"Your Majesty, what are you saying?"
Upon hearing King Uther's words, the nobles present fell into a brief silence.
The news was far too shocking, leaving many unable to believe their ears.
Only after a long pause did someone finally speak up and ask King Uther:
"I intend to entrust Camelot to my beloved daughter, Morgan. Do any of you have objections?"
"But, Your Majesty, Princess Morgan is a woman! How can she inherit such a thing?"
The noble continued to press King Uther.
"Hm?"
Hearing this, both King Uther and Morgan's expressions darkened.
For King Uther, it was a direct challenge to his authority—an outright provocation.
As for Morgan, she now faced a glaring obstacle in her path to inheriting her father's legacy:
Her identity as a woman.
In the kingdoms and tribes of Britain during this era, kingship was exclusively a man's domain.
They would never accept a woman as their ruler.
Especially not for Camelot, which had already risen to become the most powerful kingdom on the island of Britain.
They would never willingly bow beneath a woman's rule.
This realization weighed heavily on Morgan.
She wanted to carry on her father's ambitions, to spread Lot's ideals across all of Britain.
Only then could she live up to her father's expectations and the voice of Lot, whose thoughts she had always heard in her heart.
But now, these nobles sought to deny her inheritance of her father's lands.
What did they intend to do instead?
"Yes, she is indeed my daughter," King Uther affirmed with a nod. "Is there any issue with me leaving my possessions to her?"
Yet the noble pressed further:
"Your Majesty, we have no right to question your decisions. However, Camelot holds immense significance it is the capital of our kingdom. Whoever rules this city will inevitably become the next King of Camelot. Your Majesty, we cannot accept a woman as our ruler."
The expressions on King Uther and Morgan's faces grew even grimmer.
Lot, too, cast a dangerous glare toward these nobles.
[These people refuse to accept a queen simply because they want the throne for themselves.]
[Once King Uther dies, they'll seize the opportunity to claim Camelot as their own.]
Morgan listened carefully, then stepped forward to stand beside her father.
"As my father's only daughter, if I do not inherit his legacy, then who will? Do you mean to suggest that one of you should take my family's throne instead?"
She addressed the nobles directly.
If they wanted to hide behind veiled words, then she would tear away their pretenses.
Let them lay bare their true intentions.
If they refused to let her have it, then none of them would.
Time to flip the table.
Especially that noble who had spoken earlier—Morgan pointed directly at him.
You're the loudest one here.
You'll be the first to fall.
The noble dared not respond.
Though he harbored such ambitions, who would be foolish enough to voice them aloud?
King Uther still stood strong. To openly declare a desire for his throne would be suicidal.
The king would devour him alive—without even needing seasoning.
This was not the same King Uther from history, who had died early, leaving Morgan with nothing but a hollow title as the former king's daughter.
Back then, Orkney had been weak, and Morgan held little influence in the selection of the next king.
But now, everything was different.
King Uther was still very much alive.
And he had just won a great victory in battle.
His prestige was at its peak.
Moreover, Lot's Orkney was no minor territory—it was a decisive force in the kingdom's wars.
Thus, Morgan and King Uther spoke with unwavering confidence.
"This…"
The noble faltered, at a loss for words.
"The right of succession does not lie in your hands," King Uther declared, stepping forward and pressing the flat of his blade against the noble's cheek.
"Camelot is my domain. Even as the capital, I hold absolute authority over its disposition. When I say Camelot belongs to Morgan, it belongs to Morgan. I am informing you, not seeking your approval. If any of you disagree, you are welcome to challenge me provided you can win."
The noble naturally did not dare.
He had no idea that King Uther was already weakened.
In his eyes, the king was still the same monster who had once clashed blades with the Tyrant King Vortigern.
To fight such a man?
How many lives do I have to spare?
Absolutely not.
And so, under King Uther's fierce gaze, the matter was forcibly settled.
Yet even after securing Camelot, Morgan's mood remained somber.
She had seen the obstacles she would face in her path to kingship.
The nobles demanded a king who was brave, or perhaps cunning but above all, one who was a man.
A woman could never rule Britain.
Frustrated, Morgan retreated to her chambers early.
Lot, concerned for her, followed close behind.
Once they returned to their quarters, Morgan immediately pulled Lot toward the bedroom.
What she needed now was a thorough, unrestrained release.
Come on. Use that legendary stamina of yours to melt my frustrations away.
...
Afterward, Morgan lay curled against Lot's chest, her earlier tension dissolved.
Now, she was as docile as a kitten.
"Lot, the nobles' resistance today was too fierce. What if they all oppose me becoming Queen of Camelot?"
"Simple. Just come back to Orkney with me. Give me five years, and I'll make Orkney so prosperous that those nobles will realize their mistake. They'll be crawling on their knees, begging for your forgiveness."
In a mocking tone, Lot imitated the noble who had been chastised earlier:
"Oh, Queen Morgan, please allow this humble servant to pledge his loyalty once more!"
"Ugh, you're disgusting. I think I'm going to be sick."
Morgan wrinkled her nose in exaggerated distaste, lightly smacking his chest.
"Hahaha…"
Lot caught her hand and held it firmly.
"Alright, rest now. It's late."
"Mmm. Hold me tighter."
Morgan adjusted herself into a comfortable position.
Resting directly on his arm was impractical it would go numb after a while, leaving Horndog sore.
Instead, she buried her face against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist, legs entwined with his.
From this angle, Lot could admire her cascading hair and the curve of her hips.
Perfect. This is the ideal position for sleeping.
As Morgan settled in, Lot's thoughts turned to the matter of queenship.
[In this era, society is still patriarchal. Women hold little power—no wonder there are so few queens compared to kings.]
[And most queens maintain their rule through military achievements. Unfortunately, that's not an option for Morgan.]
[The nobles derive their status from bloodline, not the crown. Convincing them to accept Morgan as queen won't be easy. The only solution is to discard them entirely—only then can she rule unimpeded.]
[The best method would be implementing an examination system—civil service exams and knightly tournaments. Recruit a new class of officials loyal only to her. Men of low birth who would be grateful for the opportunity, with no ties to the old nobility.]
[Only such men would wholeheartedly uphold her reign. They wouldn't reject a queen, because without her, they'd lose everything.]
[Britain in this age has no shortage of skilled knights in hiding. Finding them wouldn't be difficult.]
[But is this too radical? Would Morgan even want this? Cutting off all ties with the nobility is dangerous. If she does this, they'll retaliate fiercely.]
[Perhaps it's better to wait until our lands grow stronger. Becoming queen can wait.]
Morgan listened to every word, a faint smile curling her lips.
This solution… suits me perfectly.
Why compromise?
If they refuse to accept me, then I'll simply remove them entirely.
As for courage—
Don't joke. That's the one thing I have in abundance.
Morgan's mind was set.
Once she became queen, this was the path she would take.
These nobles would vacate their positions—one way or another.
But for now…
How exactly do I become queen?