The entire ballroom of Buckingham Palace fell into an eerie, suffocating silence because of Victoria's unexpected refusal.
The air seemed to solidify.
Even the melodious waltz broke off abruptly: the conductor's eyes widened, his baton frozen mid-air, unsure of what to do.
As if under a spell, the gazes of all the nobles shifted back and forth between the extraordinary charm—now shaken and bewildered—of Prince Albert, and the calm, equally captivating young man who was slowly emerging from the crowd.
What… what was happening?
Her Royal Highness had publicly refused, before the entire royal family and the nobles of Europe, the invitation to the opening dance from her cousin Albert, a man of impeccable lineage and perfectly appropriate rank!
She had instead chosen that "new rich man" — Arthur Lionheart — whose identity remained something of a mystery and who had made his fortune in business?!
This was no longer a mere breach of etiquette; it was practically a clear and open declaration.
The smile on Prince Albert's face vanished entirely. For the first time, an expression of disbelief flickered in his glacier-blue eyes. He had received the highest level of royal education since childhood and possessed absolute confidence in his knowledge, his appearance, and his conduct. He would never have imagined that his long-anticipated debut would begin with such humiliation.
Only then did his gaze truly—and seriously—fall upon the young man with blond hair and light blue eyes who was walking towards them.
Arthur's steps were slow, calm, composed. He ignored the complex stares around him—full of shock, jealousy, disdain, and schadenfreude—and headed straight for Victoria.
He did not take her hand immediately. Instead, he turned to Prince Albert, whose face had darkened, and offered a slight bow—an impeccable English aristocratic gesture.
"Your Royal Highness, Prince Albert," Arthur said.
His voice was clear and graceful, without a hint of provocation—only the honest statement of a fact.
"I am very sorry, but before your arrival Her Royal Highness had already promised me her first dance. And I believe that, as a gentleman, you would never place a lady in the uncomfortable position of breaking her word."
His words were unmistakable. Not only did they clarify his presence as an invited guest, but they offered Albert a dignified exit, appealing to his sense of gentlemanly conduct.
After all, Albert was a prince who had undergone strict court training. He quickly suppressed the shock and displeasure burning in his chest, and a slightly tense smile reappeared on his lips.
"I understand."
He nodded, stepping back with graceful composure.
"Since it is Her Royal Highness's promise, I must of course respect it."
Even so, his scrutinizing eyes were like two sharp surgical blades, cutting across Arthur as if trying to see straight through him.
The crisis had been averted—temporarily.
Victoria looked at Arthur with gratitude, and then, under the eyes of the entire ballroom, she placed her small hand, covered in white lace, delicately yet firmly into Arthur's outstretched palm.
The moment their hands touched, the conductor seemed to awaken from a dream and quickly signaled the orchestra to resume the interrupted waltz.
Arthur wrapped an arm around Victoria's slender waist and led her onto the dance floor.
Their movements were perfectly synchronized. Victoria was light as a butterfly, gliding and floating with grace under Arthur's steady and confident guidance. Her face shone with a genuine, sweet, happy smile, and her beautiful blue eyes reflected only him.
They became the single point of focus on the entire dance floor.
At the edge of the ballroom, Prince Albert held a glass of champagne and watched them in silence. A faint, reluctant sadness flickered deep in his blue eyes.
After the dance, Arthur and Victoria withdrew to rest amid thunderous applause from the crowd.
Before they could exchange even a few words, Prince Albert approached gracefully, holding his wine glass.
It was clear he had no intention of letting the matter go.
"Arthur, is it?" Albert began, wearing a courteous aristocratic smile.
"I have heard your name. An extraordinary inventor who revolutionized London's textile industry with innovative machinery."
"Your Royal Highness flatters me; they are merely small opportunistic contrivances," Arthur replied with a hint of indifference.
"No, don't be modest." Albert shook his head, though his tone shifted, acquiring a subtle note of superiority.
"Industry and machinery can indeed bring wealth to the Empire, I do not deny that. However, Arthur, the true greatness of a nation does not lie solely in the number of its factories."
He picked up a beautifully bound album from a nearby table and brushed his fingertips across its cover.
"The true soul of a nation lies in its art, its philosophy, its cultural heritage," Albert said, his voice rich and magnetic.
"Just like Florence during the Renaissance: its greatness did not come from its commercial prosperity, but from having birthed Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. And the reason we Germans are respected is not for our factories, but because we have Beethoven, Goethe, and Kant."
"Wealth fades with time. Only great art and great thought are carved into the long river of history and endure forever."
Having finished speaking, he turned toward Victoria, his eyes full of expectation, as though waiting for her agreement.
His words were extremely shrewd.
He neatly divided himself and Arthur into two separate worlds:
He — the old nobility, bearer of "high art" and "profound thought."
Arthur — the "new money," a man of gears, industry, and the scent of wealth.
It was a sophisticated conceptual strike meant to diminish.
Victoria indeed looked thoughtful. Her elite education had instilled in her a sincere love for art and philosophy. Naturally, Albert's words resonated with her.
Seeing her expression, Albert's lips curved into a faint smile of victory.
But Arthur's face remained utterly calm.
He waited until Albert finished speaking, then began slowly, unhurriedly:
"Your Royal Highness, I deeply respect your admiration for art and thought. However, if I may speak frankly, your perspective perhaps… overlooks several fundamental realities."
"Oh?"
Albert regarded him with renewed interest.
"Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Beethoven, Goethe…" Arthur said.
"These great geniuses were able to create in peace because they did not have to worry about their next meal. The prosperity of Florence was precisely the foundation that allowed those artists to flourish. Without wealthy citizens and generous patrons, those timeless masterpieces might have remained forever as mere ideas."
"Art and thought are indeed the treasures of civilization. But they are like luminous pearls set atop a towering spire. What holds that spire aloft is exactly what is sometimes looked down upon: industry, commerce, and the wealth they generate."
"Without inexpensive paper and printing presses, how could Goethe's poetry have spread throughout Europe? Without the wealth accumulated through trade, what noble would have had the leisure or the means to build opera houses and listen to Beethoven's symphonies?"
"Therefore, Your Royal Highness…"
Arthur's gaze sharpened as he looked directly at Albert.
"Art and industry are not opposed. Industry is the cornerstone that enables art to flourish and reach the common people. What I do is not merely create wealth for the Empire—it is open the path for countless people in the future to experience and appreciate the great art you cherish."
Arthur's words rang like a resonant bell in the ears of both Albert and Victoria.
Albert's smile froze once again.
He realized that his proud, condescending conceptual attack had not only been neutralized, but decisively overturned by a broader, more pragmatic vision.
Arthur had acknowledged the nobility of art, yet revealed the deeper logic that made such nobility possible.
It was as if a swordsman had delivered the finest strike of his life, only to discover that his opponent did not parry with a blade, but destroyed the very ground beneath his feet with a single blow.
Victoria's beautiful eyes sparkled.
Arthur's words had opened an entirely new window in her mind. For the first time, she understood how deeply interwoven industry and art truly were. She gazed at Arthur, and her admiration for him rose to a new height.
This was the first direct clash between the two men—two distinct visions of the world.
One represented the ancient nobility, steeped in past glories.
The other represented the new age… an age capable of creating limitless possibilities for humanity.
The victor was already clear.