That night, Sovell was summoned to the palace by Artoria.
The two sat on the bed, looking at each other in silence for a long time.
At last, one of them broke the silence.
"Guinevere... what should we do with her?"
"The fault certainly lies with the two of them, but I cannot say I played no part in what led to it."
Artoria was despondent, taking the blame upon herself. "As her husband, I could not give her the happiness a wife deserved. I do not even know how many times she wept within the palace."
"But that is no excuse for her affair with Lancelot.
Whether she was lonely, isolated, or had some other potentially valid reason, she should never have grown so close to one of the king's subjects, let alone... been caught in the act by Sir Agravain."
Sovell coldly pronounced Guinevere guilty.
"Humans are far too unpredictable. Even though you told her back then that you were a woman, and she agreed to serve as a proper 'ornamental' queen.
And now? She has still made this enormous mess. Had I known, I should have fashioned a doll instead."
Sovell was beginning to lose control of his emotions, and Artoria offered no reply. Of course she understood why he had become this way.
Old friends and younger comrades had departed one after another, the Round Table was on the verge of collapse, and more than a third of the entire nation's government affairs had fallen onto Sovell's shoulders.
Not to mention that Sovell was also the director of the plan to usher in the Age of Man, with full responsibility for it.
Under such immense pressure, even Sovell could not help feeling irritable.
But as king, when there was no large-scale war, her daily duties were