarded the carriage, which was loaded with gifts in four carriages. In the middle carriage, decorated with gold emblems, sat Princess Guinevere of Camellid.

Arthur stood at the palace gates to personally greet them.

The delegation's carriage stopped, and a servant lifted the curtain. A slender hand reached out and rested on the servant's arm. Then, Guinevere stepped down from the carriage.

She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen years old, with long, light blonde hair that reached her waist and shimmered softly in the sunlight.

A few stray hairs were blown by the wind, gently brushing against her cheeks.

Her eyes were azure blue, clear as lake water, yet carrying a hint of melancholy.

Her features were delicate and gentle, her temperament was noble and aloof, and her figure was slender, like a lily swaying gently in the wind.

She wore a light blue long dress with silver embroidery on the hem and a white ribbon tied around her waist.

Her demeanor was dignified and proper, and her smile was just right, but without any warmth.

Arthur stepped forward and bowed slightly: "Princess Guinevere, welcome to Camelot."

Guinevere lifted her skirt and returned the bow. Her movements were elegant and fluid, as if she had rehearsed them countless times.

"King Arthur, I've heard so much about you." Her voice was clear and melodious, like a silver bell, her tone gentle yet distant.

Arthur noticed that she was smiling, but there was no smile in her blue eyes.

That wasn't indifference, but a weariness that penetrated to the bone.

Like a bird that has been caged for too long, it has forgotten how to fly.

"Please come in." Arthur stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

Guinevere nodded and followed him into the palace.

The welcome dinner was held in the main hall of the royal palace.

The long table was laden with food and wine, and knights and nobles raised their glasses and chatted merrily.

Guinevere sat to Arthur's right, in the seat Morgan had once occupied.

Morgan did not attend tonight; she remained in the tower studying an ancient fairy magic trick, only sending word to "Don't disturb me."

Guinevere ate very little and drank even less.

She politely answered each nobleman's toast and greeting, her smile impeccable, never taking the initiative to speak.

Her every move was perfect, like a meticulously painted picture, beautiful as it was, but soulless.

Arthur observed her for a long time.

"Your Highness," he finally spoke, his voice low, only Guinevere could hear, "you don't like it here."

Guinevere's smile paused slightly.

"You jest, King. Camelot is very well."

"You're not good," Arthur said. "Your eyes aren't smiling."

Guinevere turned her head, her azure eyes meeting his emerald green eyes.

There was a hint of surprise, a hint of wariness, and a hint of helplessness at being seen through in his eyes.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end she just turned her face away.

"Wang is overthinking it." Her voice was still gentle, but with a hint of stiffness.

Arthur didn't press the matter. He simply stood on the city wall after the banquet, gazing at the distant nightscape.

Footsteps sounded behind him, light and slow, as if he had deliberately lightened his steps, but he did not turn around.

"Your Highness, why aren't you resting so late?"

Guinevere walked to his side, placed her hands on the battlements, and gazed into the darkness in the distance with her azure eyes.

The night breeze stirred her long, light golden hair, and a few strands drifted to the side of her face, but she didn't brush them away.

"I can't sleep," she said softly. "It's too quiet here."

"Isn't Kamelid quiet?"

"Cameride is noisy, with the sea breeze, seagulls, and the dockworkers' chants... it's so noisy it's annoying."

She paused, a bitter smile playing on her lips: "But now I realize that arguing has its advantages; at least it prevents people from feeling... empty."

Arthur turned his head to look at her, the moonlight shining on her profile, outlining a soft and melancholic silhouette.

Her eyelashes were long, casting a small shadow under her eyelids.

"Do you miss home?" he asked.

"No." Guinevere shook her head gently. "That's not home. It's a... but I've lived here for sixteen years, and I'm used to it."

Her tone was so calm it was almost numb, as if she were talking about something that had nothing to do with her.

But Arthur sensed something beneath the calm.

It wasn't anger, nor was it rebellion; rather, it was a deep longing that had been suppressed for far too long.

She longs to be seen, to be understood, and to be asked, "Are you willing?"

Arthur didn't reply; he simply stood quietly beside her, watching the night sky with her.

After a long while, Guinevere finally spoke.

"My king, will you marry me?"

Arthur remained silent for a moment.

"Do you want to marry me?"

Guinevere turned her head, her azure eyes filled with a complex emotion.

The emotions were too complex for Arthur to fully comprehend; there was surprise, confusion, and a barely perceptible hint of... anticipation.

"I had no choice," she said, her voice still gentle, but a little hoarse.

"My father told me to come, so I came; he told me to get married, so I got married. It's not a question of 'whether I want to or not'."

"Yes, it is in my hands." Arthur turned to face her.

"I will not marry someone who doesn't want to marry me; that would be imprisonment."

Guinevere's pupils contracted slightly.

"you……"

"So I want to ask you... are you willing?" Arthur's voice was calm, her reflection shimmering in his emerald green eyes.

"Not as a princess, not as a political pawn, but as 'Guinevere,' would you be willing?"

Guinevere opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Her eyes were slightly red, and something trembled in her azure pupils.

Her lips were trembling, but she bit her lower lip tightly to keep the tears from falling.

"Nobody..." Her voice was very soft, so soft that it was almost carried away by the night wind.

"I've never been asked that question before."

"No one has ever asked me 'Are you willing?'" she repeated, her voice carrying an emotion that had been suppressed for too long.

"My father didn't, my mother didn't, my court tutors didn't... Everyone told me 'what you should do,' but no one asked me 'what you want to do.'"

Her tears finally slid down her pale cheeks silently.

She raised her hand, intending to wipe it off, but her fingers froze in mid-air.

"I'm sorry, I lost my composure." She lowered her head, her voice regaining its gentle restraint.

"You didn't lose your composure." Arthur took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her: "This is your 'truth'."

Guinevere took the handkerchief and wiped away her tears.

The handkerchief was white with a silver star embroidered on the edge; it was a gift from Scáthach, and Arthur always carried it with him.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome," Arthur said. "You can take your time thinking about it; there's no rush."

He turned and walked towards the foot of the city wall.

Goodnight, Guinevere.

Guinevere stood on the city wall, watching his figure disappear into the night.

The night breeze stirred her long, light golden hair, and a few strands drifted to her eyes. She didn't brush them away, but simply gripped the white handkerchief in her hand.

"Goodnight, King Arthur," she whispered.

This was the first time she had a genuine smile on her face after saying "goodnight".

The next morning, Guinevere found Arthur and said she wanted to stay in Camelot for a few days.

Arthur agreed without asking why, and simply asked Bedwell to arrange the best room for her and allow her to move freely within the castle.

Kay privately asked Arthur, "You're not really planning to marry her, are you?"

"No," Arthur said, "at least not now."

"Why? She's beautiful, comes from a good family, and has feelings for you. Even I can tell."

"Because I didn't want her to feel that being 'chosen' was a form of charity," Arthur said.

"She has never been asked 'Do you want to?' I want her to know that she has the right to choose."

Kai stared at him for a long time, then shook his head.

"You're really a weirdo."

Arthur smiled and did not refute.

Up in the tower, Morgan stood by the window, his icy blue eyes gazing at Guinevere in the courtyard.

"The princess of Camellid," she said softly, a hint of coldness in her voice, "is beautiful, but not worthy of him."

Mary peeked out from behind the bookshelf, a hint of cunning in her amethyst eyes.

"Are you jealous?"

Morgan turned his head and looked at her coldly.

"If you keep talking nonsense, I'll turn you into a frog."

Mary stuck out her tongue and retreated behind the bookshelf.

Morgan continued to look out the window at Guinevere.

The light blonde girl was standing in the garden, holding a white flower in her hand, her azure eyes filled with a faint melancholy.

"Would you like to..." Morgan repeated Arthur's words softly, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth: "That's a good question."

She turned around and continued studying the fairy magic on the table.

But her pen lingered on the parchment for a long time.

In the garden, Guinevere crouched down and gently stroked a small white flower by the pond.

She remembered what Arthur had said last night.

"This is your 'truth'."

The word "authentic" was too foreign to her.

For sixteen years, she has been playing the role of a "princess," dignified, gentle, virtuous, and impeccable.

She learned to smile, to bow, and to say the right things and do the right things.

But no one ever told her what her "real" self was like.

she does not know.

Perhaps, during her time in Camelot, she could try to find it.

She gently placed the small white flower in her hand on the water's surface, watching it drift away with the current.

"I will find it," she said softly.

For the first time, a glimmer of hope appeared in their azure eyes.