Incest Pendragon

"King Uther, I don't see the point of you dragging me into this. Did you even need me for the war?" Francesca Prelati sulked, her voice dripping with irritation as she rode the warhorse beside him.

She hadn't even bothered to change out of her nun's attire after being summoned—she saw no reason to dress for a man like him.

"Indeed, you make a fair point," King Uther replied, his tone calm but with an edge that made her uneasy.

Instead of showing any offense, he smirked at her words, a faint, almost mocking curve of his lips that only deepened her wariness.

"Then why?" she demanded, her bewilderment growing as she glared at him.

"Why, indeed?" Uther echoed, his voice tinged with a strange, bitter amusement.

"I always have plans in mind, Francesca. But they rarely stay the same. Sometimes boredom changes them, sometimes it's circumstance, and sometimes... maybe I just stop caring. Who knows?" He glanced at her, his smirk fading into something unreadable.

"But one thing is certain—you hold almost no value to me. Your so-called talent in alchemy? It means nothing. Your status as a nun? Completely irrelevant. You're replaceable in every conceivable way."

Her eyes widened at his bluntness, but she said nothing as he continued.

"And yet," he went on, his tone laced with doubt, "why did I waste the effort to break you? Why did I patiently wait for months, plotting and scheming for someone as insignificant as you?"

Francesca met his stare and froze.

His eyes were empty, a bottomless abyss where no light, no humanity, no clear emotion could be found.

She couldn't read him, and that unsettled her more than his words.

"Here's something I truly don't understand," he said, his voice dropping lower, more intense. "Where does your arrogance come from? Why do you refuse to bend, Francesca Prelati? Tell me. Why should I keep you around?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with his undeniable arrogance and the weight of his inflated self-worth.

Yet beneath it all, there was an undeniable truth: what did she mean to him?

Her mind raced.

Was it her alchemical talent? Her magical prowess? The golems she could create?

She couldn't deny the truth, even to herself—Merlin surpassed her in every way.

"Actually, if you had bent faster—if you had submitted to me long ago—your value would have been far greater than it is now," King Uther said, his voice cold and sharp.

"I could have used you as a testament to show that the vampires were the ones who massacred the church. Imagine how much more convincing that statement would have been coming from someone like you—a representative of the church itself."

"I could have made you my willing puppet, a tool to control the church and the masses through it. You could have been useful, Francesca Prelati."

His words hung in the air like a guillotine about to drop.

Then his tone shifted, softer, more deliberate. "But now?"

He tilted his head, his piercing eyes narrowing as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "What can you possibly offer me now, Francesca Prelati?"

The question was quiet, almost a whisper, but she could hear the threat laced within it.

It wasn't a question; it was a warning.

He had lost his patience with her.

Behind him, the sound of warhorses' hooves echoed ominously, each strike against the ground like a countdown.

She knew all too well that with a single command, King Uther could have those warhorses trample her into oblivion—or worse.

Her heartbeat quickened, thundering in her chest as her arrogant defiance began to crumble.

She realized what her fate would be if she continued to resist.

"My will is at your command, King Uther," she finally said, her voice trembling as she lowered her head.

"Great," he replied, his smirk widening. "From this day forth, you will replace Sith as my maid. She'll be away for who knows how long, and you will take on all of her duties in her absence."

The sound of the warhorses' hooves began to grow quieter, their urgency fading as the tension in the air eased.

Even King Uther himself slowed his march, signaling that the immediate danger had passed.

Francesca let out a shaky sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as she dared to hope that things might return to normal—at least for now.

"We'll set up camp tonight," he continued, his tone unyielding. "And I expect you to be ready, Francesca Prelati."

She bowed deeply, the humiliation burning her face.

She didn't need him to elaborate—she understood exactly what he meant by "tonight."

Uther said no more.

He turned his attention back to his troops, marching forward with the same commanding presence as ever.

Francesca followed behind him, her pride shattered, her fate sealed.

She knew she had no choice but to obey.