The flickering candlelight cast Victoria's focused profile onto the wall, creating a slender, graceful silhouette.
She had reread Arthur's advice no fewer than ten times.
With every reading, her blue eyes grew brighter, and the shock and excitement in her heart swelled.
In the end, she could almost recite the entire letter by heart.
What a shock!
Aside from that single word, Victoria could find no better way to describe her feelings at that moment.
Arthur's letter was like a sharp scalpel, cutting through all her previous confusion and anxiety.
It was also like a lightning bolt tearing through the darkness, illuminating a new path she had never imagined.
"Poverty is a social disease…"
"Work relief…"
"Benevolence is the brightest crown of a monarch…"
These words were so beautiful, so profound, and so… powerful!
Sir Conroy had always taught her to use power to control, to suppress, and to preserve her fragile authority.
It was a cold, restrictive art of governance that suffocated her, disgusted her, and trapped her within his web.
Arthur, however, offered her a completely different perspective.
He taught her how to build, how to lead, how to win people's hearts with wisdom and kindness, and how to ensure the healthy functioning of the entire state apparatus.
It was a constructive, "open strategy," bathed in sunlight—a grand vision, truly worthy of the monarch of a great nation!
In comparison, the difference was immediate: like heaven and earth.
Victoria clutched the letter to her chest, feeling her heart pound with emotion.
For the first time, she felt such a strong intellectual resonance with Arthur.
He understood her!
He understood her inner kindness and her reluctance, and he showed her the most correct and powerful way to express that kindness.
He was no longer merely a "precious friend" to her; he had become her long-lost opportunity to finally be herself rather than a puppet in Sir Conroy's hands.
This realization swept away her fear and anxiety about the upcoming royal dinner; in fact, she felt an unprecedented anticipation.
She was eager to present these wise ideas to her uncle, the King, and to the ministers of the government.
She wanted everyone to understand that she, Victoria, was not an ignorant girl who could be manipulated!
A week later, Buckingham Palace.
The brightly lit ballroom was filled with the scent of perfume, the rustle of silk, and the tinkling of glass.
King William IV sat at the main table; his white hair and slightly tired expression could not hide his majestic bearing.
To his left sat the current Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, leader of the Whig Party.
Graceful and keen-eyed, he was a highly influential figure in London's social and political circles.
Victoria sat quietly to the King's right, wearing a snow-white evening gown trimmed with lace. She looked like a budding lily—pure and serene.
Her mother, the Duchess of Kent, and Sir Conroy sat a little farther away; Conroy's gaze occasionally brushed over Victoria, as if monitoring her or reminding her of something.
The atmosphere of the dinner was neither warm nor cold: people chatted about the weather, horse races, and harmless court anecdotes.
Finally, when dessert was served, the King dabbed his mouth with a napkin and turned his gaze to his young niece.
"My dear Victoria," the King said gently, though with undeniable authority, "I have heard that Parliament has recently been vigorously debating the amendment to the Poor Law. As the future sovereign of this nation, I would like to know your opinion on this matter."
As soon as he finished speaking, conversations in the ballroom fell silent.
Every pair of eyes, both overt and subtle, focused on the seventeen-year-old royal princess.
Lord Melbourne held his wine glass and watched her with interest, a hint of appraisal and curiosity in his eyes—an elder observing a young student.
Meanwhile, Sir Conroy shot Victoria a tense glare, as if reminding her to respond in the way he had "taught" her.
Feeling all those gazes, Victoria's heart sped up involuntarily.
But then she remembered Arthur's words, and from deep inside emerged a firm sense of calm and confidence.
She slowly set down her knife and fork, gently wiped her mouth with a napkin, and lifted her head to meet the King's eyes.
Her movements were composed and unhurried, her demeanor impeccable.
"Honored uncle, esteemed gentlemen," she said, her voice clear and gentle, distinct in the quiet ballroom, "regarding the Poor Law, I have a few immature thoughts and hope to receive your guidance."
She showed no trace of nervousness or fear, capturing everyone's attention from her very first words.
"I believe that poverty is like a chronic disease spreading throughout our empire," she said, presenting the theoretical foundation Arthur had written for her. "And when confronted with a disease, the first thing we must do is not to detest or punish the patient, but to investigate the cause and provide effective treatment."
This unexpected analogy made Lord Melbourne raise his eyebrows slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.
Victoria continued, "In my view, locking all the poor into harsh workhouses is not a good solution. It is like a housewife sweeping all the household trash under the carpet. Even if the surface appears clean, the garbage still exists. It will rot and stink, ultimately destroying the entire house. We cannot treat our fellow citizens as trash."
These words, full of feminine delicacy and deep humanitarian concern, moved many of those present.
However, Sir Conroy's face began to darken, for Victoria's views completely contradicted what he had taught her!
"Then, my dear niece," the King asked with interest, "how should we 'treat' this 'disease'?"
"Guidance, not confinement," Victoria said. She did not speak quickly, but every word was firm and orderly. "I have heard that London's sewer system is dilapidated, and during the rainy season the sewage overflows and spreads disease. Why not establish a Royal Fund, using the money originally allocated for workhouses, to hire the unemployed poor to build a new, clean urban drainage system for us and for future generations?
"We could call it… 'Work Relief'!"
The moment Her Royal Highness uttered this completely new term—"Work Relief"—the entire ballroom fell into a strange silence!
Everyone was stunned by this ingenious idea.
Especially Prime Minister Lord Melbourne: he nearly dropped his wine glass!
His blue eyes shone with disbelief as he stared at Victoria, as though seeing for the first time this supposedly politically inexperienced princess.
The plan was simply… too perfect!
It simultaneously addressed unemployment, urban infrastructure, and social stability.
The political wisdom and economic foresight behind it did not seem like something a seventeen-year-old could conceive; they were even… even superior to the ideas of his most capable economic advisor!
Even King William IV was stunned.
He opened his mouth and stared at his niece—who seemed like a transformed person—and for a long moment, he was unable to speak.
He had only intended to test her, but he had never imagined he would hear from her a policy so brilliant it could be recorded in history.
After dinner, the King, in an unusual move, kept Victoria alone in his study.
He dismissed everyone else and looked at his elegant niece with a complex expression. "Victoria, tell me honestly—who taught you these astonishing ideas?"
Victoria's heart tightened, but remembering Arthur's advice, she showed a smile that was both innocent and mysterious.
"Honored uncle, perhaps it was merely a passing Muse who, seeing me greatly troubled, whispered a few words into my ear."
This flawless answer made William IV pause for a moment—then burst into hearty laughter.
"Hahahahaha! A Muse! A whisper!"
He did not press the matter further.
As an experienced monarch, he knew that some secrets did not need to be revealed.
What mattered was the outcome.
He saw before him a capable heir who was growing rapidly, someone with independent thought and remarkable wisdom.
That was enough.
From that day onward, a rumor began circulating in London's political circles: Her Royal Highness Victoria, long considered a puppet of her mother, seemed… no longer just a pretty face.
Meanwhile, in the shadows of Kensington Palace, Sir Conroy's expression was as dark as a stormy sky.
He stared after her retreating figure, his eyes full of suspicion and vigilance.
He knew things were beginning to slip out of his control.