A little while later, in the cottage kitchen.
The heat of the bubbling pot and the delicious aroma filling the room made the space feel warm and inviting.
Today’s menu was chicken stew, simmered until tender. Rather than cooking alone as usual, I stood in the kitchen with Barghest and Medea as my assistants.
"Barghest, you cut the meat too large. It will be difficult to eat like this."
I clicked my tongue as I pointed at the enormous chunks of chicken Barghest had prepared.
"When you make stew, the seasoning from the broth cannot soak properly into the center if the pieces are too large. Then the chicken ends up dry and bland when you bite into it. You need to cut it smaller."
"You are a fussy one. A knight needs to tear into a hearty piece of meat to gain strength. I merely cut it large because I wanted you to have a filling meal."
Barghest folded her arms and answered with complete confidence.
Perhaps because I was still only ten, she acknowledged me as her Master while still speaking to me with a peculiar, unreserved confidence.
Compared to Morgan, I lacked both ability and dignity. She would not truly recognize me until I could at least stand as Morgan’s equal.
Her instinct for controlling the fire and cooking itself was certainly excellent, but she had a serious problem with portion sizes.
Her style was to make everything huge and pile it up like a mountain.
"Well, just be more careful next time. It will be perfect once you make the pieces smaller."
"Understood. If the flavor does not penetrate properly, then it cannot be helped. Next time, I shall cut it small enough to fit neatly into your little mouth."
After reassuring Barghest, I turned toward Medea, who was struggling beside me.
"Sigh... You are seriously hopeless, Medea."
"W-What?! What did I do?"
Medea flared up while gripping a kitchen knife, but the cutting board was littered with pitifully crushed vegetables and chicken hacked into unrecognizable scraps.
She was making something that vaguely resembled cooking, but the taste was truly dreadful.
She could construct such delicate workshops and create tools through Magecraft, yet her knife work and ingredient preparation were so clumsy that they were painful to watch.
"I can hardly believe this is the skill of a mother who raised children. Did you run away from your position as a princess before you ever received any lessons in housekeeping?"
"You... Will you stop making those irritating remarks?!"
"At this rate, I am starting to feel sorry for Jason when it comes to cooking."
At the mention of Jason’s name, Medea’s face flushed and paled in turns. Just as she looked ready to explode—
"If you think it is unfair, taste what you just made yourself."
I scooped broth from the pot she had been tending and held the spoon to her lips. Medea hesitated, then cautiously tasted it.
Her complexion immediately turned blue, and she fell silent. Even she could not defend such an awful flavor.
"I will teach you everything from start to finish, so use this opportunity to become an excellent homemaker."
I adjusted her grip on the knife and gently corrected her stance from behind. Medea’s shoulders twitched at our closeness.
"Hmph. What do you mean, a homemaker at my age? Do not mock me."
"Then how about becoming my wife?"
"...What?!"
Medea’s face turned as red as a tomato, and she sharply turned away.
"W-What are you saying? What could you possibly like about an old woman like me...?"
"You are far too beautiful and charming to call yourself old. Though if you truly do not like me, I can introduce you to a good man someday."
I grinned and added,
"Of course, I am confident that you will never find another man in all of Britain who can compare to me."
"Honestly, that absurd confidence..."
Medea muttered in disbelief, but she could not hide the smile spreading across her lips as she lowered her head toward the cutting board.
Barghest, too, let out a quiet laugh as she watched the friendly exchange.
Beyond the kitchen door, however—
Artoria watched the warm scene in silence, her emerald eyes burning with fierce jealousy.
My brother belongs to me...
Artoria’s little fists trembled.
Artoria did not know how to cook. I had always prepared every meal myself and practically fed her by hand, determined never to let my little sister soil her hands with even a drop of water.
When it was time to eat—
"Arthur, feed me that meat! Ah, please?"
She clung to my side far more tightly than usual and shot sharp looks at Medea and Barghest whenever either of them spoke to me.
Throughout the meal, Artoria held tightly to my arm and refused to let go, leaving me inwardly breaking out in a cold sweat at her possessiveness.
And Artoria’s jealousy did not end there.
Arthur... even spends time with Merlin in his dreams.
When night came and Arthur fell asleep, he would enter the dream training ground Merlin had created with her Magecraft, spending time there with her alone.
When he was awake, those women occupied his attention. When he closed his eyes to sleep, Merlin had him all to herself.
And that was not all.
Not long ago, Artoria had witnessed a shocking sight.
After training, she had clearly seen Arthur reward Ushiwakamaru and Merlin for their hard work with affectionate embraces and lingering kisses.
She resented that Arthur showed interest in other women and gave them his affection.
Yet just as much—no, far more than that—she loved her brother desperately.
The possessive wish that he would care for her more than anyone else, that he would look only at her, was steadily gnawing away at her reason.
That night.
Only a deep silence lay over the cottage bedroom.
Arthur lay in bed, breathing deeply as he slipped into a steady sleep.
His consciousness had already left reality for the dream training ground Merlin had prepared. He was so deeply asleep that he would not have noticed if someone carried him away.
Rustle.
Artoria, who had been lying beside him and pretending to sleep, carefully raised herself.
Her golden hair shimmered beneath the moonlight as she quietly leaned over Arthur.
"...Arthur."
Artoria’s fingertips wiped away the sweat gathered on his brow, traced the smooth bridge of his nose, and carefully brushed over his soft lips.
Her complicated eyes, full of resentment and affection, searched his face with stubborn intensity.
"You should only like me..."
She whispered softly and lowered her head.
With the faintest sound, she pressed a timid kiss to his lips.
At first it was only a clumsy touch, a child’s hesitant attempt to imitate the affection she had seen.
After a long moment, Artoria pulled away. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing had grown unsteady.
But her longing had not been eased.
She carefully drew Arthur’s large hand toward her and held it between both of hers.
"I want to feel that you are here..."
She pressed his callused palm against her cheek, closing her eyes at the warmth that remained there.
She wanted to cover over every trace left by the other women—to be filled with nothing but her brother’s warmth.
On that real night, while Arthur fought battles in his dreams and knew nothing of it, his twin sister quietly sank deeper beneath the moonlight into a blind, possessive longing for him.
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