ARTHUR
"STAY. AWAY. FROM. MY SISTER." Arthur hissed quietly.
"Prince Arthur." Eric greeted nonchalantly. "I think we'd both agree it is my job to keep a very close watch on your sister…"
"Not that fucking close, and not anymore. You are dismissed."
Eric chuckled, "With all due respect. I am her Royal Highness's knightguard now. Not yours. I take my orders from the Crown Princess."
Arthur's jaw tightened, "You have crossed beyond your station."
Eric did not flinch. "You assume it was me who crossed first." He stepped forward, voice low, edged."But that is what you do best… impulse before understanding."
"Me?! You are the one that—hmm." Arthur's nostrils flared upon turning away, "I am not here to argue. You may have forgotten what loyalty looks like, but I have not. My sister is not a game or some fleeting fancy. She's the fucking Crown Princess and future Queen!" he rapped. "She has more to lose than you could ever hope to understand."
"I care about her," Eric growled.
"Even worse—" Arthur said coldly. "If you care about her so much as you say–."
"I do."
"Then you will walk away, and never look back." There was a flicker of guilt in Eric's eyes. He opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "For the brotherhood we once shared, do this for her, do this for me." He swallowed. "Let her go."
Eric's resolve wavered slightly, "That is for Artizeato decide." He said, standing his ground.
Arthur's expression darkened. "This is the last time we will have this conversation." With that, He turned and walked away. He did not look back, but the ache in his chest was undeniable.
Ba-dum Ba-dum.
Protecting his siblings would surely be the death of him, especially now that it felt like a battle he was losing.
ARTIZEA
The council had already gathered, their voices a low hum while discussing matters of trade, defense, and alliances. They all had different aspects of ruling, which was not the issue; the issue was that they were completely dysfunctional.
The room was adorned with intricate carvings, murals depicting the kingdom's victories, and heavy curtains that framed the towering windows. But despite the beauty of the chamber, it was a place of power, strategy, and often amusement.
At least to the king, but as the Crown Princess, Artizea attended these meetings regularly, learning to navigate the complexities of diplomacy and governance under her father's watchful eye.
Today, however, her focus was sharper than usual.
Artizea made her way to her seat beside her father. He had a remarkable ability to sniff out lies and weaknesses, and she could not afford to show either.
"Daughter." Gilgamesh greeted.
"Good morrow, Father," she replied, bowing slightly before taking her seat, while adjusting her sash. She held her chin high and her expression calm. Inside, however, her thoughts churned.
She assumed Arthur had managed to navigate their father's scrutiny without revealing anything about the previous night's escapade. But knowing her father's sharp instincts, she could not be sure.
Her father's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned his attention to the council.
"Continue," he commanded, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
The Egyptian councilwoman stood, her surprisingly deep, honeyed voice filling the chamber. "Preparations for the Rite of Challenge are nearly complete, Your Majesty. As always, we honor the strength and tradition of Babyloniyah in this sacred event."
Artizea straightened in her chair. The Rite of Challenge was no ordinary event. It was a trial of strength, skill, and endurance where the tribes' firstborn sons competed against her. For five consecutive years, she had emerged victorious, proving her worth as the Crown Princess and future queen.
The room buzzed with discussions of trade routes and military strategies, but the king's gaze was fixed on his daughter, or rather, the pendant around her neck as it caught the light, the dragon and sword gleaming faintly against her skin. His gaze lingered on the necklace for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the councilors.
"And the ambassadors?"
"They have arrived, You're Majesty," the Arkadian council member replied. "All the tribes have sent their envoys to observe the Rite. However, there has been an unexpected request."
"From whom?" He asked.
"…The city of light, My King."
A murmur rippled through the chamber while the king leaned back in his chair, "You have surely been misled."
"There is a scroll," the Egyptian councilwoman assured, lifting a parchment sealed in golden wax, the mark of Heaven pressed deep into its folds. "If it pleases you, it can be read aloud."
"It would not," he grumbled, pressing a finger to his temple.
Artizea raised her head from thought."We should hear what the Realm of Light has to say, Father. It may be a gesture of goodwill. It has been a long time since… that day."
The air in the chamber grew heavier, and murmurs swept into the silence. However, the king snapped his gaze, silencing them instantly.
Gilgamesh's jaw cracked. "This has always been the degree. This is not a gesture of goodwill, daughter, but a reminder of their irritating presence, nothing more."
Artizea's eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers curling against the armrest of her chair. She knew what the councilor was hinting at. Heaven's refusal to participate stemmed from an ancient decree—one that forbade the mixing of divine and mortal blood.
A decree born from the very creation of Gilgamesh himself, a demigod forged from divine intervention.
Her father's creation had burned that bridge long ago.
But she was not about to give up.
"Still," she added. "They have sent one nonetheless. They refuse to engage without your consent. Surely that act alone suggests… interest."
"Interest?"
The council shrank under the king and heir's debate.
Artizea broke the tension: "If our goal is to avoid unnecessary conflict, we should show their royal seal… respect, just as they would show ours the same." She concluded quietly.
The king's sharp gaze turned to the man holding the scroll as if it were a cross. "Read it," he commanded.
The Egyptian councilwoman stepped forward, taking the scroll from the fellow councilor, swiftly unrolling the delicate scroll sealed in gold and white wax. She cleared her throat and read aloud: "To the Great King of Humanity, Gilgamesh Pendragon of Babyloniyah, Son of—
"Get to the point," the king droned in disinterest.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," she added.
"We request that you extend our eyes of observation to bear witness to your evolution. We ask permission to station one of our own to observe the Rite of Challenge as a witness to what unfolds, by oath in the Blood of the First King, Marduk. No blood shall be spilled. Signed, Ishtar, Queen of Heaven, Lady of the Stars—" she caught the king's brow twitching, but she was too far gone now, "and Sovereign of Light," she added quickly, the scroll crackled faintly upon rolling it back up.
The king sighed tiredly. "Fuck sake…"
Artizea's eyes flicked to her father. She could feel the weight behind his words, bitter, layered with personal disdain. The Rite of Challenge had always been a spectacle of power and unity, a way to solidify her claim to the throne and demonstrate humanity's might. But the stakes felt higher this year. The presence of Heaven, even as observers, added a layer of complexity that could not be ignored. Her father's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"Very well, Artizea."
She turned to meet his piercing gaze, her expression neutral.
"Do you remain steadfast in your commitment to this challenge?"
"Always," she replied without hesitation. Her voice was firm, her words unwavering. "As long as I am champion, the throne is safe."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of the king's lips, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He nodded once. "Very well. They may come." He looked to the council, "See to it they are received with formality only. We owe them no warmth nor comfort."
Upon adjournment, Artizea still lingered.
"You were not quiet today," Her father remarked.
"I guess I finally had something to add…"
He turned to face her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You have learned when to hold your tongue and when to use it, A valuable lesson for a ruler."
She inclined her head, but her guard remained up. She knew better than to let her father's rare praise lull her into complacency.
"You are dismissed," he finally said.
Artizea's shoulders straightened upon leaving the chamber. Unable to shake the weight of this Rite being one like any other before.
ARTHUR
The salty breeze of the harbor whipped against Arthur's face while he stood at the edge of the docks, the waves crashing softly against the piers.
For years, he had watched the ships from the hills above, his gaze drawn to the bustling life of the port—and to her. Celina.
But tonight, something stirred in him, and he found himself walking the narrow wooden planks that led to the docks.
The lanterns swayed in the wind, casting shadows over crates and barrels as sailors barked orders and laughter echoed in the distance. He ignored them all, his steps purposeful, until he saw her.
She was standing by the stern of a large cargo ship, her dark curls tied back loosely, the faint glow of a lantern highlighting her sun-kissed skin. She was giving orders to the dockhands, her voice commanding but laced with warmth. She had always been like this.
When she turned and saw him, her lips parted slightly in surprise before a sly smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Wow. Seven years of no-shows, and now twice in one week. Should I be flattered or concerned?" she said
Arthur's throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak. "Did you know about Eric and my sister?"
"Neither then, and yes, I did." Her smile slowly faded.
His composure cracked," You knew where they were the whole time and you said nothing, " his voice rising. "Do you have any idea what could happen to him? What could happen to you if my father sent the royal knightguard? That, by the way, all hate his guts and would gladly do anything to take his place."
Cesealia's eyes narrowed, her calm demeanor giving way to anger. She stepped closer, her chin tilted defiantly. "Listen here, Prince Righteous," She snapped, stepping forward, her voice sharp. "Unlike you, I do not meddle in my siblings' business. Eric knows what he wants, and at least he has the guts to reach for it. And even if by some miracle I wanted to, it is not as if I can stroll into the palace and demand an audience with the first Prince."
"And why not?" he challenged.
"You know why."
Arthur frowned. "Whatever happened between me and your brother has nothing to do with us."
She let out a bitter laugh.
"What is so funny?"
"Your hypocrisy." Her eyes narrowed. "You storm in here, trying to rip apart the only happiness two people on opposite sides have managed to find, and you cannot even see that it was once the same situation we were in."
Arthur's jaw tightened. Were? He thought.
She continued, voice steady now. "So tell me, what exactly are you trying to accomplish here? Besides inserting yourself into things that never involved you to begin with?"
Arthur closed the distance between them in a single step, his voice hushed. "And what do you think Eric will accomplish? Hm? Exile? A severed head, perhaps? Is that what he's after?"
The heat between them was palpable, their breaths mingling while they stood mere inches apart. Cesealia's gaze did not falter, though her voice was like steel.
"Is that a threat?"
"It is his fate."
Cesealia's lips pressed into a thin line, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "Good day, Prince Arthur," she said icily, turning away from him.
For a moment, Arthur was still. The distance between them is growing further apart. He clenched his fists, his heart pounding as the anger between them lingered like a storm that had yet to break.
"Cesealia," he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
But she did not turn back. She was already walking toward the ship, her figure illuminated by the flickering lanterns.
Arthur watched her, a weight settling in his chest upon hearing the sound of the waves trailing behind him. But her voice, her presence—it all of it stayed with him.
Sixteen.
He adjusted his tunic nervously, trying his best not to look so troubled, while Cesealia walked beside him in silence. The Moonlight cast its soft light over the docks, the waves gently lapping against the wooden posts, as they sat side by side on the sand, the cool breeze carrying the salt of the ocean. It was quiet, save for the occasional creak of a boat or distant call of a gull.
"I still cannot believe Eric skipped your birthday," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Training or not, he should have made time for you."
Cesealia laughed softly, "It is not as if he can say, no." She turned to him, her gaze warm and teasing. "He's not the Prince."
"Then he should have asked me— the actual Prince—sometimes I feel as though he forgets that I am…" Arthur smiled, relaxing slightly. "That I suppose is a good thing; it means he won't kiss my ass."
Cesealia shoved him, giggling. Then ran from him as he gained on her. Hours later, the stars above were countless at their peak, their light reflecting off the water.
"It is beautiful," she said quietly. "Sometimes, I think I belong. Out there, beyond the horizon"
Arthur sat beside her, "You have always been drawn to the sea. It is in your name."
Her lips curving into a small smile. "You make it sound like I am destined to sail away forever."
He leaned back on his hands. "Maybe you are. But if you go, then Eric will too. You'd better let me come with you both."
She chuckled, "And what about your crown? Your duty to the kingdom?"
He shrugged, his expression turning serious. "It is my sister's crown. She will be queen someday." He turned to her, "Then, when she is married, my duty is over."
She looked at Arthur while studying his features. "Your eyes remind me of the sea," she said softly.
He blinked, "How so?" he asked.
She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Has no one ever told you they are like the ocean at sunrise?" she said thoughtfully. "Bright and endless, but there's something deeper underneath, too. Something calm and then dangerous if you are not careful—" Her breath caught, realizing she was rambling on. "I do not know what I Bother Talking, forget whatever I say, really—" her voice barely above a whisper.
Arthur blinked frog-like. Then, he sniffled, cupping his nose as a thin stream of blood trickled down.
Cesealia's eyes widened. "Oh gosh—I am so sorry!" She quickly reached into her sash and pulled out a folded handkerchief. "Here, tilt your head forward, not back—" She pressed it to his face, but he gently caught her wrist. Her voice faltered. "Arthur?"
He did not answer, pulled her hand down slowly, lowering the handkerchief. Their gaze met briefly, and then he kissed her.
When they pulled apart, breathless, she blinked in stunned silence.
"My most sincere apologies…" He whispered
"I am not sorry…" she whispered back, while rubbing his nose.
"I have dreamed about it," He gestured to the water. "The two of us, out there on the ocean."
She tilted her head, intrigued. "We would need a ship, of course."
"And a name."
"Like what?"
"The King of the Seas." Arthur grinned.
Cesealia laughed, the sound filled with delight. "A bit ambitious, don't you think?"
He shrugged, his grin softening. "Portable kingdoms."
Her cheeks flushed upon looking away briefly before turning back to him. "Alright then. The King of the Seas. Our ship." She extended her hand toward him, as if sealing a pact.
He took her hand gently. "Our ship. Happy birthday, CeCe."
"Best birthday ever," she replied, leaning her head against his shoulder while they both gazed out at the open sea, their dreams stretching as far as the horizon..