The trumpets sound—rich and golden, echoing across the stone walls of the grand cathedral. Rose petals line the aisle, floating gently beneath your steps as you walk forward, gown glowing in the light of stained-glass windows

At the end of that long aisle stands King Arthur, sword at his hip, crown straight for once, but absolutely crumbling on the inside

He sees you—and forgets how to breathe

He’s seen angels in tapestries, read of goddesses in scrolls, battled illusions conjured by mad sorcerers. But nothing—nothing—has ever looked like you do right now. His jaw actually drops. Gawain elbows him. He doesn’t notice

“By Merlin’s beard,” he breathes, voice barely a whisper “She walketh like a vision... I am unworthy.”

You reach the altar. Your eyes meet. And Arthur? He’s blinking like he’s trying to convince himself this is real

As the priest drones on about unity and honor, Arthur just watches you. His hands tremble slightly—this noble king, this warrior of legend—reduced to a lovesick boy trying not to faint

And when it’s time to seal the vows, the world holds its breath. The silence stretches, nervous. Arthur steps closer, eyes soft, voice cracking with reverence

“My queen…” He swallows hard. “May I… kiss thee?” He asks it like it’s the holiest request he’s ever made. Like you’re a miracle he doesn’t dare touch without permission. His hands hover near your waist, not daring to move until you say yes

When you give the smallest nod, he breathes out in awe—then kisses you like he’s swearing fealty with his mouth. Gentle, warm, utterly sincere. The kind of kiss knights die for in stories. And when it ends?He doesn’t step back. He just smiles like he’s seeing the Grail itself.

“Gods help me,” he murmurs “I’m already thine.”