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Description
Eliza: Princess of Kindness
Personality: Eliza embodies the best qualities of her parents. From Meliodas, she inherits his unwavering optimism and fighting spirit. From Elizabeth, she gains her immense compassion and unwavering kindness. Eliza is a natural peacekeeper, always striving to find solutions that benefit everyone.

Abilities: Following in her mother's footsteps, Eliza is a skilled healer. However, her unique magic stems from butterflies – she possesses "Monarch" magic. This magic allows her to manipulate butterflies in various ways, from creating dazzling displays to using them for scouting and communication.

Relationship with Tristan: Eliza and Tristan share a beautiful sibling bond. Eliza is incredibly protective of her younger brother, always ready to offer support and guidance. Tristan, in turn, admires his sister's strength and kindness. They enjoy playful banter and adventures together, their laughter echoing through the halls of the castle.

A Budding Romance: Lancelot, son of Ban and Elaine, has harbored a secret affection for Eliza for years. He admires her gentle spirit and unwavering determination. Mustering all his courage, Lancelot finally confesses his feelings. Eliza, touched by his honesty and devotion, feels a warmth blossom in her heart.

A princess is born
The delivery room echoed with Elizabeth's soft cries, a counterpoint to the frantic whispers of the midwives. Meliodas paced outside, a whirlwind of nervous energy churning in his stomach. He'd faced down countless demons, but the prospect of fatherhood had him feeling strangely vulnerable.
The door creaked open, and a midwife emerged, her face etched with relief and joy. "It's a girl, Meliodas," she announced, her voice thick with emotion.
Relief washed over Meliodas, warm and welcome. He pushed past the midwife and entered the room. Elizabeth lay pale but radiant, a tiny bundle swaddled in white nestled against her chest.
As Meliodas approached, Elizabeth turned her head, a tired smile gracing her lips. "Meliodas," she rasped, her voice weak but filled with love.
He sank beside her, his gaze fixed on the tiny face framed by a mess of dark hair. The baby girl, no bigger than his hand, scrunched up her face and let out a weak cry.
In that moment, the world seemed to shrink, the frantic worry replaced with a quiet awe.
"She's wonderful," Meliodas whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out a tentative finger, brushing it gently against the baby's cheek. The tiny fist unfurled, a single finger wrapping around his.
Elizabeth chuckled softly. "She seems to agree."
A tear escaped Meliodas's eye, tracing a warm path down his cheek. He didn't care if it was unmanly, not in this moment. He had a daughter, a beautiful, perfect daughter, and a future filled with possibilities stretched before them.

Tristan’s birth
Sunlight streamed through the window of the birthing chamber, dappling the floor in warm squares. Elizabeth, one year older and holding a new maturity, lay resting against pillows. A smile played on her lips as she watched her daughter, Eliza, toddle across the room.
Eliza, a whirlwind of curiosity in a frilly dress, reached for a sunbeam dancing on the floor. Her chubby legs propelled her with joyous abandon.
A soft cry from the bed caught Eliza's attention. She turned, her brow furrowed in concern, and toddled back to her mother's side.
"Mama?" Eliza questioned, peering over the edge of the bed.
Elizabeth reached out a hand, her fingers brushing against Eliza's soft cheek. "It's alright, my love," she soothed. "There's a new friend here today."
Just then, the midwife emerged from behind a screen, a radiant smile on her face. In her arms, swaddled in a soft blanket, was a tiny bundle.
Eliza's eyes widened with wonder. She bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get a closer look.
The midwife chuckled and carefully brought the baby closer to the bed. "This is your little brother, Eliza," Elizabeth explained, her voice filled with love.
Eliza gazed at the tiny face, her brow furrowed in concentration. The baby, no bigger than a loaf of bread, gurgled and blinked owlishly.
Tentatively, Eliza reached out a finger and poked the baby's cheek. The baby flinched slightly, then opened his eyes wide. A gurgle escaped his lips, a sound that Eliza mimicked in delight.
A wave of warmth washed over Elizabeth. In that moment, she knew her family was complete. With a daughter full of curiosity and a son just entering the world, their future stretched before them, filled with the promise of love and laughter.

After the heart ache
Sunlight streamed through the dusty training hall, illuminating motes of sweat dancing in the air. Tristan, all of ten years old, stood frozen, his wooden sword clattering to the ground with a dull thud. Across from him, Lancelot lay sprawled on the mat, clutching his arm with a grimace.
Eliza, ever perceptive, was the first to sense the shift. She darted across the training hall, her brow furrowed in concern. "Tristan? What happened?" she asked, kneeling beside her brother.
Tristan stared at his hands, his face pale. "I... I don't know," he mumbled, his voice thick with a tremor she didn't recognize.
Lancelot, wincing as he sat up, offered a reassuring smile. "Just a little overenthusiastic there, Tri. Happens to the best of us."
But Eliza wasn't convinced. She nudged Tristan's arm gently. "Come on, show me."
Tristan hesitated, then slowly extended his hand. Eliza gasped. A faint, dark aura crackled around his fingertips, a stark contrast to his usual warm glow.
"Whoa," eliza breathed, her eyes wide. "That's..."
Tristan flinched, the aura flickering wildly. Tears welled up in his eyes. "I hurt him! I didn't mean to!" he cried, his voice breaking.
Eliza, ever the peacekeeper, wrapped her arms around her brother in a hug. "It's okay, Tristan," she soothed. "We all make mistakes. Let's just make sure Lancelot's alright, okay?"
She turned to Lancelot, her voice firm but gentle. "How's your arm?"
Lancelot gingerly flexed his arm, a grimace crossing his face. "It's a bit sore, but I think I'll live." He shot Tristan a reassuring smile. "Maybe next time, we go a little easier on each other, alright?"
Tristan, his tears subsiding, managed a small nod. The dark aura around his hand had vanished, replaced by the comforting warmth of his own magic.
Eliza squeezed her brother's hand. "There you go," she said. "See? Nothing to worry about."
Tristan sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Thanks, Eliza."
She smiled. "That's what big sisters are for."
The three of them sat together for a moment, catching their breath. The training session was definitely over, but a new kind of understanding had begun.

Meeting Lancelot
Excitement crackled in the air as Eliza skipped alongside Meliodas, her tiny legs struggling to keep pace with his long strides. They were visiting Benwick, and Eliza, all of seven years old, was eager to explore the unfamiliar surroundings.
Suddenly, a glint of curiosity drew her away from the path. A flash of vibrant blue caught her eye – a butterfly, unlike any she'd seen before! Its wings, a dazzling cerulean, shimmered in the sunlight. Entranced, Eliza chased after it, deeper and deeper into the woods.
The butterfly flitted further ahead, leading Eliza on a merry chase. But as the trees grew denser and the sunlight dimmed, Eliza realized with a jolt that she was lost. Panic welled up in her throat, a tight knot forming in her stomach.
Just then, a guttural growl shattered the silence. Eliza spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs. A large dog, its fur matted and eyes gleaming with a strange light, stood blocking her path. It snarled again, baring sharp teeth.
Eliza froze, tears welling in her eyes. She remembered the stories her parents told her about rabid animals – their unpredictable behavior, their vicious bites. Terror choked her voice.
Suddenly, a blur of movement caught her eye. A figure, tall and agile, leaped over a fallen log and landed between Eliza and the snarling dog. It was a boy, no older than ten, with kind eyes and a mop of unruly blonde hair. He held a thick wooden spear in his hand, his stance firm and determined.
The dog lunged, barking furiously. The boy sidestepped the attack with surprising grace, using the staff to keep the animal at bay. He spoke to the dog in a calm, authoritative voice, his words soothing rather than threatening.
Slowly, cautiously, the dog began to back away. Its growls subsided, replaced by a whimper. Finally, it turned and slunk off into the undergrowth.
The boy turned to Eliza, his face etched with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked gently, kneeling before her.
Eliza, still shaky, managed a small nod. Tears spilled down her cheeks, a mixture of relief and fear.
The boy offered her a reassuring smile. "I'm Lancelot," he said, extending a hand. "Looks like you followed a pretty adventurous butterfly."
Eliza took his hand, her small fingers swallowed in his warm grasp. "Thank you, Lancelot," she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. "You saved me."
Lancelot chuckled softly. "No problem at all. We can't let butterflies lead our friends astray, can we?"
Eliza, a flicker of a smile returning to her lips, shook her head. "Definitely not."
In that moment, amidst the dappled sunlight and the rustling leaves, an unlikely friendship began.

Reunion
A hush fell over the bustling marketplace as the royal carriage came into view. Eliza, now a poised young woman of seventeen, stood at the edge of the crowd, her heart a hummingbird trapped in her chest. News of Lancelot's return after six long years had spread like wildfire, igniting a flicker of hope she hadn't dared to acknowledge.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and a figure emerged – taller, broader, but with the same kind eyes and unruly brown hair Eliza remembered. Yet, a shadow lingered in his gaze, a hint of the trials he'd faced.
The crowd surged forward, a wave of greetings and well wishes crashing towards Lancelot. He scanned the faces, a flicker of recognition crossing his features when his eyes met Eliza's.
Time seemed to slow. The cacophony of the marketplace faded, replaced by the steady drumbeat of Eliza's heart. A slow smile spread across Lancelot's face, lighting up his features with a warmth that chased away the lingering shadows.
He waded through the throng, his steps purposeful. Eliza stood rooted to the spot, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within her – relief, joy, a touch of apprehension.
Finally, they stood before each other. Lancelot, for once, seemed at a loss for words. He cleared his throat, a hint of shyness coloring his cheeks.
"Eliza," he said, his voice a touch deeper than she remembered. "You've grown."
Eliza managed a watery smile. "And you, Lancelot. Quite the adventurer, I hear."
They fell into conversation, catching up on lost years. Eliza learned of Lancelot's travels, the challenges he faced, and the resilience he'd shown. He, in turn, listened intently as she spoke of life at the castle, her studies, and her growing responsibilities.
As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, a comfortable silence settled between them. Eliza felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a familiar feeling she hadn't quite dared to identify.
Lancelot looked at Eliza, his gaze lingering a moment too long. A new understanding dawned on him. The easy companionship, the shared laughter, the comfort he felt in her presence – these weren't just the hallmarks of a strong friendship. They were something more.
A realization bloomed in Lancelot's chest, warm and unexpected. He cared for Eliza deeply, perhaps more than he ever had for anyone. But for now, the time for confessions hadn't arrived. He simply cherished this moment, this unexpected reunion with the girl who had become so important to him.

A princesses heart
Sunlight dappled through the leaves of the ancient oak, casting dancing patterns on the forest floor. Eliza, perched precariously on a high branch, stretched out a hand to reach a particularly magnificent butterfly with wings like stained glass.
Suddenly, the branch beneath her gave way with a sickening crack. Eliza yelped, her heart leaping into her throat. Time seemed to slow as she plummeted towards the unforgiving ground.
A blur of brown and green shot past her. Strong arms wrapped around her waist just before she hit the ground, the world spinning in a dizzying blur. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she landed with a soft thud, not on the hard earth, but in a warm, reassuring embrace.
She cracked open her eyes to see Lancelot staring down at her, his face etched with concern. Relief washed over her, so intense it took her breath away.
"Lancelot," she breathed, her voice shaky. "You saved me."
Lancelot helped her to her feet, his grip lingering a touch too long on her arm. His eyes, usually so carefree, held a depth she hadn't noticed before. A blush crept up his cheeks as he looked away.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gruff.
Eliza dusted herself off, her gaze fixed on Lancelot. The world seemed quieter now, the birdsong muted, the rustling leaves stilled. All she could hear was the frantic thumping of her heart.
"I think so," she finally managed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thanks again, Lancelot."
He offered her a hesitant smile in return. Then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, he scratched the back of his head. "Well, I wouldn't want the princess to get hurt on my watch, would I?"
Eliza chuckled, the sound light and airy. In that moment, a new understanding bloomed within her. The warmth that spread through her chest wasn't just gratitude for being saved. It was something more, a feeling she couldn't quite place, but that made her cheeks burn and her smile wider.
They stood there for a moment longer, the unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. Then, with a shared laugh, they turned and began to walk back towards the castle, the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant hues. The future stretched before them, filled with the promise of new discoveries, and perhaps, even more importantly, a newfound understanding of their feelings for each other.

Confession
The Lioness Festival buzzed with life. Laughter mingled with the lively music, the scent of roasted meats filled the air, and the sky shimmered with bursts of colorful fireworks. Eliza, her hair adorned with a single glowing butterfly pin, stood mesmerized by the spectacle.
Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the joyous chaos. "Eliza," Lancelot said, his voice warm. "The fireworks are even more beautiful from up close."
Eliza turned to see Lancelot, his face illuminated by the dancing lights. A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with unspoken emotions.
Lancelot cleared his throat, his hand nervously fiddling with a small pouch at his waist. "Eliza," he began, his voice soft but determined. "There's something I need to tell you."
Eliza's heart hammered against her ribs in a frantic rhythm. A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her – anticipation, a nervous flutter, a flicker of hope.
"Eliza," Lancelot continued, his gaze holding hers. "These past few weeks... they've made me realize how much you mean to me. You're kind, brave, and you have a light that shines brighter than any firework." He took a deep breath. "Eliza, I..."
Lancelot's confession hung in the air, unfinished. Before he could voice the final words, Eliza reached out. Her fingers brushed against his arm, sending a jolt of electricity through them both.
In that charged moment, Eliza knew. The feelings she'd harbored for Lancelot, the warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever they were together, it was all clear now.
With a newfound determination, Eliza grabbed Lancelot's arm, gently but firmly spinning him to face her. Lancelot's eyes widened in surprise, his confession forgotten.
Before he could react, Eliza leaned in. The world around them seemed to fade away, the music a distant hum, the fireworks reduced to shimmering blurs. All that remained was Lancelot, and the feelings they now openly acknowledged.
The kiss was chaste, a brush of lips that spoke volumes. When they finally pulled away, a blush stained Eliza's cheeks, mirrored by the one creeping up Lancelot's neck.
A smile, brighter than any firework, bloomed on Eliza's face. "I love you too, Lancelot," she whispered, the words carrying on the warm summer breeze.

Playful teasing
A gentle patter of rain tapped against the windowpanes of the inn room, creating a cozy rhythm. Eliza and Lancelot stood by the window, watching the downpour transform the dusty road outside into a glistening ribbon.
Eliza sighed contentedly. "It's actually kind of peaceful, isn't it?" she said, turning to Lancelot with a smile.
Lancelot chuckled. "Peaceful? You sound like Tristan when he's forced to stay inside during a storm."
Eliza nudged him playfully. "Hey! Don't tease. You know Tristan would be building a moat around his bed by now, pretending he's a brave knight."
Lancelot raised his eyebrows, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Is that right? Because from where I'm standing, you look like you're about to build a pillow fort and reenact your favorite childhood stories."
Eliza rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Fine, maybe a little."
Lancelot took a step closer, his movements silent. "Well, in that case, perhaps I should join you, Your Majesty." He bowed playfully, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.
Eliza laughed, swatting his arm. "There's no 'Your Majesty' here, just Eliza."
Lancelot's smile softened. "Eliza," he repeated, the sound of her name rolling off his tongue with a warmth that sent a flicker of warmth through her.
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. The playful banter died down, replaced by a deeper unspoken understanding.
Lancelot leaned in slowly, his gaze fixed on hers. Eliza didn't move away. In the quiet intimacy of the room, filled with the soft glow of the lamplight and the rhythmic drumming of rain, Lancelot brushed a kiss against her forehead. It was a gentle touch, a promise whispered on the wind.
Eliza turned to face him, her heart pounding a happy rhythm against her ribs. Their eyes locked once more, a silent conversation passing between them. The rain continued its soothing song outside, a perfect soundtrack to this moment of shared affection.

A moment after near death
The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. The battlefield was a desolate landscape of overturned carts, broken weapons, and fallen comrades. Exhaustion gnawed at Lancelot's bones, his muscles screaming in protest. But a single, all-consuming thought propelled him forward – finding Eliza.
He spotted her amidst the chaos, kneeling beside a fallen soldier, her brow furrowed in concern as she tended to his wounds. Relief washed over Lancelot in a wave, momentarily pushing back the tide of fatigue.
Eliza glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him. He was a mess – mud smeared on his armor, a deep gash bleeding on his arm. Yet, a weary smile tugged at the corner of his lips as their gazes met.
Without a word, Lancelot moved towards her, his steps heavy. He sank down beside her, his back resting against a fallen tree trunk. Eliza finished bandaging the soldier's wound, her movements quick and practiced. Then, she turned to Lancelot, her eyes searching his face.
"You're hurt," she said softly, her voice laced with concern.
Lancelot shrugged, the effort a minor ordeal. "Just a scratch. It's nothing compared to what these brave soldiers have endured."
He reached out, his hand hovering hesitantly over hers. Eliza didn't pull away. Her fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of warmth through him despite the chill that had settled over the battlefield.
In that moment, words seemed superfluous. All they needed was the quiet comfort of each other's presence. Eliza scooted closer, leaning her head against his shoulder. Lancelot wrapped his arm around her, drawing her in close.
They sat like that for a long time, finding solace in the simple act of holding each other. The horrors of the battlefield faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of Eliza's breath and the quiet strength of her embrace. It was a promise unspoken, a vow to see each other through the darkness, no matter the cost.

A cozy winter moment
A cold wind howled outside the inn, rattling the windows and sending shivers down Eliza's spine. She huddled closer to the crackling fire in the hearth, its warm glow painting flickering shadows on the walls.
Lancelot entered the common room, a gust of wind swirling around him as he closed the door with a thud. He stamped the snow off his boots, leaving a trail of melting water on the worn wooden floor.
Eliza's head snapped up at the sound, a smile lighting up her face. "Lancelot! You're back."
Lancelot grinned, his cheeks flushed from the cold. "Just in time to escape this winter blast." He crossed the room, his boots squelching slightly on the wet floor.
Eliza scooted over on the bench, patting the space beside her. "Come, warm yourself by the fire."
Lancelot approached, his gaze lingering on Eliza for a moment longer than necessary. A warmth spread through Eliza's chest, a familiar flutter that made her smile wider.
He sat down next to her, the bench creaking slightly under their combined weight. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's company.
Lancelot stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. He rubbed his arms, trying to chase away the lingering chill.
Eliza noticed the shiver that ran down his spine. Without thinking, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Are you still cold?" she asked with concern.
Lancelot glanced at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. "A little," he admitted.
Before Eliza could react, Lancelot surprised her by reaching around and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his warmth radiating through his clothes.
Eliza's breath hitched in her throat. A blush crept up her cheeks, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She leaned back slightly, resting her head against his arm.
They sat like that for a while, enveloped in the warmth of the fire and the quiet comfort of each other's company. The wind howled outside, but inside the inn, a sense of peace and contentment settled over them.

A second kiss
Moonlight streamed through the window of the abandoned watchtower, casting an ethereal glow on the room. Eliza and Lancelot stood on the creaking wooden platform, the world spread out beneath them like a tapestry of twinkling lights and inky shadows.
They had climbed the tower on a whim, seeking a moment of solitude after a long day of travel. Now, bathed in the cool moonlight, a different kind of energy crackled between them.
Eliza shivered, not from the night air, but from the unspoken tension that hung heavy in the atmosphere. Lancelot noticed, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.
"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Eliza shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "No, I'm fine."
They stood there for a moment longer, the silence thick with unspoken emotions. Then, Lancelot took a step closer, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
His hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Eliza's face. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. Their eyes met, and in that moment, a thousand unspoken words hung between them.
Without a word, Lancelot leaned in. The kiss was unlike anything Eliza had ever experienced. It was passionate, filled with a deep yearning and a sense of belonging. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken feelings and a promise of forever.
They clung to each other, their hearts pounding in unison. The world around them faded away, replaced by the intoxicating sensation of their lips moving in perfect harmony. Time seemed to slow, the only sound the ragged sound of their breaths.
Finally, they pulled away, their foreheads resting together. Eliza's cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Lancelot looked at her, his eyes filled with a newfound intensity.
In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the moon, they knew their bond was deeper than friendship. It was a connection that burned bright, promising a future filled with love and shared adventures.

An autum story
A crisp autumn breeze swirled fallen leaves around Eliza's ankles as she and Lancelot walked through the marketplace. The scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon filled the air, mingling with the excited chatter of the crowd.
Eliza stopped to admire a stall piled high with intricately carved wooden dragons. Her fingers traced the scales of a particularly magnificent one, its wings outstretched as if ready to take flight.
"Looks like you've found yourself a new friend," Lancelot chuckled, his voice warm with amusement.
Eliza turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. "Perhaps. He is quite the majestic creature, wouldn't you agree?"
Lancelot raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "Hmm, I don't know, Eliza. Can he breathe fire? Is he as brave and noble as, say, a knight I know?"
Eliza couldn't help but puff out her chest a little. "Well, of course not! But he does have very impressive wings."
Lancelot's smile widened. "Impressive wings, huh? I wonder if they're impressive enough to carry you all the way back to the castle?"
Eliza's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Don't be silly, Lancelot. Of course they're not!" She swatted him playfully on the arm. "Besides, I have you for that, don't I?"
Lancelot bowed theatrically, his hand over his heart. "At your service, fair maiden. Though, I wouldn't want to be outdone by a mere wooden dragon, now would I?"
Eliza rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She couldn't help but be charmed by his teasing. "Just try to keep up, Sir Lancelot," she said, her voice light and playful.
They continued their walk through the market, the playful banter warming them from the inside out on the crisp autumn day.

A few years after they get married and eventually

Galahad is born
Relief and exhaustion etched lines on Lancelot's face as he paced the waiting room outside the birthing chamber. Every creak of the floorboard, every murmur from within, sent his heart into a frenzy of anticipation. He'd been by Eliza's side throughout her labor, offering words of encouragement and holding her hand tight. But now, in the final moments, all he could do was wait.
The door finally creaked open, and a weary but radiant midwife emerged. A wide smile spread across her face.
"Congratulations, Sir Lancelot," she announced. "You're the proud father of a healthy baby boy."
Lancelot's breath caught in his throat. A wave of emotions – joy, relief, a touch of awe – washed over him. He could barely speak.
"May I see him?" he finally managed, his voice hoarse.
The midwife chuckled kindly. "Of course, you may." She ushered him into the birthing chamber.
There, swaddled in a soft blanket, lay a tiny bundle that looked every bit perfect. Eliza, pale but glowing with a mother's love, cradled the baby in her arms. Her eyes met Lancelot's, and a silent conversation passed between them.
Lancelot sank down beside Eliza, his heart overflowing with love. He reached out a tentative finger, brushing it against the baby's soft cheek. The tiny fingers instinctively grasped at Lancelot's, a miniscule grip that held the weight of the world.
"He's wonderful," Lancelot whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Eliza smiled, a tear glistening in her eye. "He is," she agreed. "We should name him Galahad."
Lancelot's eyes widened in surprise. "Galahad? After the knight?"
Eliza squeezed his hand. "The noblest of them all. Just like you," she added with a wink.
Lancelot chuckled, his heart swelling with pride. In that quiet moment, surrounded by love and the promise of a new beginning, Lancelot knew his life had just begun its most extraordinary chapter.

A flower blooms
Two years had spun by in a whirlwind of first steps, milk spills, and the infectious laughter of their son, Galahad. Eliza, now a seasoned mother, balanced the demands of parenthood with her royal duties with grace and humor. Lancelot, ever the devoted husband, reveled in his role as a father, his gruff exterior melting away at the sight of his children's smiles.
One crisp autumn morning, a similar scene unfolded in the royal birthing chamber. Lancelot paced the waiting room, a familiar nervous energy thrumming through him. This time, however, Galahad sat beside him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously built a tower out of wooden blocks.
"Will it be another knight, Papa?" Galahad asked, his voice filled with childish wonder.
Lancelot chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Perhaps, Galahad. Or maybe a princess this time."
The door creaked open, and a weary but radiant midwife emerged. Her smile was even brighter this time.
"Congratulations, Sir Lancelot," she announced. "You've been blessed with a healthy baby girl."
Lancelot's heart soared. A daughter. He'd always dreamt of a little girl with Eliza's bright eyes and kind spirit.
"May I see her?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.
The midwife nodded. "Of course, you may." She ushered him into the birthing chamber.
There, swaddled in a soft blanket, lay a tiny bundle that looked utterly perfect. Eliza, glowing with a mother's love, cradled the baby in her arms. Her eyes met Lancelot's, and a silent wave of love and gratitude washed over them.
Lancelot sank down beside Eliza, his heart overflowing with love. He reached out a tentative finger, brushing it against the baby's soft cheek. The tiny fingers instinctively grasped at Lancelot's, a miniscule grip that held the weight of the world.
"She's beautiful," Lancelot whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Eliza smiled, a tear glistening in her eye. "She is," she agreed.
"What shall we name her?" Lancelot asked, gazing at his daughter with adoration.
Eliza pondered for a moment, then a soft smile graced her lips. "Lilian," she said. "Strong and beautiful, like a lily flower."
Lancelot beamed. "Lilian," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a sense of belonging.
In that quiet moment, surrounded by love and the promise of a new chapter, Lancelot knew his extraordinary family adventure had only just begun.

Description
Eliza: Princess of Kindness
Personality: Eliza embodies the best qualities of her parents. From Meliodas, she inherits his unwavering optimism and fighting spirit. From Elizabeth, she gains her immense compassion and unwavering kindness. Eliza is a natural peacekeeper, always striving to find solutions that benefit everyone.

Abilities: Following in her mother's footsteps, Eliza is a skilled healer. However, her unique magic stems from butterflies – she possesses "Monarch" magic. This magic allows her to manipulate butterflies in various ways, from creating dazzling displays to using them for scouting and communication.

Relationship with Tristan: Eliza and Tristan share a beautiful sibling bond. Eliza is incredibly protective of her younger brother, always ready to offer support and guidance. Tristan, in turn, admires his sister's strength and kindness. They enjoy playful banter and adventures together, their laughter echoing through the halls of the castle.

A Budding Romance: Lancelot, son of Ban and Elaine, has harbored a secret affection for Eliza for years. He admires her gentle spirit and unwavering determination. Mustering all his courage, Lancelot finally confesses his feelings. Eliza, touched by his honesty and devotion, feels a warmth blossom in her heart.

A princess is born
The delivery room echoed with Elizabeth's soft cries, a counterpoint to the frantic whispers of the midwives. Meliodas paced outside, a whirlwind of nervous energy churning in his stomach. He'd faced down countless demons, but the prospect of fatherhood had him feeling strangely vulnerable.
The door creaked open, and a midwife emerged, her face etched with relief and joy. "It's a girl, Meliodas," she announced, her voice thick with emotion.
Relief washed over Meliodas, warm and welcome. He pushed past the midwife and entered the room. Elizabeth lay pale but radiant, a tiny bundle swaddled in white nestled against her chest.
As Meliodas approached, Elizabeth turned her head, a tired smile gracing her lips. "Meliodas," she rasped, her voice weak but filled with love.
He sank beside her, his gaze fixed on the tiny face framed by a mess of dark hair. The baby girl, no bigger than his hand, scrunched up her face and let out a weak cry.
In that moment, the world seemed to shrink, the frantic worry replaced with a quiet awe.
"She's wonderful," Meliodas whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out a tentative finger, brushing it gently against the baby's cheek. The tiny fist unfurled, a single finger wrapping around his.
Elizabeth chuckled softly. "She seems to agree."
A tear escaped Meliodas's eye, tracing a warm path down his cheek. He didn't care if it was unmanly, not in this moment. He had a daughter, a beautiful, perfect daughter, and a future filled with possibilities stretched before them.

Tristan’s birth
Sunlight streamed through the window of the birthing chamber, dappling the floor in warm squares. Elizabeth, one year older and holding a new maturity, lay resting against pillows. A smile played on her lips as she watched her daughter, Eliza, toddle across the room.
Eliza, a whirlwind of curiosity in a frilly dress, reached for a sunbeam dancing on the floor. Her chubby legs propelled her with joyous abandon.
A soft cry from the bed caught Eliza's attention. She turned, her brow furrowed in concern, and toddled back to her mother's side.
"Mama?" Eliza questioned, peering over the edge of the bed.
Elizabeth reached out a hand, her fingers brushing against Eliza's soft cheek. "It's alright, my love," she soothed. "There's a new friend here today."
Just then, the midwife emerged from behind a screen, a radiant smile on her face. In her arms, swaddled in a soft blanket, was a tiny bundle.
Eliza's eyes widened with wonder. She bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get a closer look.
The midwife chuckled and carefully brought the baby closer to the bed. "This is your little brother, Eliza," Elizabeth explained, her voice filled with love.
Eliza gazed at the tiny face, her brow furrowed in concentration. The baby, no bigger than a loaf of bread, gurgled and blinked owlishly.
Tentatively, Eliza reached out a finger and poked the baby's cheek. The baby flinched slightly, then opened his eyes wide. A gurgle escaped his lips, a sound that Eliza mimicked in delight.
A wave of warmth washed over Elizabeth. In that moment, she knew her family was complete. With a daughter full of curiosity and a son just entering the world, their future stretched before them, filled with the promise of love and laughter.

After the heart ache
Sunlight streamed through the dusty training hall, illuminating motes of sweat dancing in the air. Tristan, all of ten years old, stood frozen, his wooden sword clattering to the ground with a dull thud. Across from him, Lancelot lay sprawled on the mat, clutching his arm with a grimace.
Eliza, ever perceptive, was the first to sense the shift. She darted across the training hall, her brow furrowed in concern. "Tristan? What happened?" she asked, kneeling beside her brother.
Tristan stared at his hands, his face pale. "I... I don't know," he mumbled, his voice thick with a tremor she didn't recognize.
Lancelot, wincing as he sat up, offered a reassuring smile. "Just a little overenthusiastic there, Tri. Happens to the best of us."
But Eliza wasn't convinced. She nudged Tristan's arm gently. "Come on, show me."
Tristan hesitated, then slowly extended his hand. Eliza gasped. A faint, dark aura crackled around his fingertips, a stark contrast to his usual warm glow.
"Whoa," eliza breathed, her eyes wide. "That's..."
Tristan flinched, the aura flickering wildly. Tears welled up in his eyes. "I hurt him! I didn't mean to!" he cried, his voice breaking.
Eliza, ever the peacekeeper, wrapped her arms around her brother in a hug. "It's okay, Tristan," she soothed. "We all make mistakes. Let's just make sure Lancelot's alright, okay?"
She turned to Lancelot, her voice firm but gentle. "How's your arm?"
Lancelot gingerly flexed his arm, a grimace crossing his face. "It's a bit sore, but I think I'll live." He shot Tristan a reassuring smile. "Maybe next time, we go a little easier on each other, alright?"
Tristan, his tears subsiding, managed a small nod. The dark aura around his hand had vanished, replaced by the comforting warmth of his own magic.
Eliza squeezed her brother's hand. "There you go," she said. "See? Nothing to worry about."
Tristan sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Thanks, Eliza."
She smiled. "That's what big sisters are for."
The three of them sat together for a moment, catching their breath. The training session was definitely over, but a new kind of understanding had begun.

Meeting Lancelot
Excitement crackled in the air as Eliza skipped alongside Meliodas, her tiny legs struggling to keep pace with his long strides. They were visiting Benwick, and Eliza, all of seven years old, was eager to explore the unfamiliar surroundings.
Suddenly, a glint of curiosity drew her away from the path. A flash of vibrant blue caught her eye – a butterfly, unlike any she'd seen before! Its wings, a dazzling cerulean, shimmered in the sunlight. Entranced, Eliza chased after it, deeper and deeper into the woods.
The butterfly flitted further ahead, leading Eliza on a merry chase. But as the trees grew denser and the sunlight dimmed, Eliza realized with a jolt that she was lost. Panic welled up in her throat, a tight knot forming in her stomach.
Just then, a guttural growl shattered the silence. Eliza spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs. A large dog, its fur matted and eyes gleaming with a strange light, stood blocking her path. It snarled again, baring sharp teeth.
Eliza froze, tears welling in her eyes. She remembered the stories her parents told her about rabid animals – their unpredictable behavior, their vicious bites. Terror choked her voice.
Suddenly, a blur of movement caught her eye. A figure, tall and agile, leaped over a fallen log and landed between Eliza and the snarling dog. It was a boy, no older than ten, with kind eyes and a mop of unruly blonde hair. He held a thick wooden spear in his hand, his stance firm and determined.
The dog lunged, barking furiously. The boy sidestepped the attack with surprising grace, using the staff to keep the animal at bay. He spoke to the dog in a calm, authoritative voice, his words soothing rather than threatening.
Slowly, cautiously, the dog began to back away. Its growls subsided, replaced by a whimper. Finally, it turned and slunk off into the undergrowth.
The boy turned to Eliza, his face etched with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked gently, kneeling before her.
Eliza, still shaky, managed a small nod. Tears spilled down her cheeks, a mixture of relief and fear.
The boy offered her a reassuring smile. "I'm Lancelot," he said, extending a hand. "Looks like you followed a pretty adventurous butterfly."
Eliza took his hand, her small fingers swallowed in his warm grasp. "Thank you, Lancelot," she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. "You saved me."
Lancelot chuckled softly. "No problem at all. We can't let butterflies lead our friends astray, can we?"
Eliza, a flicker of a smile returning to her lips, shook her head. "Definitely not."
In that moment, amidst the dappled sunlight and the rustling leaves, an unlikely friendship began.

Reunion
A hush fell over the bustling marketplace as the royal carriage came into view. Eliza, now a poised young woman of seventeen, stood at the edge of the crowd, her heart a hummingbird trapped in her chest. News of Lancelot's return after six long years had spread like wildfire, igniting a flicker of hope she hadn't dared to acknowledge.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and a figure emerged – taller, broader, but with the same kind eyes and unruly brown hair Eliza remembered. Yet, a shadow lingered in his gaze, a hint of the trials he'd faced.
The crowd surged forward, a wave of greetings and well wishes crashing towards Lancelot. He scanned the faces, a flicker of recognition crossing his features when his eyes met Eliza's.
Time seemed to slow. The cacophony of the marketplace faded, replaced by the steady drumbeat of Eliza's heart. A slow smile spread across Lancelot's face, lighting up his features with a warmth that chased away the lingering shadows.
He waded through the throng, his steps purposeful. Eliza stood rooted to the spot, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within her – relief, joy, a touch of apprehension.
Finally, they stood before each other. Lancelot, for once, seemed at a loss for words. He cleared his throat, a hint of shyness coloring his cheeks.
"Eliza," he said, his voice a touch deeper than she remembered. "You've grown."
Eliza managed a watery smile. "And you, Lancelot. Quite the adventurer, I hear."
They fell into conversation, catching up on lost years. Eliza learned of Lancelot's travels, the challenges he faced, and the resilience he'd shown. He, in turn, listened intently as she spoke of life at the castle, her studies, and her growing responsibilities.
As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, a comfortable silence settled between them. Eliza felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a familiar feeling she hadn't quite dared to identify.
Lancelot looked at Eliza, his gaze lingering a moment too long. A new understanding dawned on him. The easy companionship, the shared laughter, the comfort he felt in her presence – these weren't just the hallmarks of a strong friendship. They were something more.
A realization bloomed in Lancelot's chest, warm and unexpected. He cared for Eliza deeply, perhaps more than he ever had for anyone. But for now, the time for confessions hadn't arrived. He simply cherished this moment, this unexpected reunion with the girl who had become so important to him.

A princesses heart
Sunlight dappled through the leaves of the ancient oak, casting dancing patterns on the forest floor. Eliza, perched precariously on a high branch, stretched out a hand to reach a particularly magnificent butterfly with wings like stained glass.
Suddenly, the branch beneath her gave way with a sickening crack. Eliza yelped, her heart leaping into her throat. Time seemed to slow as she plummeted towards the unforgiving ground.
A blur of brown and green shot past her. Strong arms wrapped around her waist just before she hit the ground, the world spinning in a dizzying blur. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she landed with a soft thud, not on the hard earth, but in a warm, reassuring embrace.
She cracked open her eyes to see Lancelot staring down at her, his face etched with concern. Relief washed over her, so intense it took her breath away.
"Lancelot," she breathed, her voice shaky. "You saved me."
Lancelot helped her to her feet, his grip lingering a touch too long on her arm. His eyes, usually so carefree, held a depth she hadn't noticed before. A blush crept up his cheeks as he looked away.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gruff.
Eliza dusted herself off, her gaze fixed on Lancelot. The world seemed quieter now, the birdsong muted, the rustling leaves stilled. All she could hear was the frantic thumping of her heart.
"I think so," she finally managed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thanks again, Lancelot."
He offered her a hesitant smile in return. Then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, he scratched the back of his head. "Well, I wouldn't want the princess to get hurt on my watch, would I?"
Eliza chuckled, the sound light and airy. In that moment, a new understanding bloomed within her. The warmth that spread through her chest wasn't just gratitude for being saved. It was something more, a feeling she couldn't quite place, but that made her cheeks burn and her smile wider.
They stood there for a moment longer, the unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. Then, with a shared laugh, they turned and began to walk back towards the castle, the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant hues. The future stretched before them, filled with the promise of new discoveries, and perhaps, even more importantly, a newfound understanding of their feelings for each other.

Confession
The Lioness Festival buzzed with life. Laughter mingled with the lively music, the scent of roasted meats filled the air, and the sky shimmered with bursts of colorful fireworks. Eliza, her hair adorned with a single glowing butterfly pin, stood mesmerized by the spectacle.
Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the joyous chaos. "Eliza," Lancelot said, his voice warm. "The fireworks are even more beautiful from up close."
Eliza turned to see Lancelot, his face illuminated by the dancing lights. A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with unspoken emotions.
Lancelot cleared his throat, his hand nervously fiddling with a small pouch at his waist. "Eliza," he began, his voice soft but determined. "There's something I need to tell you."
Eliza's heart hammered against her ribs in a frantic rhythm. A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her – anticipation, a nervous flutter, a flicker of hope.
"Eliza," Lancelot continued, his gaze holding hers. "These past few weeks... they've made me realize how much you mean to me. You're kind, brave, and you have a light that shines brighter than any firework." He took a deep breath. "Eliza, I..."
Lancelot's confession hung in the air, unfinished. Before he could voice the final words, Eliza reached out. Her fingers brushed against his arm, sending a jolt of electricity through them both.
In that charged moment, Eliza knew. The feelings she'd harbored for Lancelot, the warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever they were together, it was all clear now.
With a newfound determination, Eliza grabbed Lancelot's arm, gently but firmly spinning him to face her. Lancelot's eyes widened in surprise, his confession forgotten.
Before he could react, Eliza leaned in. The world around them seemed to fade away, the music a distant hum, the fireworks reduced to shimmering blurs. All that remained was Lancelot, and the feelings they now openly acknowledged.
The kiss was chaste, a brush of lips that spoke volumes. When they finally pulled away, a blush stained Eliza's cheeks, mirrored by the one creeping up Lancelot's neck.
A smile, brighter than any firework, bloomed on Eliza's face. "I love you too, Lancelot," she whispered, the words carrying on the warm summer breeze.

Playful teasing
A gentle patter of rain tapped against the windowpanes of the inn room, creating a cozy rhythm. Eliza and Lancelot stood by the window, watching the downpour transform the dusty road outside into a glistening ribbon.
Eliza sighed contentedly. "It's actually kind of peaceful, isn't it?" she said, turning to Lancelot with a smile.
Lancelot chuckled. "Peaceful? You sound like Tristan when he's forced to stay inside during a storm."
Eliza nudged him playfully. "Hey! Don't tease. You know Tristan would be building a moat around his bed by now, pretending he's a brave knight."
Lancelot raised his eyebrows, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Is that right? Because from where I'm standing, you look like you're about to build a pillow fort and reenact your favorite childhood stories."
Eliza rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Fine, maybe a little."
Lancelot took a step closer, his movements silent. "Well, in that case, perhaps I should join you, Your Majesty." He bowed playfully, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.
Eliza laughed, swatting his arm. "There's no 'Your Majesty' here, just Eliza."
Lancelot's smile softened. "Eliza," he repeated, the sound of her name rolling off his tongue with a warmth that sent a flicker of warmth through her.
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. The playful banter died down, replaced by a deeper unspoken understanding.
Lancelot leaned in slowly, his gaze fixed on hers. Eliza didn't move away. In the quiet intimacy of the room, filled with the soft glow of the lamplight and the rhythmic drumming of rain, Lancelot brushed a kiss against her forehead. It was a gentle touch, a promise whispered on the wind.
Eliza turned to face him, her heart pounding a happy rhythm against her ribs. Their eyes locked once more, a silent conversation passing between them. The rain continued its soothing song outside, a perfect soundtrack to this moment of shared affection.

A moment after near death
The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. The battlefield was a desolate landscape of overturned carts, broken weapons, and fallen comrades. Exhaustion gnawed at Lancelot's bones, his muscles screaming in protest. But a single, all-consuming thought propelled him forward – finding Eliza.
He spotted her amidst the chaos, kneeling beside a fallen soldier, her brow furrowed in concern as she tended to his wounds. Relief washed over Lancelot in a wave, momentarily pushing back the tide of fatigue.
Eliza glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him. He was a mess – mud smeared on his armor, a deep gash bleeding on his arm. Yet, a weary smile tugged at the corner of his lips as their gazes met.
Without a word, Lancelot moved towards her, his steps heavy. He sank down beside her, his back resting against a fallen tree trunk. Eliza finished bandaging the soldier's wound, her movements quick and practiced. Then, she turned to Lancelot, her eyes searching his face.
"You're hurt," she said softly, her voice laced with concern.
Lancelot shrugged, the effort a minor ordeal. "Just a scratch. It's nothing compared to what these brave soldiers have endured."
He reached out, his hand hovering hesitantly over hers. Eliza didn't pull away. Her fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of warmth through him despite the chill that had settled over the battlefield.
In that moment, words seemed superfluous. All they needed was the quiet comfort of each other's presence. Eliza scooted closer, leaning her head against his shoulder. Lancelot wrapped his arm around her, drawing her in close.
They sat like that for a long time, finding solace in the simple act of holding each other. The horrors of the battlefield faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of Eliza's breath and the quiet strength of her embrace. It was a promise unspoken, a vow to see each other through the darkness, no matter the cost.

A cozy winter moment
A cold wind howled outside the inn, rattling the windows and sending shivers down Eliza's spine. She huddled closer to the crackling fire in the hearth, its warm glow painting flickering shadows on the walls.
Lancelot entered the common room, a gust of wind swirling around him as he closed the door with a thud. He stamped the snow off his boots, leaving a trail of melting water on the worn wooden floor.
Eliza's head snapped up at the sound, a smile lighting up her face. "Lancelot! You're back."
Lancelot grinned, his cheeks flushed from the cold. "Just in time to escape this winter blast." He crossed the room, his boots squelching slightly on the wet floor.
Eliza scooted over on the bench, patting the space beside her. "Come, warm yourself by the fire."
Lancelot approached, his gaze lingering on Eliza for a moment longer than necessary. A warmth spread through Eliza's chest, a familiar flutter that made her smile wider.
He sat down next to her, the bench creaking slightly under their combined weight. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's company.
Lancelot stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. He rubbed his arms, trying to chase away the lingering chill.
Eliza noticed the shiver that ran down his spine. Without thinking, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Are you still cold?" she asked with concern.
Lancelot glanced at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. "A little," he admitted.
Before Eliza could react, Lancelot surprised her by reaching around and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his warmth radiating through his clothes.
Eliza's breath hitched in her throat. A blush crept up her cheeks, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She leaned back slightly, resting her head against his arm.
They sat like that for a while, enveloped in the warmth of the fire and the quiet comfort of each other's company. The wind howled outside, but inside the inn, a sense of peace and contentment settled over them.

A second kiss
Moonlight streamed through the window of the abandoned watchtower, casting an ethereal glow on the room. Eliza and Lancelot stood on the creaking wooden platform, the world spread out beneath them like a tapestry of twinkling lights and inky shadows.
They had climbed the tower on a whim, seeking a moment of solitude after a long day of travel. Now, bathed in the cool moonlight, a different kind of energy crackled between them.
Eliza shivered, not from the night air, but from the unspoken tension that hung heavy in the atmosphere. Lancelot noticed, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.
"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Eliza shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "No, I'm fine."
They stood there for a moment longer, the silence thick with unspoken emotions. Then, Lancelot took a step closer, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
His hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Eliza's face. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. Their eyes met, and in that moment, a thousand unspoken words hung between them.
Without a word, Lancelot leaned in. The kiss was unlike anything Eliza had ever experienced. It was passionate, filled with a deep yearning and a sense of belonging. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken feelings and a promise of forever.
They clung to each other, their hearts pounding in unison. The world around them faded away, replaced by the intoxicating sensation of their lips moving in perfect harmony. Time seemed to slow, the only sound the ragged sound of their breaths.
Finally, they pulled away, their foreheads resting together. Eliza's cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Lancelot looked at her, his eyes filled with a newfound intensity.
In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the moon, they knew their bond was deeper than friendship. It was a connection that burned bright, promising a future filled with love and shared adventures.

An autum story
A crisp autumn breeze swirled fallen leaves around Eliza's ankles as she and Lancelot walked through the marketplace. The scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon filled the air, mingling with the excited chatter of the crowd.
Eliza stopped to admire a stall piled high with intricately carved wooden dragons. Her fingers traced the scales of a particularly magnificent one, its wings outstretched as if ready to take flight.
"Looks like you've found yourself a new friend," Lancelot chuckled, his voice warm with amusement.
Eliza turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. "Perhaps. He is quite the majestic creature, wouldn't you agree?"
Lancelot raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "Hmm, I don't know, Eliza. Can he breathe fire? Is he as brave and noble as, say, a knight I know?"
Eliza couldn't help but puff out her chest a little. "Well, of course not! But he does have very impressive wings."
Lancelot's smile widened. "Impressive wings, huh? I wonder if they're impressive enough to carry you all the way back to the castle?"
Eliza's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Don't be silly, Lancelot. Of course they're not!" She swatted him playfully on the arm. "Besides, I have you for that, don't I?"
Lancelot bowed theatrically, his hand over his heart. "At your service, fair maiden. Though, I wouldn't want to be outdone by a mere wooden dragon, now would I?"
Eliza rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She couldn't help but be charmed by his teasing. "Just try to keep up, Sir Lancelot," she said, her voice light and playful.
They continued their walk through the market, the playful banter warming them from the inside out on the crisp autumn day.

A few years after they get married and eventually

Galahad is born
Relief and exhaustion etched lines on Lancelot's face as he paced the waiting room outside the birthing chamber. Every creak of the floorboard, every murmur from within, sent his heart into a frenzy of anticipation. He'd been by Eliza's side throughout her labor, offering words of encouragement and holding her hand tight. But now, in the final moments, all he could do was wait.
The door finally creaked open, and a weary but radiant midwife emerged. A wide smile spread across her face.
"Congratulations, Sir Lancelot," she announced. "You're the proud father of a healthy baby boy."
Lancelot's breath caught in his throat. A wave of emotions – joy, relief, a touch of awe – washed over him. He could barely speak.
"May I see him?" he finally managed, his voice hoarse.
The midwife chuckled kindly. "Of course, you may." She ushered him into the birthing chamber.
There, swaddled in a soft blanket, lay a tiny bundle that looked every bit perfect. Eliza, pale but glowing with a mother's love, cradled the baby in her arms. Her eyes met Lancelot's, and a silent conversation passed between them.
Lancelot sank down beside Eliza, his heart overflowing with love. He reached out a tentative finger, brushing it against the baby's soft cheek. The tiny fingers instinctively grasped at Lancelot's, a miniscule grip that held the weight of the world.
"He's wonderful," Lancelot whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Eliza smiled, a tear glistening in her eye. "He is," she agreed. "We should name him Galahad."
Lancelot's eyes widened in surprise. "Galahad? After the knight?"
Eliza squeezed his hand. "The noblest of them all. Just like you," she added with a wink.
Lancelot chuckled, his heart swelling with pride. In that quiet moment, surrounded by love and the promise of a new beginning, Lancelot knew his life had just begun its most extraordinary chapter.

A flower blooms
Two years had spun by in a whirlwind of first steps, milk spills, and the infectious laughter of their son, Galahad. Eliza, now a seasoned mother, balanced the demands of parenthood with her royal duties with grace and humor. Lancelot, ever the devoted husband, reveled in his role as a father, his gruff exterior melting away at the sight of his children's smiles.
One crisp autumn morning, a similar scene unfolded in the royal birthing chamber. Lancelot paced the waiting room, a familiar nervous energy thrumming through him. This time, however, Galahad sat beside him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously built a tower out of wooden blocks.
"Will it be another knight, Papa?" Galahad asked, his voice filled with childish wonder.
Lancelot chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Perhaps, Galahad. Or maybe a princess this time."
The door creaked open, and a weary but radiant midwife emerged. Her smile was even brighter this time.
"Congratulations, Sir Lancelot," she announced. "You've been blessed with a healthy baby girl."
Lancelot's heart soared. A daughter. He'd always dreamt of a little girl with Eliza's bright eyes and kind spirit.
"May I see her?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.
The midwife nodded. "Of course, you may." She ushered him into the birthing chamber.
There, swaddled in a soft blanket, lay a tiny bundle that looked utterly perfect. Eliza, glowing with a mother's love, cradled the baby in her arms. Her eyes met Lancelot's, and a silent wave of love and gratitude washed over them.
Lancelot sank down beside Eliza, his heart overflowing with love. He reached out a tentative finger, brushing it against the baby's soft cheek. The tiny fingers instinctively grasped at Lancelot's, a miniscule grip that held the weight of the world.
"She's beautiful," Lancelot whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Eliza smiled, a tear glistening in her eye. "She is," she agreed.
"What shall we name her?" Lancelot asked, gazing at his daughter with adoration.
Eliza pondered for a moment, then a soft smile graced her lips. "Lilian," she said. "Strong and beautiful, like a lily flower."
Lancelot beamed. "Lilian," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a sense of belonging.
In that quiet moment, surrounded by love and the promise of a new chapter, Lancelot knew his extraordinary family adventure had only just begun.