In the world of Type-Moon, it all begins with becoming Morgan's husband!

"I won't allow you to run away after winning."

"I see, I understand, Your Highness."

Morgan leads you through the grand halls of the royal court in a blatant display.

Many maids cast regretful glances your way—after all, if your wife were Morgan, there would be absolutely no chance.

Morgan was secretly pleased, but outwardly maintained a cold demeanor, as if marrying you was something she wasn't happy about.

[You knew this perfectly well, so you cooperated by adopting a humble demeanor.]

[You all remained in this position and entered the room one after another.]

"Did you see the look in those people's eyes?" Morgan sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I can tell at a glance that they'll definitely have designs on you in the future. I'm going to hang them all."

"Let's choose tomorrow."

“It’s not necessary, Your Highness,” Ian advised. “This is not the time for such a large-scale conflict.”

"Besides -"

“I don’t care about their eyes at all. No matter how sad they are, it has nothing to do with me.”

"is it?"

Morgan looked subtly at Ian, who was swearing allegiance.

She sat quietly by the bed, her slender and long jade feet gently peeking out from under the princess's skirt, their surfaces as white as snow.

"Then I'll reluctantly accept your explanation."

"Now, let's help you put on my wedding dress."

"Yes, I understand, Your Highness."

You and Morgan stood in front of the mirror.

You put your arms around her waist, inhaling her fragrance.

Her room is full of the roses you sent.

But you feel those fragrances are insignificant compared to her.

"Your Highness, I apologize for the intrusion."

After Ian finished speaking, his hand started from her waist and began to caress her all the way down her beautiful figure.

The soft, fine fabric began to rub against the skin, making a rustling sound that was quite pleasant to hear.

The princess stood gracefully before the mirror, her feet adorned with Camelot's most magnificent garments, arranged in a wreath-like pattern around Morgan's feet.

Morgan never lost her beauty, especially in these moments of solitude.

Her collarbone was clearly defined, and the slightly concave area, like her birthplace, resembled a clear lake in the forest.

Her breasts were naturally flowing and full, perfectly showcasing her enviable curves.

The pride of the British princess was on full display at this moment, a physical beauty that rivaled any woman's.

Her slender waist was firm and without any excess fat, and her skin was slightly taut, outlining a slightly oval navel.

Further down, her skin remained consistently fair; perhaps this is what a flawless person looks like.

Her feet stood on the spotless floor of the room, yet they seemed even cleaner than the floor itself.

Morgan reached out to Ian's hand, her fingers gently stroking it, her tone carrying a hint of alluring elusiveness.

"Ian, am I beautiful?"

“You are so beautiful, Your Highness.” Ian lowered his head, leaned on Morgan’s shoulder, and took a deep breath.

"You are so beautiful that I wonder if I'm dreaming."

"Then let's prove it's not a dream."

Morgan breathed softly into Ian's ear.

“Ian, let’s have another match and prove that you have the same courage when you’re standing.”

"Understood, Your Highness."

Knights do not die with their bare hands.

They always have their own weapons.

In the mirror, Morgan and Ian were embracing, appearing very intimate.

Her eyes were closed, her hands were firmly held by Ian on either side, and her lips were clenched tightly together, with clear teeth marks visible on them.

Her heels had already left the ground, leaving only her toes struggling in all directions.

"Your Highness, your voice is very beautiful. Perhaps now is the best time for you to sing."

"Shut up, Knight, it's not your time to give a victory speech."

"I will defeat you before you defeat me."

As it turns out, Morgan overestimated himself in this regard.

When Ian gets really into a fight, he's nothing like his usual humble self.

She realized she had raised a terrifying beast.

She lost again.

And they lost decisively.

The morning dew of Britain dripped down the princess's long legs and onto the floor.

The Second Law of the Knight: When Morgan wants to win, you'd better think about how you can lose in a way that will please her.

"Ian, you should be happy to have beaten me, right?"

"Not happy."

"Will you dare to win next time?"

"I don't dare anymore."

"Very good, then I'll reward you with a little more time to think."

Morgan, who was sitting naked on Ian while Ian remained in a push-up position, said with a displeased expression.

“Ian, you have to win against me in this kind of thing.”

You won't see a wedding dress today.

“But Your Highness, this concerns a man’s most basic dignity.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Morgan said, pulling on Ian’s ear.

"I just want to win against you once in these things, is that a problem?"

"Your Highness, no problem."

Seeing Ian's submissive demeanor, Morgan finally spared his ears.

And she also thought of some things.

“Ian, I have an idea.”

"Please speak, Your Highness."

"that is……"

Morgan wrote his name on Ian's back with his finger.

She seemed somewhat uneasy and uncertain about what she was about to say. But in the end, she spoke earnestly.

"I want to write a letter to my father."

“Tell him that you are my husband.”

40. The princess still had something on her mind.

"Your Highness, you mean..."

"You should get up first."

Although she wasn't wearing any clothes, the only thing covering her body was her beautiful long silver hair, and there were traces of Ian's wanton penetration between her legs.

But Morgan remained arrogant, as if she had never been defeated by anyone.

"Ian, do you have a problem with this?"

“No, I have no objection,” Ian replied without hesitation. “I just want to know why Your Highness would do this.”

"It's simple, I want to use you to try and win back my father."

"Since Father values ​​you so much, perhaps he will change his opinion of me after we marry?"

Morgan still couldn't get over the fact that he had inherited the throne from King Uther.

"Your Highness, is this one of the reasons why you insist I marry you?"

"..."

Morgan turned his head away.

"Probably, Ian, you know, I actually don't..."

The aloof princess hesitated for a moment, realizing that she couldn't directly say the words "I don't love you".

But Ian had already skillfully continued the conversation.

"You don't love me at all, do you?"

“I know, Your Highness.”

"However, since this information is so important to you, I think I have to deliver it in person. Are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Do not."