He gazed into Lancelot's struggling eyes and said with a firm tone: "Believe in the King. Everything she does is ultimately for Britain, for the well-being of the majority of people on this land. Temporary pain is for longer-term prosperity. Put your mind at ease, do your duty as a knight, and support the King's decisions."
Under the gaze of Kanjuro's deep and 'wisdom-filled' eyes, the fire of anger in Lancelot's chest seemed to be suppressed by an invisible force.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something more, but in the end, he only let out a despondent sigh, his tightly clenched fist slowly relaxing.
He could not refute Merlin, the wise man he equally revered, whose words always seemed so far-sighted and flawless. Yet, the rift in his heart and his worry about the King gradually deviating from the original path did not disappear; instead, they were buried even deeper, like magma surging underground, waiting for a moment to erupt.
Kanjuro watched the temporarily "appeased" Lancelot and inwardly sneered. Another potential point of conflict had been planted, waiting only for the right moment to detonate in the future.
The unpleasantness of the Round Table meeting seemed like nothing more than a minor interlude, quickly dissipating amidst the daily busyness of Camelot. However, Kanjuro's (Merlin's) gaze did not shift from the aggrieved Chief Knight. Like the most patient hunter, he quietly observed Lancelot's movements.
Soon, he discovered an interesting phenomenon. On several occasions when Lancelot left Camelot alone to stroll in the outskirts or practice martial arts, he would always "coincidentally" encounter a young woman named Guinevere. Guinevere came from a prestigious but not top-tier noble family. She was beautiful, with a gentle and serene temperament, like a clear spring in the forest, pure and untainted by worldly dust. Lancelot was clearly attracted to this purity. In her presence, this invincible knight on the battlefield would display a rare, slightly clumsy tenderness. He loved Guinevere, a feeling that was sincere and passionate.
However, Guinevere's attitude towards Lancelot leaned more towards a close, admiring friendship. She appreciated this great knight's character and martial prowess, seeing him as a trustworthy close friend, but the seed of romantic affection between a man and a woman did not seem to have sprouted in her heart.
Kanjuro captured this subtle emotional difference. Once, after Lancelot and Guinevere had a brief conversation and he reluctantly left, Kanjuro did not appear in his Merlin guise. Instead, he changed into elegant yet powerful casual attire, revealing his unadorned, handsome face that was almost unnaturally beautiful. He actively approached Guinevere, who remained alone in the forest clearing, seemingly preoccupied.
"Good day, fair lady," Kanjuro's voice was deep and magnetic, carrying an innate charm. "I did not mean to disturb your tranquility, but your grace adds color even to this forest."
Guinevere looked up in surprise. Seeing the unfamiliar man before her, a blush instantly rose to her cheeks. She had never seen someone so handsome and extraordinary in bearing. His deep eyes seemed able to see through people's hearts, yet they also carried a reassuring gentleness. Unaware that this was the legendary Merlin, she only thought he was a noble stranger she had chanced upon.
"H-hello," Guinevere responded somewhat shyly.
Kanjuro did not reveal his true identity, conversing with Guinevere only as a mysterious traveler or scholar. He was knowledgeable, witty, and extremely skilled at listening and guiding the conversation, always perfectly matching Guinevere's interests while displaying impressive insights. The charm he deliberately displayed was like a carefully woven net, effortlessly capturing the heart of this inexperienced and emotionally simple young woman.
Over the next ten or so days, Kanjuro would always "accidentally" appear where Guinevere might be. He accompanied her on walks, discussed poetry, music, and distant legends with her, presenting himself as a perfect, powerful, yet deeply considerate figure in her eyes. Guinevere had never experienced such a fierce and precise emotional onslaught. Her once peaceful heart was quickly filled with Kanjuro's presence. Friendship and admiration, under Kanjuro's deliberate guidance, rapidly transformed into passionate love.
On a night with a hazy moon, when the atmosphere was perfectly set, everything fell into place. With his irresistible charm and power, Kanjuro completely won Guinevere's heart. In a secluded and beautiful spot outside the city, they consummated their relationship. Guinevere devoted her pure body and heart entirely to this lover she saw as flawless.
After their intimacy, nestled in Kanjuro's arms, Guinevere's heart was full of happy anticipation. However, Kanjuro, speaking into her ear with a tone still gentle but carrying a hint of "helplessness," dropped a bombshell.
"Guinevere, my love," he gently stroked her hair. "There is something I must tell you. Our great King Arthur, for the stability and future of the kingdom, is selecting a Queen Consort."
Guinevere stiffened, looking up at him with confusion, a sense of foreboding rising in her heart.
Watching the sudden accumulation of sorrow and panic in her eyes, Kanjuro continued in a tone filled with "deep affection" and "unavoidable necessity," "And I, after observation and consideration, believe you are the most suitable candidate."
"No!" Guinevere almost cried out, gripping his arm tightly. "Why? I love you! How could I marry someone else, especially the King..."
Kanjuro cupped her face, gazing at her with "sincere" eyes. "Listen to me, Guinevere. This is a secret, one concerning the fate of the kingdom—King Arthur is a woman."
This news struck Guinevere like a thunderbolt, leaving her utterly stunned.
"So, this marriage is merely a formality to silence public gossip and provide the kingdom with a 'legitimate' heir," Kanjuro explained, his tone full of "trust" and "entrustment." "I need you, Guinevere. I need you to become the Queen, to help Artoria—that is, King Arthur—maintain this necessary lie. You don't need to love her; you only need to play the role of Queen well."
Seeing the intense struggle in Guinevere's eyes, he gave the final reason, one she could not refuse: "This is also for me. Only by being close to me, in the place closest to the throne, can you better help me accomplish some... necessary tasks. For me, and for our possible future, are you willing?"
Guinevere's heart was thoroughly thrown into turmoil. Learning that King Arthur was a woman lessened her aversion to the marriage. But more importantly, Kanjuro's request linked her love for him with a sense of tragic "sacrifice for love." As long as she could help him, as long as she could stay by his side (even if indirectly), she seemed willing to do anything.
Tears silently slid down her cheeks, but she finally nodded firmly, her voice choked yet resolute: "I... I understand. If this is what you wish for me... If this can help you... I am willing. For you, I am willing to do anything."
A "grateful" and "pleased" smile appeared on Kanjuro's face. He held Guinevere tightly in his arms as if embracing an immensely precious treasure.
"Thank you, Guinevere," his voice full of "emotion." "Your sacrifice and understanding are crucial to me and to Britain. I... am deeply grateful to you."
In his warm embrace, Guinevere felt the complex happiness of being needed and entrusted, unable to see the cold, satisfied light in Kanjuro's eyes. Another key piece, in the name of "love," had been placed in its destined tragic position. The King and Queen, the Knight and his beloved—all relationships began to entwine with the black threads he had meticulously woven. In the grand hall of Camelot Palace, sunlight streamed through high windows, casting solemn patches of light on the polished stone floor. Artoria was buried in a pile of administrative scrolls, weariness etched between her brows. When she heard familiar footsteps and looked up, she saw Kanjuro (Merlin) not alone; by his side was a beautiful, gentle young woman—Guinevere.
What made Artoria's heart inexplicably tighten even more was her keen perception that Guinevere's gaze towards Kanjuro held an unconcealable attachment and tenderness. Kanjuro's attitude towards Guinevere also carried an unusually familiar and intimate air. A subtle, almost unconscious pang of sourness quietly spread within her.
"Merlin, who is this...?" Artoria set down her quill, her voice maintaining the King's steadiness, but her eyes roamed between the two.
Kanjuro wore his usual reassuring, gentle smile. He gently guided Guinevere forward and calmly announced his arrangement: "Artoria, this is Lady Guinevere. She is the one I have carefully selected for you... your future Queen Consort."
"Queen Consort?!" Artoria's emerald eyes widened instantly in shock. She looked at Kanjuro in disbelief, then incredulously at the woman before her who was clearly infatuated with Merlin. She almost instinctively resisted: "Merlin, you know, I..."
"I know," Kanjuro interrupted her, his voice low and persuasive, as if he had anticipated her reaction. "I know you do not like her, nor can you develop romantic feelings for her. But this marriage is not for your personal emotions; it is for the kingdom."
He took a few steps forward, closer to the throne, his gaze sweeping the hall as if looking at invisible subjects: "Though Britain appears strong now, internally it is not monolithic. Countless eyes are upon you, Artoria. They are not only assessing your governance and military prowess but also privately speculating why their King is so aloof, why she delays in taking a Queen Consort and producing an heir. Rumors and gossip can shake the foundation of rule. The people need to see a Queen, need hope for an heir, to feel secure."
His words were like cold rain pouring over Artoria's heart, making her resistance born from that bit of private jealousy seem so "immature." He had thoroughly pitted personal emotional needs against the greater good of the kingdom.
Artoria fell silent, gazing deeply at Kanjuro. Her clear eyes churned with complex emotions—understanding, helplessness, a hint of grievance, and a deeper unease. After a long while, she finally spoke slowly, her voice carrying a barely perceptible hoarseness: "I understand... For the stability of the kingdom, I can accept it."
But then she shifted her tone, her gaze sharpening as she looked directly at Kanjuro, asking the question that had been lingering in her heart and troubling her: "But, Merlin, you must tell me... what is your relationship with Guinevere? Why did she look at you that way? And why would she agree to this... this marriage in name only?"
Kanjuro met her gaze, his face showing no trace of panic at being exposed. Instead, it revealed a candid, even somewhat 'resigned' expression. He did not hide anything, speaking in a tone of almost cold calm:
"To make Guinevere willingly agree to this transaction, I... approached her, gained her favor, and even... her affection." He admitted it lightly, as if it were merely a necessary strategy. "She fell in love with me, and so she was willing to play the role of Queen for my sake, to guard your secret."
Listening to this almost shameless confession, Artoria's face showed little surprise, only transforming into a heavy sigh. "I knew it... it would be like this." Her voice was filled with weariness; her understanding of Merlin's methods had already led her to suspect as much. But then she asked another, more critical question, her tone carrying a hint of tension she herself hadn't noticed:
"Then what about you, Merlin? Do you have any real feelings for Guinevere? Do you... truly like her?"
Kanjuro looked into Artoria's emerald eyes, fixed intently on him, as if he could sense the hidden expectation behind that gaze—an expectation she herself might not even be fully aware of. He smiled slightly, a smile that was still gentle but carried a deliberate, controlled ambiguity:
"Feelings... of course, there are some." He said slowly, neither denying nor elaborating. "Guinevere is a good girl—pure, kind, and willing to give. It's hard to remain completely unmoved by such a woman."
He deliberately paused, observing the subtle changes in Artoria's expression before giving that crucial, ambiguous answer: "But these feelings... perhaps they can't be called profound 'love' yet. More than that, it's admiration, pity, or perhaps... a necessary bond."
This answer was like a perfectly placed rope. It neither completely denied, making Artoria think him too cold-blooded, nor affirmed enough to make her feel threatened or disappointed. It left a vague space, a space Artoria could interpret according to her own will.
Artoria stared at him for a moment, as if trying to find more definite answers in his eyes. But in the end, she just nodded slightly and said in a low voice, "I hope... your words are true."
She looked exceptionally weary, as if the conversation had drained all her strength. She no longer looked at the complex expression on Guinevere's face standing nearby. Instead, she leaned back slightly against the cold back of the throne, extended her hand towards Kanjuro, and spoke with a rare, utterly dependent fragility:
"Merlin, come here."
Kanjuro complied, walking forward to stand beside the throne.
Artoria did not look at him, as if using the last of her strength, gently resting her forehead against the robe in front of him. Her voice was as light as a whisper in a dream:
"The rest... I don't care anymore. As long as... as long as you never leave me, always stay by my side... that's enough."
She closed her eyes, like a traveler finally finding a safe harbor in a storm, seeking a moment of peace and solace.
Kanjuro reached out his hand and, as he had done countless times before, gently stroked her golden hair, his movements tender and full of pity.
"Mm, I promise you." His voice was low and reliable, echoing in the vast hall.
However, deep within his eyes, unseen by anyone, cold calculation and a hint of almost cruel satisfaction swayed like dark aquatic plants at the bottom of a lake. This twisted dependence, built on lies and manipulation, was the most beautiful prelude to his final symphony of destruction. He enjoyed Artoria's complete trust at this moment and also anticipated how it would transform into the sharpest blade to turn against its master when she learned the truth.
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