That evening, in the Queen's bedchamber at Buckingham Palace, the air had dropped to a glacial stillness.
Victoria had swallowed her anger the entire day, but it had been simmering, boiling, and now—finally—overflowing.
Her afternoon meeting with Lord Melbourne had gone disastrously. When she tried, hesitantly but determinedly, to present Arthur's grand vision of an Imperial Telegraph Network, the Prime Minister had met her with the same infuriating condescension he used whenever he wished to disguise mockery beneath diplomacy.
"Your Majesty, this is a rather… fanciful scheme," he had said, wearing that sly, indulgent smile of his. "Do you understand the cost of stretching copper wires across the Empire? The Navy could build three new fleets with that sum. And this 'telegraph'—can it truly transmit messages? These matters require lengthy scientific verification."
Wrapped in polite words, the meaning had been clear as a slap:
Your Majesty, stop playing and go to bed.
The humiliation burned her.
Because she believed in the project—believed in Arthur. To her, his telegraph plan was no wild fancy; it was the future.
And what had enraged her even more was Arthur's behavior. She had expected him to stand by her side during the meeting, cutting through Melbourne's arrogance with that sharp mind she trusted so fiercely.
Instead, after a single remark—"The Prince Consort should not meddle in politics"—he had quietly withdrawn, almost meekly. As if he truly believed he had no place at her side.
As if he were content to let her stand alone.
Now, in the dimly lit bedroom, candles flickering against the high ceiling, Victoria sat before her dressing table, removing the jewels from her hair with rigid, trembling fingers. Arthur lounged against the headboard, seemingly relaxed, reading a financial report from his factory as though nothing were amiss.
His calmness struck her like flint against steel.
"Have you looked enough?!" she burst out suddenly, slamming a silver comb onto the table. The sharp metallic crack echoed like breaking ice.
Arthur looked up, startled.
"What troubles you, my love? Who has offended our noble Queen this time?"
"You!" Victoria shot to her feet, turning on him with blazing blue eyes. "You, Arthur! Answer me—why did you leave this afternoon?! Melbourne practically bullied us, and you did not even dare to breathe in protest!"
Arthur blinked, taken aback. "I thought… he is the Prime Minister, and I, the Prince Consort. In a formal setting, I must accord him a measure of respect—"
"Respect?!" she gave a furious, breathless laugh. "He told you not to interfere, and you obeyed like a scolded schoolboy! Was that respect? No—that was weakness! Cowardice! Where is that brilliant man who once argued down judges and scholars alike? Where is the boldness of the man who stormed through Kensington's gates to reach me?!"
Her voice cracked with rising emotion.
"Have you grown complacent now that you married me? Now that you are Prince Consort, do you no longer wish to fight—for me, for this country?!"
Arthur's face hardened. He set the papers aside and rose.
"Victoria, calm yourself. That is not what happened."
"How dare you tell me to calm down?!" she shouted, tears of fury trembling at the corners of her eyes. "Today, like a fool, I presented your telegraph plan to the ministers. And what did I receive? Stares! Smirks! They thought me ridiculous. And you—the author of the idea—sat comfortably reading reports, letting me bear the humiliation alone! How can you justify that?!"
Arthur felt a surge of anger of his own.
"You call me a coward?" he snapped. "Do you understand political rules? Constitutional monarchy? This is not a realm where a sovereign may do anything she wishes! If I had confronted Melbourne today, every newspaper tomorrow would shout: 'Prince Consort Meddles in Politics—Constitution Violated!' Both of us would face Parliament's fury!"
"I don't care about rules! I don't care about the Constitution!" Victoria cried, voice breaking. "I care that my husband abandoned me! I don't understand your principles—I only know you promised we would change the world together. And the moment we met resistance, you stepped back!"
"That was no retreat—that was a strategic withdrawal!" Arthur thundered. "Do you think your crown alone can force those old bureaucrats to listen? Politics is compromise, negotiation—power! And right now, we do not have enough of it."
"I am the Queen! I am the power!"
"You are a Queen with your hands tied!" he shot back, frustration spilling over. "Without Cabinet approval, you cannot move a stone in the Palace courtyard. Wake up, Victoria! You cannot rule with fairy tales!"
She froze. Her breath hitched.
"…You dare curse at me?" she whispered.
Before he could respond, her hand flew.
CRACK.
The slap rang through the room.
Arthur's head turned with the force of it.
Silence fell—stunned, heavy, suffocating.
Victoria stared at her own trembling hand, horrified and furious all at once. She hadn't expected to strike him. Arthur touched his cheek, then looked at her.
His eyes were not angry.
Not cold.
Not wounded pride.
Only a deep, devastating sorrow.
She looked so young then—too young. A girl of eighteen drowning in a world of politics and expectation, clinging to the one person she believed could never fail her.
He exhaled softly. The anger drained from him like blood from a wound.
Without a word, Arthur stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. Victoria stiffened—and then, slowly, melted into him, her tears finally falling.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her hair, voice rough with remorse. "I should not have raised my voice. And I should never have spoken to you that way."
Victoria trembled in his hold, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though anchoring herself.
"And I should not have hit you," she whispered, voice shaking. "Arthur… I didn't mean…"
He held her tighter, lips brushing her temple in a soft, lingering gesture that was more intimate than any kiss.
"We are on the same side," he said gently. "Yours is the burden of a crown. Mine is the burden of standing beside you. Neither is easy. But I will not leave you to face the world alone—not ever."
At those words, Victoria closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
And for the first time that day, her heart finally began to ease.