Chương 19: Ivan Back To Camelot

"You. Come with me."

When Kamila's words rang, Gwenyra felt a shiver race down her spine. She didn't need to be a genius to understand what that meant. She was being summoned—to him.

A full month had passed since she last saw Ivan, the day Camelot fell and her world was torn apart. It had been their first and only encounter, but one seared into her memory with painful clarity. That day, Ivan had stormed into the heart of Camelot, forced her father to his knees, and claimed the throne. He had spared her life, though the look in his eyes when he nearly killed her had haunted her ever since.

Ivan had returned to Camelot several times since the conquest to oversee the city's reconstruction, but Gwenyra had managed to avoid him. She buried herself in her study room, working diligently to stay out of his sight. Ivan hadn't sought her out, and she certainly didn't wish to see him. He was nothing short of a nightmare made flesh to her.

The memory of that day still burned vividly in her mind. When Ivan had stood over her, sword in hand, ready to end her life, Gwenyra had never known such terror. His pitch-black eyes were empty, devoid of emotion or humanity. She had looked into those eyes and wondered if he was even human at all. That cold, soulless stare chilled her to the core, and she had been deeply, deeply afraid of him ever since.

And now, it seemed, she would have to face him again.

"Hey, did you hear Lady Kamila?" a sharp, irritated voice broke through Gwenyra's thoughts. Laura glared at her impatiently.

"Y–Yes," Gwenyra stuttered, hastily wiping her mouth with a napkin. After downing a glass of water to steady her nerves, she stood up on unsteady legs.

"G–Gwenyra..." Her mother, Guinevere, reached out, gripping her daughter's arm, her eyes filled with worry.

"It will be fine," Gwenyra forced a smile, trying to reassure her mother.

"I will come with her," a deep voice interrupted, startling Gwenyra. Her father, Arthur Pendragon, rose to his feet.

"F–Father?" Gwenyra was surprised.

Kamila's lips curled into a sneer. "I don't remember summoning you, former King," she said with disdain.

Arthur lowered his head, a gesture of humility that Gwenyra had never seen from him before. "I believe I can be of use in supporting my daughter. Please, allow me to accompany her." His voice was steady, though his posture—bowing so deeply—spoke volumes. This was a man who had once ruled Camelot, now reduced to pleading.

Gwenyra's throat tightened, and her eyes began to well with tears. Seeing her proud father humiliate himself for her sake was almost unbearable.

"Should I break his knees for that disrespect, Lady Kamila?" Laura's cold tone sent a chill through the room as she glanced at Arthur, her hand already resting on her weapon.

Gwenyra froze. Laura's threat wasn't an idle one.

Kamila, however, only smirked, her gaze lingering on Arthur's bowed form. "No," she said softly, her smirk widening. "Let him come. I think it will be... amusing."

Laura stepped aside, allowing Arthur to approach. His warm, reassuring smile masked the pain and defeat that lingered behind his eyes. He was a broken man, but even in his shattered state, he refused to let Gwenyra, his daughter, face this alone.

Gwenyra's lips trembled, but she quickly composed herself. With her father by her side, she felt a small flicker of courage returning. Together, they walked toward Kamila, who watched their approach with a look of mild amusement.

As they passed, Kamila glanced toward the rest of the Pendragon family seated at the table. "Don't take your eyes off them. Once they've finished eating, escort them back to their quarters," she ordered Laura and Jostin.

"As you wish, Milady," Laura and Jostin responded in unison.

With that, Kamila turned and led Gwenyra and her father through the darkened halls of Camelot.

All the portraits that once adorned the walls of Camelot's grand halls, depicting its rich history, had been removed. The walls were now bare, starkly white and devoid of the kingdom's past. Yet, the emptiness had a strange cleanliness to it, as though someone had tried to erase not just the history but the lingering traces of what Camelot had once been.

"Father, you didn't have to come…" Gwenyra said softly, glancing at her father as they walked side by side.

Arthur let out a quiet chuckle. "I can't let my daughter face this alone. Who do you think I am?" His smile was small but genuine.

Gwenyra returned it, her heart warming at the sight of him recovering, even if just a little, from the broken man he had been a few weeks prior. His spirit wasn't completely crushed it seems, not yet.

"You have to be strong, Gwen," Arthur said suddenly, his tone shifting to one of seriousness as his gaze hardened. "We can't do much to help you, but you must stay strong. Our people—they need you. They can only count on you now."

Gwenyra nodded, her smile fading as the weight of her father's words settled on her. "Yes, Father…" she replied quietly.

She knew. More than just her family's lives rested on her shoulders. The fate of Camelot's people, the future of all Britannians, now hung in the balance. One wrong move against Gevurah, one act of defiance, and the ones to suffer would be her family first and then her people.

After a few moments of silent walking, they reached the throne hall, a place that had once been the heart of Camelot, where they were once welcomed as royals. Now, it felt like an unfamiliar and hostile space.

As soon as Gwenyra and Arthur stepped inside, that oppressive, suffocating sensation hit them again—the same feeling they had felt on their first day in this hall as captives, not rulers.

Standing before them was the familiar quatuor: Ludmila, Mikhail, Dimitri, and Kamila. And, sitting on the throne, their leader—Ivan.

But something was different.

Gwenyra's eyes immediately landed on Ivan, and for a moment, she hesitated. His appearance had changed. He was speaking with Ludmila, but his features were... different. His once jet-black hair was now a deep brown, and his eyes, usually an abyss of pitch-black darkness, had lightened much like his skin which wasn't pale but looking healthy and ordinary. It was as though she was looking at a completely different person. Yet, there he was, sitting on the throne with Ludmila addressing him. There was no doubt this was still Ivan.

The reason he seemed different was because he didn't bother to revert back to his true appearance.

As they entered, both Ivan and Ludmila turned their gazes toward Gwenyra and Arthur. Gwenyra immediately averted her eyes, unable to hold Ivan's stare. Even though his presence felt greatly diminished, lacking the deathly aura that had haunted her nightmares, she still felt fear gnawing at her insides.

Both of them knelt on one knee before Ivan, heads bowed in submission.

"What's the weak king doing here, Kamila?" Mikhail chuckled in amusement, his eyes catching Arthur's presence.

Arthur, despite being there, posed no threat. In fact, now he seemed utterly harmless.

"He wanted to comfort his poor daughter, frightened of seeing Ivan," Kamila said with a soft, mocking laugh.

"Scared of Ivan, huh? Can't say I blame her for running to daddy for help," Mikhail mocked, his words earning another smile from Kamila.

It was easy to see these two were the most sadistic and cruel of the group of five.

Ludmila stood near Ivan, who sat regally on the throne. Her expression remained indifferent, her gaze drifting over the scene with little interest. Dimitri, on the other hand, stood on Ivan's opposite side, hands casually tucked in his pockets, observing in silence.

Ivan's eyes settled on Arthur, looking at him silently.

'I did well keeping him alive.'

Arthur's survival played a key role, a small but necessary thread of hope for Gwenyra, one that might push her to work harder for her people.

"M–May I know why I have been summoned?" Gwenyra asked Ivan, her voice respectful, her gaze still fixed on the ground.

"Oi. You're speaking to the ruler of Britannia, you know?" Mikhail raised a brow.

"Your Imperial Majesty," she corrected quickly. "May I know—"

"How are your people?" Ivan cut her off.

Gwenyra blinked, momentarily surprised by the softness in his tone. Of course it wasn't a really 'soft' tone but compared to the scary one she had heard a month ago, this one seemed soft in comparison. It gave her the courage to finally raise her eyes and look at him directly.

His current appearance wasn't the most handsome face she'd ever seen, but there was an inexplicable allure about him, a strange charm she couldn't fully comprehend.

Ivan narrowed his eyes slightly when she didn't respond right away, causing her to flinch. She hurried to answer.

"T–They are recovering, Your Majesty."

"I hope so," Ivan replied. "They've had a month."

A month wasn't enough time to heal the deep wounds inflicted on her people. The trauma lingered, making it hard for them to adjust to their new reality. Gwenyra wanted to voice this, to explain their struggles, but the words lodged in her throat. She kept silent.

"Tonight, the formal marriage will take place," Ivan said.

Gwenyra's shoulders tensed, a small shiver running through her. It was happening. No more delays.

Ivan sensed a shift in the atmosphere, the cold fury of two peculiar women in the hall sharpening, but he paid them no mind a bit scared because Yvan's persona wasn't really build to deal with these extreme obsessions.

The only reason he kept his disguise and also persona here was because he wanted his closed ones to already get used to the future 'switchs' that will most likely happen in the future.

"You will proclaim your faith to Seraphiel and make your vows," Ivan continued.

"I will," Gwenyra nodded without hesitation.

She had made her decision the moment the news had reached her. There was no room for doubt anymore.

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