The first ray of morning sunlight slipped through the heavy velvet curtains of the royal bedroom, drawing a thin golden line across the Persian carpet.
Victoria slowly opened her eyes, as if waking from a dream she wished would never end.
She was nestled in the warm, solid cradle of Arthur's arms. His steady breathing brushed against her ear, and the reassuring weight of his arm around her waist made her feel safer than she had ever felt in her life.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Memories of their wedding night drifted through her mind like a warm current—soft impressions rather than clear details: the way he had looked at her, the calm certainty in his voice, the gentleness of his hands that guided and reassured her. She remembered her heartbeat rushing, and the quiet, trusting surrender he had coaxed from her with patience and tenderness.
She blushed, hiding her face against his chest for a moment.
Arthur still slept, his expression peaceful, his eyebrows relaxed. In the gentle morning light he looked almost younger, almost vulnerable. A lock of hair fell over his forehead in a way that made her want to stroke it away.
And so she did. Her fingertips brushed his cheek.
Arthur's eyes opened—two clear blue eyes that seemed to catch the sunlight itself.
"Good morning, Your Majesty…" he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.
Victoria felt a shiver run through her.
"Good morning… my prince," she whispered, the title flowing from her lips with shy sweetness.
He tightened his embrace and drew her closer. His lips captured hers in a slow, warm kiss—one of belonging, of tenderness, of a newfound intimacy woven from trust. Victoria melted into him, her hand resting over the steady beat of his heart.
For a long while they stayed like that, wrapped in the soft golden quiet of dawn.
At last, Victoria spoke, her voice barely more than a breath.
"Arthur… I'm afraid."
He opened his eyes fully, attentive.
"Of what, my love?"
She looked down.
"This empire is enormous. Every day there are decisions to make. Ministers, Parliament… and colonies so far away I can hardly imagine them. News from India takes months. How can I lead like this? How can I be enough?"
Arthur gently lifted her chin, guiding her gaze back to him.
"Victoria, you will not rule alone. I will stand with you. Wherever you go, whatever you face—I will be there."
His sincerity wrapped around her like a warm cloak.
But worry still lingered.
"How can we guide an empire that stretches all the way to India… when a message from Calcutta takes three months to reach London? By the time I respond, half a year has passed. It feels as though I'm ruling blind."
Arthur exhaled slowly.
The moment had come.
He slipped out of bed, bathed in the growing morning light, and walked to the desk. He opened a drawer and withdrew a dark cloth-wrapped bundle—not something Victoria had ever seen before.
Inside lay the schematics he had bought from the System's shop, secretly, days before their wedding. He had studied them every night, waiting for this exact moment to reveal the future.
He returned to the bed and placed the papers between them.
Victoria sat up, curiosity brightening her eyes.
"What is that?"
Arthur opened the drawings—lines, coils, metal contacts, symbols.
"It's a project," he said, his voice steady but alight with purpose. "A new technology. Electrical impulses traveling through a copper wire… faster than wind, faster than any ship could dream to be."
His fingertip traced a line on the paper.
"London… to Calcutta."
Victoria stared, astonished.
"Minutes…? Arthur, that—it's impossible."
He tilted his head, a small, confident smile forming.
"It is only impossible until someone builds it."
Then he looked at her—truly looked—and in his blue eyes she saw something greater than ambition: vision.
"I will call it the telegraph."
Victoria held her breath.
She did not understand every symbol, every technical detail, but she felt it—this wasn't just a device.
It was a revolution.
"Arthur…" she whispered, "if this works… the empire will never be the same."
"It will work. And we will build it together."
He took her hand gently.
"You will issue a royal decree. Grant me exclusive rights to lay telegraph lines throughout the entire British Empire. I will create the machines, the receivers, the cables. You will provide the authority—I will provide the technology."
Victoria gazed at him as if the future itself had taken human form in front of her.
Then she smiled, bold and radiant.
"My prince… yes. Let's do it."
Arthur leaned in and kissed her—slowly, tenderly—a seal upon their new pact, a promise forged between love and power.
Outside, the morning sun filled the room with gold.
And there, between warm sheets and newlywed vows, between affection and ambition, the dawn of a new era was born—not in the halls of ministers, but in the shared bed of two lovers determined to change the world together.