"What's going on? Lancelot, you wouldn't have come here to seek revenge, would you?"
Watching Lancelot's face light up with a friendly greeting on the display, Guinevere really feared she'd launch herself at him the next second.
On the other side, Artoria felt much the same tension in her chest. She was convinced that Lancelot must have ill intentions, surely here to seize something from her. Although she had no concrete evidence, every time Lancelot appeared, an inexplicable knot of anxiety coiled in her heart.
That anxiety reached its peak when Artoria noticed Lancelot's gaze was fixed so intently on Guinevere.
"S-So then, Lancelot, did you come here to talk about something?"
Unable to tolerate Lancelot's predatory stare on Guinevere one moment longer, Artoria quickly stepped between them and demanded loudly.
"Oh, it's nothing special," Lancelot replied, scratching her cheek innocently. "I've just admired both of you for so long, but there was never a chance to meet in person. At the auction earlier, I didn't get to speak more— felt a little regretful （?′ω\`?）."
Grinning innocently, she continued, "That battle, though, was truly exhilarating. As expected of the knight trusted by my foolish younger brother, Guinevere is really quite extraordinary."
"Your foolish younger brother?" Guinevere blinked in surprise.
"Oh, sorry— you two haven't met him yet, have you? I realize my words sounded nonsensical— my apologies (\*?ω<)."
Lancelot winked playfully.
"But—somehow, Guinevere, you strike me as very different from others...curiously so. It's strange—why is your future so uncertain? I've never met someone like you before."
As she spoke, Lancelot circled Guinevere twice, her gaze never leaving him. Guinevere squirmed uncomfortably.
"Also, you remind me of someone I used to know."
A fairy Lancelot once knew? Was it Percival? Guinevere wondered.
"Then, tell me honestly—would you be interested in joining my banner, Guinevere? (?ω?\`.)"
Lancelot teased, standing on tiptoe. She reached a hand toward Guinevere's shoulder, but gave up when her short stature stopped her. Instead, she placed one hand on his shoulder and lightly rubbed his arm:
"We'll offer you excellent treatment, of course. You'll get the best rewards here ( ? ?ω?? )?"
"Ahhhhh! I can't take it! Even if she's so forward, she must have some limit!"
Artoria's patience snapped. She lunged between them, stretching out both hands to pull them apart:
"That's enough! 'You look like someone I know' or 'You remind me of someone else'—do you really think men fall for cliché lines like that? Guinevere already belongs to someone! You freeflower and butterfly, you'd better buzz off!"
"Hmm, but if you include that bit, it's even more uncanny! You look exactly like Morgan... no, like Queen Morgan herself."
Despite Artoria's angry shove, Lancelot's expression remained sunny, with not a hint of contrition—a fact that infuriated Artoria even more.
Ignoring Artoria's anger, Lancelot tapped one slender finger thoughtfully against her chin, as if she'd suddenly discovered new insight:
"Ah! Now that you mention it, Artoria, your appearance really is identical to how Morgan looked, rumor has it you're just like a queen's daughter. Much more like mother and daughter than Bors and Isolde... no, more like sisters, actually."
"And Guinevere's scent is also incredibly reminiscent of Her Majesty the Queen. When I first saw you two, I nearly thought Morgan had returned!"
Something in Lancelot's words felt strangely significant. Guinevere's thoughts paused—unfortunately, his mind tended to wander into the clouds, so he didn't immediately parse the implications.
Before he could puzzle over Lancelot's remark, she drew the subject elsewhere:
"Although I'm still disappointed I couldn't reclaim the 'Simei' sword for you, if someone as remarkable as Guinevere wields it, I suppose it suits you just fine: a legendary blade for a hero, a fine sword for a beauty, as it should be."
"...Ah? Beauty?" Guinevere blinked, pointing at himself in bewilderment.
"You're slow," Lancelot teased. "So many things about you remind me of him too—your perpetually rumpled collar, for one."
Lancelot's voice came from very near; Guinevere saw she had quietly slipped in front of him.
She stepped onto tiptoe, lifted her chin, and gently straightened his collar. She did it so earnestly and attentively that, despite her small size, her action gave Guinevere a strangely comforting, almost "good wife" vibe. As she brushed a stray lock of hair from his collar, a soft, floral fragrance drifted to his nose, stirring a flutter in his chest.
Before Artoria could erupt again, Lancelot had already stepped back like a sprite in the forest, fading into the distance:
"Alas, you're still nowhere near as handsome as he was—your scent is different too, and your hair is blonde. Aside from your personality, you two differ greatly."
"Enough already! As if a woman like you could ever move Guinevere!" Artoria snapped, glaring at him before turning to Guinevere: "Right? Guinevere?"
"Uh…yes, yes, certainly," Guinevere mumbled, shifting his gaze awkwardly. The guilt in his eyes only made Artoria more furious.
Unable to suppress her anger, Artoria grabbed Guinevere by the collar—undoing the neat adjustment Lancelot had just made—and yanked him forward. She took a deep breath, then stood on tiptoe and pecked him right on the cheek.
Guinevere's eyes went wide in shock at the unexpected kiss.
"Whoa—what was that for?" he stammered, his cheeks burning.
Artoria planted her hands on her hips, glaring at Lancelot's retreating figure:
"You'll see—nothing will ever come between Guinevere and me. I hereby declare my dominance!"
Lancelot, far off in the distance, turned and waved breezily:
"Well then, good luck with that!"
Artoria scowled as she watched Lancelot vanish from view. With her arms folded triumphantly, she muttered, "This, this will be our secret declaration of sovereignty over Guinevere. Anyone else approach him and I'll—"
Guinevere, still dazed from that sudden kiss, rubbed his cheek sheepishly. Meanwhile, Artoria's heart pounded with triumphant elation—nothing, absolutely nothing, could come between them now.