Chapter Text
The council chamber reeked of stone and expectation.
Tedros sat rigid on Camelot’s throne, hand clenched so tightly around Excalibur that his fingernails dug crescent moons into his palms. Below him, his 10 Royal Advisors stood in a neat semicircle—men and women in silks and other fine fabrics, their faces carefully blank, their intentions anything but.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Rhen began, clearing his throat, “You’ve been King for almost a year and there are still no talks of marriage.”
Tedros didn’t answer.
“The people are restless,” Lady Greya continued smoothly. “They crave stability. A king without a queen invites uncertainty.”
“There are excellent candidates,” another advisor chimed in. “Princess Beatrix of Jaunt Jolie. Countess Kiko of Neverla—“
“I won’t marry a stranger,” Tedros snapped. “My mother ruled beside my father. She was not a random person he married on a whim.”
“And look how that ended,” someone muttered.
Tedros’s gaze snapped up. Brilliant blue eyes silencing the room.
“We are asking you to marry wisely.” said Lord Rhen. “Do not make the same mistake as your father.”
“Still, I would like to marry for love rather than duty.” Tedros argued. “I’m perfectly fine on my own at the moment. There’s no need for me to marry so soon.”
“Your majesty, you must also produce a heir. Sooner would be preferable as there is always a chance you could fall in battle.”
Tedros winced as memories of his father flashed before his eyes. King Arthur, proud and strong, dueling with Lancelot. Then Arthur grieving and furious. And eventually him riding off to battle, weak and drunk. That was the last time Tedros had saw him alive.
Lady Greya sighed. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Your Majesty. We, as your most trusted advisors, have already compiled a list of suitable bachelorettes for you to choose from—most of whom you’ve never met.”
Tedros’s grip on his sword tightened. Of course they have. He thought. He should really get to replacing these so-called “advisors” who definitely don't know their place. If it weren’t for the fact that they were actually semi-competent at their jobs he would’ve sent them away by now.
Tedros glared as one of the lower ranked advisors rolled out a relatively long list of names in front of him—all young women near the same age as him. They were all beautiful but none of them stood out to Tedros. To him, they were just names and pictures, he didn’t know any of them—how they acted, what they liked, or even what they thought of him.
He turned to the back of the paper.
Bolded in thick lines was the name: Princess Agatha of Netherwood.
Tedros frowned. “Agatha?”
“Second daughter of Queen Vanessa,” Rhen explained. “Younger twin to Crown Princess Sophie of Netherwood.”
“And why is her name bolded?”
“Well, Netherwood is known for its wealth and population of both Evers and Nevers. Seeing the current state of Camelot's economy—we could definitely use with a population boost and some money.”
Tedros shook his head. “Sophie is the heir. If this is about alliance, she is the obvious choice.”
Greya smiled. “Which is precisely why she is unsuitable.”
Tedros stared. “Explain.”
“Sophie is bound to Netherwood,” Greya said. “As a future ruler, she cannot be spared. Furthermore, she’s a Never and her sister Agatha, is an Ever.”
“So she’s the best choice?”
“Yes,” replied Rhen. “In terms of what the kingdom needs, she fits all the criteria.”
“Okay then, I choose her.”
“Your majesty, you should really think about this for a little longer.”
Tedros let out a bitter laugh. “Why should I? It's not like I can marry for love. You’re making me choose a wife like how one selects a horse. Why not just pick the one who will benefit the kingdom most?”
Silence fell instantly in the council chamber.
“Am I wrong?” Tedros challenged.
“No, Your Majesty.” Lady Greya replied smoothly.
“Great. Then this meeting ends right now.”
Tedros stormed out of the room, the crown suddenly heavier than before.
………………..
Days later Agatha got the news through a very brief letter sealed with the very official crest of Camelot.
Agatha’s mouth dropped. “Sophie. What. Is. This.”
Sophie, who was leisurely laying on Agatha’s bed, barely even looked up from the fashion catalog she was reading. “Darling, how would I know what that letter says? You know I don’t bother snooping through your correspondences with the coven.”
“Look.” Agatha said, shoving the paper in her sister's face. Growing more and more horrified as she watched Sophie do a double take at the crest. Further confirming that it was real.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s fake right? This has to be some sort of joke some dimwit is playing.” Agatha said, getting more and more agitated.
“No. Definitely not. Get mother right now.”