9 MONTHS LATER
The sea rocked gently beneath the ship, a rare night of calm waves and clear skies.
A visibly pregnant Cesealia stood on the deck, her hands on her hips, commanding her crew like the fearless leader she was.
"Those sails need more wind!" she called. "And for God's sake, clean the floor properly, I nearly slipped earlier!"
Arthur, watching from the wheel, let out an exasperated chuckle.
"Maybe try slowing down, love."
Cesealia shot him a glare, but didn't fight him when he walked over and guided her to sit down. "I'm fine, really," she muttered. "I just hate how they look."
Arthur knelt before her, his hands instantly finding their place as they rested gently where their child always liked to kick the most. Just above the left. The moment he touched her stomach, a small, strong kick met his palm. He grinned and pressed a soft kiss to her belly before resting his forehead against hers.
They rocked together, their bodies moving in sync, and Cesealia hummed in thanks.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" she asked.
Arthur smirked. "You have granted me the greatest gift any man could wish for. I wish to wait until our child is here. I've been told I'm an impulsive man, but hey—things always turn out to be for the best."
She chuckled, but then her smile softened.
"When are you going to tell your family?"
Arthur sighed, his thumb brushing her cheek as his other hand gently rubbed her stomach.
"This—is our family." He paused, his voice full of warmth. "This is what matters to me right now. Let us enjoy it before inviting the chaos of mine. Bless their hearts."
Cesealia chuckled again, her fingers threading through his hair—"Are you sure you're not avoiding your mother?"
"Nonsense—whatever for?" He smirked.
And then—
"Ow."
Arthur pulled back instantly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you laugh so hard—"
"No—ow."
Arthur's eyes flickered downward—
And his boots were wet.
A deep pause.
Then—
"Baby's coming."
Cesealia screamed.
Arthur held her hand tightly, whispering words of encouragement, of love, of anything that might ground her through the pain.
But something was wrong.
She wasn't pushing hard enough. Her strength was failing her.
And Arthur knew why.
Ever since she wielded Excalibur, her body never fully recovered.
She was paying the price the sword had warned her about.
And now, that price was their child's birth.
"Arthur… something's wrong."
His blood ran cold on the account he was right. No. No. No. He turned to the doctor, his voice borderline desperate. "What can be done? What medicine will help?"
The doctor looked down.
"Your Grace… there's nothing I can give her for the pain. She won't be able to push, and if we do a c-section…She will die."
Arthur's entire world cracked. "Don't." His voice was barely a whisper. "Don't say that."
The doctor nodded solemnly and stepped back.
Arthur turned back to Cesealia, who looked at him with glassy, exhausted eyes.
He leaned forward, cupping her face.
" Cece. You got this, baby." His forehead pressed against hers. "You can do this. You hear me? You. Can. Do this."
"If it comes…to a decision, Arthur chose…the baby—"
"I won't hear of it."
"You have to—"
"I'm not bringing a child into this world without you in it! So for the love of the gods push!"
Her breath shook. But she nodded. And she pushed.
The doctor's voice broke through the tension. "Almost there—I can see the head!"
Arthur let out a breath.
He turned back to Cesealia, holding her hand tighter.
"See?" he whispered. "We're doing this together. You and me. Always."
She nodded.
One more push.
A cry filled the air.
Arthur's chest caved in relief.
And then—
Silence.
Waiting.
Cesealia's gaze flickered to the doctor. "Well?"
The doctor exhaled and smiled.
"It's a girl."
Arthur shot up, his heart hammering.
A girl.
His daughter.
The doctor carefully placed the small, wailing infant into his hands, and Arthur felt his knees weaken.
She had ginger hair. And his blue eyes.
The same blue eyes he inherited from his mother.
The same mother who was most likely going to kill him for losing Excalibur.
But nothing mattered in that moment.
Not war.
Not swords.
Not kingdoms.
Only her.
Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and cradled her closer.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.
"Hey," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her tiny hand.
"I'm your dad."
The baby hiccupped, then let out another cry.
Arthur chuckled, tears slipping down his face.
He turned to Cesealia and gently placed their daughter in her arms.
Cesealia's breath caught.
Arthur wiped a tear from her cheek.
"She's perfect."
Cesealia nodded, laughing weakly.
Arthur remembered his father had told him the secret of their blood.
"If Cesealia is the one you are certain, she cannot bear the child of any man… except yours. That is the mark of our blood. I once thought it a curse — ten women and not one child. But the gods choose carefully whose wombs are opened to us. When the time comes, she will bear fruit. Not because of chance, but because she was meant to."
Arthur exhaled, looking at his daughter once more, "Elizabeth." he glanced at Cesealia, waiting as they met.
She smiled."I like it."
He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Elizabeth Albion Pendragon."
The Pendragon Palace was never quiet.
Between children running through the halls, knights sparring in the courtyard, and council meetings that often ended in shouting, silence was a rare phenomenon. And yet. The moment Fin swooped into the dining hall, the entire royal family fell into absolute stillness. The falcon landed gracefully on the edge of the table, shaking its feathers with an air of importance. Then, with a tilt of his head, he dropped a sealed letter in front of the king.
"A Letter from Arthur."
A statement so simple.
And yet—it might as well have been a declaration of war.
All eyes turned to the king.
Gilgamesh stared at the envelope, recognizing the seal.
He moved with measured precision, breaking the wax and unfolding the parchment.
His crimson eyes swept over the words.
One line.
Then another.
Then—
THUMP.
Eugene was already moving, yanking a drawer open from the nearby cabinet where he kept emergency nutrient supplements
because someone had to be prepared for moments like these.
Rhyssand, looking vaguely concerned but mostly curious, picked up the letter Gil had been holding.
"What does it say?" Artizea asked, eyeing her motionless father on the floor.
Rhyssand opened his mouth, then promptly closed it.
He tried again.
Nothing.
No words came out.
Elaine snatched the letter from his hands and read it aloud. "Oh, give it here, you're all so dramatic —" Her eyes widened. Then she squealed so loudly that Seraphina and Calisto covered their ears.b"WHAT?!" She screeched, holding the letter high above her head, and spun in circles.
"What?!" Artizea demanded, stealing it from her.
She read it.
And froze.
Eugene had just practically poured half the supplement bottle into Gil's mouth, and Gil was starting to stir, blinking awake.
Meanwhile, Arthuria snatched the letter next.
And then—She stared. Then, slowly, her eyes narrowed. She read it again. Out loud.
"Arthur is now the father of a baby girl named Elizabeth. Blue eyes and…"
She paused. Her face twitched."…Ginger hair."
Silence.
Eugene immediately took the letter from her, his emerald eyes moving quickly over the words. His face froze mid-expression. Then, in a rare moment of pure shock, he muttered—"What in hell…That's genetically impossible."
Artizea, standing beside him, ripped the letter from his hands and read it aloud.
To my family,
I hope this letter finds you in good health.
I am writing to share news—news I should have sent sooner, but I wanted to wait. Maybe selfishly. Maybe just to keep this moment for myself a little longer.
Cesealia and I… we have a daughter.
Her name is Elizabeth.
She is perfect.
And she is the first Pendragon in history… to have ginger hair.
(The irony is not lost on me.)
I will not be accepting any comments.
Tell Rhyssand I retract my previous statement about his black hair. I have lost this battle.
But as I look at her now, sleeping soundly in her mother's arms, I realize—this was never a battle to win.
This was a gift.
A miracle.
And I cannot wait for you all to meet her.
With love,
Arthur
Silence.
Complete. Utter. Silence.
Then—
"HOW? Who in our entire bloodline has ginger hair?!" Eugene added, looking genuinely baffled.
Gilgamesh, who had miraculously regained consciousness just long enough to process what was happening, sat up—holding his head as if he had the world's worst migraine. He took a deep, weary breath. He turned to his wife with something akin to betrayal. Then he spoke.
"Arthuria," he said gravely.
She turned to him, deadpan.
"Yes, Gil?"
His hands gripped the edge of the table.
"Explain."
Arthuria sighed and massaged her temples.
"Gil," she muttered. "I cannot control my own genetics, let alone Arthur's genetics, and neither can you."
He looked unconvinced.
"There's only one explication," Eugene said, pouring himself a rare drink. "This family is cursed," he declared.
Callisto, who had been eating his breakfast like none of this was happening, looked up.
"Papa? What's wrong with ginger hair?" he asked, genuinely confused.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
Rhyssand leaned over and covered his son's mouth.
"Eat your eggs, little dove."
Elaine was cackling, Eugene was wheezing, and Artizeahad fully collapsed against the table in laughter.
Arthuria, however, merely patted Gil's arm, her expression both fond and mildly amused.
"Congratulations, Gil. You're a grandfather—again."
Gilgamesh groaned. "I need wine."
The Pendragon household had a new favorite story to tell for generations.
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, rocking Elizabeth gently in his arms while Cesealia finished adjusting her nightgown after nursing her.
Their daughter's tiny fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, her breath slow and steady.
Everything about this moment was perfect.
Until—
Flap. Flap. Flap.
The distinct rustling of wings filled the air.
Arthur sighed before he even looked up.
Fin, feathers ruffled from his long journey, perched gracefully on the windowsill and extended one leg, where an unmistakably thick letter was tied.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
"That's… not a short letter."
Fin puffed up proudly.
"Written by everyone."
Arthur exhaled through his nose. Of course it was.
Still rocking Elizabeth, he carefully untied the letter with one hand and glanced at Fin.
"Did I kill him?"
Fin tilted his head, looking too smug for a bird.
"The king was so shocked by the news he fainted."
Arthur let out a snort of laughter.
"Called it."
Fin hopped onto the nightstand, preening his feathers.
"Your mother caught him before he hit the ground. Your sister screamed. Your brother swore for the first time. And your brother-in-law and other siblings debated whether your child's hair is a sign of divine punishment."
Arthur chuckled, shifting Elizabeth slightly so he could open the letter.
"Thank you, Fin."
The sparrow bobbed his head, then vanished through the window without another word.
Arthur took a deep breath, bracing himself.
Then—
He unfolded the letter. He sighed through his laughter.
"They are all insane."
Cesealia, who had been watching him read, leaned closer.
"What did they say?"
Arthur smiled softly, folding the letter.
"They miss us…in so many words."
He looked down at Elizabeth, who stirred slightly but stayed asleep, her tiny fingers still curled around his shirt.
His heart swelled.
Then, with a chuckle, he added—
"And they are horrified by her hair."
The real reason he wrote it because he wanted to hear from his father. He was scared and wasn't prepared to raise a daughter, but it all happened so quickly.
Arthur turned back to the bed, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched Cesealia
"We should get married," Arthur said, sitting nearby, watching them in silence before speaking, voice low but steady.
Cesealia stiffened, not looking up. "We do not have to."
"Yes," he said firmly. "We do."
She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to become what everyone expects me to be, Arthur. I love your family, but that doesn't mean I want their crown on my head. I just want to be… Cesealia."
He leaned forward, brows furrowed. "What is this really about?"
"You know what it's about," she murmured.
"I know you had a fiancé who failed you," he said, his voice rising just slightly. "I know you lost a child. I know you've been hurt in ways I'll never understand. But I'm not him, Cesealia. I never will be. I don't want to marry you because of Elizabeth—I want to marry you because I love you."
She closed her eyes, visibly trying to keep herself from cracking. "I'm nearing forty, Arthur. You're still in your prime. I've lived a life. You're just starting yours. All just be holding you back."
"Holding me back?!" Arthur stood abruptly, pacing the cabin. The fire in his eyes flared. "So all those years—chasing you across the Atlantic, pledging myself to you in every way that matters—and you think I care what people think of us, now?"
"That's just it, I know you don't. But you should." She said.
He stopped in front of her, voice tight. "Let me ask you this—do you love me?"
"You know I do," she whispered.
"Then why do you keep pulling away?" he snapped. "Why won't you take my name? Why won't you give it to our daughter? Why won't you marry the man who's loved you since the moment he knew you existed?"
The argument reached a boiling point—words sharper now, voices raised. Then, in Cesealia's arms, Elizabeth began to cry.
Cesealia exhaled shakily, holding back her own emotions. "Take her, Arthur. Please. I can't right now."
He hesitated, then gently gathered the infant in his arms, holding her to his chest. Without another word, he climbed the steps to the upper deck, the cold wind and scent of salt hitting him like a breath of clarity.
He rocked Elizabeth slowly, her soft whimpers fading into the rhythm of the sea.
"One day," he whispered, "I'll make your stubborn mother my wife." He smiled down at her. "What say you, Captain Lizzie?"
Elizabeth let out a soft gurgle.
Arthur chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "See? I knew you'd agree with me."