A thunderous applause, like a rising tsunami, swept through the entire ballroom of Buckingham Palace.
Arthur stood at the center of the crowd, receiving the sincerest praise and admiration from the highest elite of the Empire. He maintained a genuine yet charming smile as he accepted their compliments with calm composure.
Yet deep inside, he let out a long sigh of relief, even feeling a faint trace of lingering fear that almost made him laugh.
*Good heavens… Thank God I memorized that "poem" my ex-girlfriend tried so hard to make me appreciate back then, when she was obsessed with Eastern poetry. The English translation should be more or less what I just recited… close enough anyway. Not that it matters.*
He looked at the utterly stunned British aristocrats before him, and couldn't help but offer his deepest gratitude—and sincere apology—to his ex-girlfriend, who had drilled that poem into his head, a poem that turned out to be unexpectedly useful today.
*Mary, I'm sorry! Today I borrowed the poem you struggled so much to teach me, even though I'm now using it to show off in front of another woman—and to court her, at that. I hope you don't blame me!*
As an ordinary person from the twenty-first century, Arthur naturally possessed no artistic gift for composing poetry. Everything he did tonight was nothing more than a highly effective "general summary," exploiting the enormous informational gap between two eras and two worlds.
He knew perfectly well that if he had to compete with Prince Albert—who had received excellent classical artistic training since childhood—in disciplines such as piano or violin, he would be utterly and unquestionably crushed.
That was why, to win this talent contest, he had to find another way—a completely new and revolutionary approach.
And the poem he had learned from his ex, rich with modern emotions and the subtle artistic spirit of the East—even if he barely understood it—was undoubtedly the perfect weapon.
The way such poems used words and imagery, the delicacy of their emotional expression, the evocative pictures formed through unspoken meanings and intentional silence… for Europeans of the nineteenth century, accustomed to Shakespeare and Byron, the impact was nothing short of nuclear.
And the results proved just how effective his strategy was.
Looking at Prince Albert's handsome yet deeply discouraged face, Arthur felt a faint twinge of guilt mingled with the thrill of victory.
*I'm sorry, brother. Why did you have to compete with me in showing off? I could have simply stepped aside and let you have the girl. You're relying on your talent, but I'm using future knowledge. It's not a fair fight.*
Of course, Arthur would never reveal such complex thoughts.
He politely declined the noble ladies who wished to inquire about the "inspiration behind his poetic creation," and made his way through the crowd, slowly approaching Victoria.
At that moment, Victoria's splendid blue eyes were still slightly moist. She gazed at Arthur with adoration, reverence, and an indescribable tenderness. The hesitation and wavering stirred earlier by Albert's music had long been swept away by the exquisite poem he recited, leaving no trace behind.
"Arthur…" she called softly, her voice trembling just a little. "That poem… it was truly beautiful."
"No, Princess." Arthur met her eyes, his voice gentle and sincere. "It's not the poem that is beautiful. It is because *you* heard it that it gained life and brilliance. It was written for you."
This romantic, textbook-perfect reply made Victoria's heart tremble once again. A blush, like intoxicated rose-colored clouds, swept over her cheeks, and she lowered her head shyly, like a rose overwhelmed by its own sweetness.
This scene did not escape Prince Albert, who stood not far away.
His heart felt as though it were being squeezed by an invisible hand—cold and painful. He saw the shyness and admiration Victoria displayed before this man, something he had never witnessed from her before. A sharp jealousy and unwillingness gnawed at him like a venomous serpent.
He could not understand where he had gone wrong.
By lineage, he was her closest cousin, sharing the same noble blood.
By appearance, he did not consider himself inferior to anyone.
By talent, his mastery of the piano was good enough to perform in the most prestigious concert halls in Europe.
So why did Victoria's eyes rest only on that unknown merchant, a man who merely spoke flowery words?
No. He could not concede so easily.
Albert took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his turbulent emotions, and restored his aristocratic, elegant smile. He stepped forward once more, determined to pull the conversation away from ethereal romanticism and back toward solid reality.
"Your poem was indeed refreshing, very… exotic," he praised gracefully at first, though subtly labeling Arthur as an outsider. "However, Victoria, I believe you should understand that governing a vast empire requires far more than the romantic sentiments of a poet."
He began highlighting his true strengths:
"It requires a profound understanding of the complex political relationships of Europe, a precise grasp of the various nations' political cultures, and a noble lineage capable of sharing with you the responsibilities and glory of the monarchy. And that is precisely what I—and our entire House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha—can offer."
His words carried weight. He was reminding Victoria to set aside the fleeting romanticism of the ball and return to the practical responsibilities of a sovereign. From every traditional standpoint, he was the most legitimate candidate for Prince Consort—the one best suited for the Empire's interests.
This was a direct and unavoidable confrontation.
He placed before Victoria an invisible yet monumental choice.
All the nobles present sharpened their ears. They held their breath, waiting for Her Royal Highness's reply. They knew her response would set a crucial tone for her future marriage.
Arthur said nothing; he simply looked at Victoria in silence, meeting her gaze directly. He trusted her wisdom and believed she would make the most appropriate choice.
Victoria lifted her head.
Her expression no longer held the shyness or enchantment from moments before. In their place were composure and serenity far beyond her years—qualities worthy of a future queen.
She first glanced at Albert, who awaited her response with tense anticipation, then shifted her gaze to Arthur standing beside her.
Finally, she offered both exceptional gentlemen a courteous and graceful smile.
"Cousin Albert, you speak with great wisdom." Her voice was clear and gentle. She first acknowledged Albert's point: "As the future monarch of the Empire, my marriage indeed must place the interests of the Empire above all else. A partner capable of maintaining harmony among Europe's royal houses and bringing honor to the Empire is exactly what I require."
Hearing this, a spark of joy flashed in Albert's eyes. Those words sounded almost tailor-made for him.
However, Victoria continued. She turned slightly toward Arthur:
"But Arthur has also helped me understand another truth." Her eyes carried unmistakable admiration. "The true strength of a nation does not lie solely in ancient lineage and noble arts. It also resides in its flourishing industry, its ever-advancing technology, and its ability to bring prosperity and stability to the vast majority of its people. A partner who can offer the Empire a *real* future is also what I require."
She spoke flawlessly.
She neither affirmed Albert nor chose Arthur.
She distilled the merits of both suitors and attributed them equally to the needs of the Empire.
Her answer displayed remarkable political acumen.
She did not publicly diminish Albert, preserving royal dignity; nor did she elevate Arthur in a way that would provoke Europe's traditional aristocracy before the time was ripe. Instead, she raised the "emerging power" he represented to a strategic height equal to "ancient lineage."
She had told everyone present:
*In my eyes, both gentlemen are worthy candidates. My choice will not be confined by traditional theories of bloodline.*
Upon hearing this, the joy on Albert's face gradually faded, replaced by deep solemnity. He finally understood that Victoria was no longer the little girl whose marriage his family could decide for her. She had her own thoughts, her own standards. And that young man had far more weight in this competition than he ever imagined.
Arthur, meanwhile, silently applauded Victoria's answer.
She handled it magnificently.
She showed her regard for him while avoiding direct confrontation with the entire traditional European aristocracy. She was becoming a qualified monarch at an astonishing pace.
"Gentlemen," Victoria said, her gaze moving from Arthur to Albert, ending with a playful smile befitting the heroine of the night, "tonight is my eighteenth birthday—a day worth celebrating. Politics and future affairs are too heavy; let us leave them for another time."
"Now, I am feeling a little tired, and I would like some fresh air on the balcony. I wonder which gentleman might be willing to accompany the birthday girl to admire the moon above Buckingham Palace tonight?"
She named neither of them. Instead, she extended an open invitation to both.
This was a new test.
And a true reflection of her inner balance. She had not made a final choice, but she was willing to give both men the opportunity to continue "competing."
The game of love and power surrounding the future queen was far from over.
---