The music faded slowly into the air, leaving behind a suspended atmosphere.
In the banquet hall, no one spoke: everyone watched the couple on the dance floor, as if afraid to break the moment.
Victoria and Arthur Lionheart continued to dance, lost in each other, unaware of the gazes around them. The connection between them was so deep it felt almost tangible.
When the melody finally stopped, Arthur did not immediately release Victoria's hand. He held her at the waist, looking at her in silence. Her cheeks, flushed with emotion, glowed beneath the chandeliers. Her breathing was soft, and her sapphire eyes shimmered like stars.
"I'm a little tired," she murmured.
Arthur nodded with a gentle smile. He released her hand only to bow with elegance, then offered her his arm. Victoria rested her hand upon it delicately, and together—without addressing anyone else—they left the hall, heading toward the terrace overlooking the Royal Garden.
No one tried to stop them.
Because everyone was still holding their breath.
Although the ball continued, a quiet frenzy rippled through the courtiers: only minutes earlier, a special evening edition of the London Evening Chronicle had been delivered to the Lord Chamberlain.
The headline—now whispered in every corner of the hall—declared:
THE QUEEN'S KISS —
A LOVE THAT DEFIES PROTOCOL!
The paper had captured the bold kiss Arthur had given her before the entire court. Some nobles were scandalized, others delighted… but the most astonishing part of the issue was the letters from ordinary citizens:
"If the Queen can love whom she chooses, perhaps we can hope for a better future too."
"Bless our young Majesty! Let her heart be as free as ours."
It was not a scandal that destroyed.
It was a scandal that ignited hope.
And somehow, Victoria had already sensed it.
The Royal Garden of Buckingham Palace, bathed in moonlight, was wrapped in a quiet, dreamlike stillness. The scent of roses and tuberoses filled the air, while a gentle breeze carried coolness across the terrace.
There were only the two of them.
They stood side by side at the balustrade, watching the distant scattered lights of London. The silence that surrounded them was not heavy, but sweet—like a well-earned rest.
After a while, Victoria spoke.
"Mr. Lionheart… do you remember where we had our first real conversation?"
Arthur smiled and looked at her.
"In the Kensington gardens, beneath the great oak tree. That day you wore a light-blue dress. You looked like a creature stepped out of a dream."
Victoria flushed, surprised he remembered even that detail.
"I still remember the poem you recited… 'I recall that wondrous moment when you appeared before me.' From that day, I knew you were different."
Her voice lowered, filled with painful memories.
"Before I met you, my world was gray. I lived under my mother's control—and Sir Conroy's—with no freedom. I did what I was told, day after day. I thought my life would always remain that way… a prison."
She inhaled shakily.
"I was afraid I wouldn't be good enough. Afraid of becoming an incapable queen, afraid of ruining everything. Every night I dreamed of a cage growing tighter and tighter around me."
Her eyes shimmered.
"Until you came."
She looked at him, gratitude and light shining through her tears.
"You brought the sun into my dark world. You taught me that kindness can be a strength, that poverty is not a sin, that my country can become a 'City of Miracles.' You were always there to guide me, to protect me, to give me courage when I was my most fragile."
Her voice trembled.
"If I am a queen who dares to say 'no' today… it is because of you."
"Arthur…" she said his name with intimate sweetness for the first time.
"I don't know how to thank you. Everything I have—my throne, my strength, my new life—exists because you helped me find it."
Arthur listened quietly, then brushed away the tear that slid down her cheek with his thumb.
"Victoria," he said softly, "I never gave you anything. You always had wisdom, kindness, courage inside you. I did only one thing: I breathed gently when your wings were ready to open."
He looked into her eyes.
"You were born a Queen."
Those words struck her heart like magic. Victoria could no longer restrain herself: she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. She buried her face against his chest, breathing in the reassuring warmth of him.
"Arthur…" she whispered, her voice breaking, "I love you."
She lifted her face—her tears barely held back—and looked at him with courage and sweetness.
"I don't want you to be only my knight or my advisor. And I don't want you to treat me as a Queen."
She held his gaze firmly.
"I want you to be my man. My husband. My only. My forever."
His heart melted.
"Victoria… I love you too."
He leaned down and kissed her, brushing her lips first with tenderness—
but when she answered with passion, the kiss ignited.
The moon wrapped their figures in silver light.
The soft rustling of the roses seemed to accompany their silent promise.
It was a long kiss, filled with everything they had lived together: their first meeting, their struggles, their trust, the love that had grown beyond every boundary.
When they finally parted, Victoria's face was flushed, her eyes bright and crystalline.
Arthur caressed her cheek with tender possessiveness.
He leaned closer to her ear and whispered:
"My Queen… "From today onwards, you, along with the entire British Empire behind you, shall be mine!"