Incest Pendragon

"Father, is this truly the kingdom you wanted to rule? A kingdom where freedom is a mere illusion, where voices of dissent are stifled, and where anything that sounds even remotely unpleasant to your ears is silenced without hesitation?" Artoria questioned, her tone laced with doubt as she stood before her father, who lounged upon his grand throne.

His face remained calm, unbothered, as if her words were nothing more than a passing breeze.

Uther Pendragon merely chuckled.

"And what suggestion do you have, my daughter? Shall I allow the united Britannia to fracture once more, letting it splinter into warring states over petty grievances?" His voice carried a playful amusement, but his eyes were sharp, scrutinizing her every reaction.

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Artoria shot back, crossing her arms defiantly. "It's just opinions. Words alone can't shake the foundation of your rule, nor can they unravel the unity of Britannia."

The Soviet Union did the exact same thing, didn't they? They gave their people 'freedom of speech,' let them voice their grievances, and what happened? They fractured. They divided. And in the end, they lost in Cold War.

The Cold War wasn't just some event—it was proof that once division takes root, an empire is already dead.

When you rule an empire filled with different ethnic groups, different races, different cultures, you don't get to expect unity to last on its own. If you give them the power to challenge your rule, they will use it. And once that happens, it's only a matter of time before everything collapses.

Empires historically do not thrive on ideological purity or open criticism; they thrive on power, structure, and fear.

"Then tell me, do you think you'd be better at ruling than I am, Artoria Pendragon?" Uther asked, his deep voice carrying a weight that made the air between them feel heavier.

His piercing gaze bore down on her, unrelenting.

Artoria hesitated. She wanted to say yes, to claim she would rule differently, more justly.

But under the weight of her father's gaze, she faltered.

The truth settled uncomfortably in her chest.

"I don't think I would," she admitted bitterly.

Uther smirked. "You will eventually. This throne is tasteless. But throwing it away would be a waste."

Artoria's eyes widened slightly at his words. "Would you really throw away your power, your position, just because it's tasteless, Father?"

"No," Uther said, shaking his head. "I didn't throw anything away. I simply found a better throne. A better place to rule."

His voice remained calm, his confidence unwavering.

"Until then, you will play by my rules, just like everyone else," he added, finality in his tone.

Silence stretched between them. Artoria took a deep breath before exhaling slowly, trying to organize the thoughts racing in her mind.

There was something she needed to ask—something that had been gnawing at her for a long time.

"So, Father," she finally spoke, her voice steady, "tell me the real reason why you think negative opinions or criticism will divide our kingdom. I've heard whispers—among the knights, among the court—that it's not really about stability or unity."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "They say you do it for your own ego. That you hate opposition. That you despise anyone who dares to ruin your fun or interfere with your interests. That you silence them not out of noble intention, but because of personal vendettas."

For the first time, Uther's expression shifted—not in anger, not in denial, but in something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

"And is that what you truly believe, my dear daughter?" His voice was smooth, deep, unreadable.

"I..." Artoria hesitated. She had heard it from others, but she couldn't deny that she had thought the same herself.

Uther chuckled, his tone lacking even a shred of guilt. "You're not wrong. I enjoy being respected, admired, feared. And when people get in my way? When they think they can challenge me and win?"

His smirk widened. "I retaliate. Brutally. Without mercy. Even if innocent lives get caught in the crossfire, I don't care. That's just who I am."

He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Are you disappointed that I'm not the noble, righteous father you once imagined?"

His words were blunt, unapologetic. He didn't bother to sugarcoat the fact that he was an asshole, a narcissist who valued power above all else.

Artoria raised her head, her gaze locked onto his. There was no disappointment in her expression. No anger. Just understanding.

"No," she said firmly. "You've done what you believed was best, Father. And… I appreciate your honesty."

However, unbeknownst to her, the moment she accepted his argument, embraced his way of thinking, and acknowledged the way he ruled, she unknowingly took another step closer to becoming just like him.

A/N: If you're expecting a lemon, congrats, my friends—you're getting trolled!