After his dazzling triumph in Paris—an exhibition so breathtaking it left the entire French court secretly questioning its own worth—Arthur Lionhaert returned to London like a conquering hero. His reputation had not merely grown; it had crystallized into legend. And he carried with him not only the aura of diplomatic supremacy, but also a heavy trunk filled with Parisian luxuries for Victoria: rare perfumes, silks finer than whispering wind, jewelry carved with impossible delicacy, accessories London society would not discover for another decade. Arthur knew precisely what would draw a radiant smile from his young queen.
The days that followed were an interlude suspended outside of time, a private haven. The city could churn, the empire could tremble, and yet for several nights and mornings the world seemed reduced to the warmth of two hearts alone. But even the sweetest intimacy could not hold Arthur indefinitely. His mind, restless as ever, soon drifted back to the great engine he had begun assembling piece by piece—the Royal Society for the Advancement of Science and Industry.
If the Empire was to become unshakable, politics alone would not suffice. Not in the century about to dawn. The true foundation of power would be technology. And among the names Arthur had circled, one shone brighter than all others:
Michael Faraday.
This was not a man to be summoned with a gilded invitation. One did not entice minds like his with titles or pensions or aristocratic favor. Faraday was not a nobleman to flatter nor a merchant to tempt. He was a phenomenon. And phenomena are not commanded—they are understood, respected, approached with humility.
So Arthur spent several nights immersed in Faraday's writings: monographs, lecture notes, obscure journal fragments rescued from neglect. He sought not merely to grasp the ideas themselves, but to feel their rhythm, their breath. He needed to speak to Faraday not as a prince, but as an equal.
To do so, he needed to think like him.
When the chosen afternoon came, Arthur arrived at the Royal Institution on Albemarle Street with no pomp whatsoever: sober clothes, minimal escort, discreet bearing. He did not enter as royalty, but as a "private enthusiast of science." Behind the Institution's elegant yet modest façade lay a world of ideas capable of shaping the future more profoundly than any royal decree.
Faraday awaited him in the director's office, a bright, spacious room filled with the familiar scent of leather and old paper. Shelves groaned under the weight of monographs and apparatus diagrams pinned across the walls resembled maps of invisible continents.
Now in his mid-forties, Faraday radiated a quiet, almost ascetic dignity. His clothes were plain, almost severe, yet his eyes behind thick spectacles burned with ceaseless, relentless curiosity.
"Your Highness," Faraday said, offering a bow—respectful, but far from servile. "What brings you here today?"
Arthur returned the gesture with equal humility.
"I have not come to lecture you, Mr. Faraday. I have come to learn. I have questions regarding your recent work on… fields. Questions I cannot unravel on my own."
The moment Arthur uttered the word fields, a spark ignited behind Faraday's composed expression.
The scientific establishment mocked this new vision of his—this notion that space itself carried force, that invisible lines governed the behavior of magnetism and electricity. Fantasies, they called them.
And now the Prince Consort of England pronounced the same word with earnest intent.
"You… have read my latest paper?" Faraday asked, voice trembling with restrained hope.
"Not only read it," Arthur replied. "I have reflected on it. Long and deeply."
He made no immediate offer. Instead, he walked alongside Faraday's logic, amplifying it, sharpening it, elevating it.
"You describe how a magnet is surrounded by a structure—lines of magnetic force—forming a magnetic field. Then I wondered… if magnetism creates a field, could electricity create one as well? A field of its own?"
Faraday inhaled sharply.
Arthur pressed on, calm and incisive:
"And if these two fields are connected… perhaps they are not separate at all. Perhaps they are two aspects of a single phenomenon."
Faraday whispered, "A single phenomenon…"
"And furthermore," said Arthur, eyes gleaming, "light itself moves through empty space. What if light is simply the motion of that unified field? A wave—an electromagnetic wave— rippling across the void?"
Faraday froze.
Electromagnetic waves.
The heartbeat of the future.
Arthur had just handed him the seeds of Maxwell's future equations—without ever stating them explicitly.
Their conversation erupted with the intensity of a creative storm. They dove into dizzying realms: the nature of light, the symmetry of forces, electrolysis, the philosophy of energy. Arthur never revealed the future; instead, he laid careful stepping stones, guiding Faraday as though they were charting an unexplored continent together.
Three hours disappeared like mist.
Faraday, feverish with enthusiasm, insisted on bringing Arthur to his private laboratory: a sanctuary of coils, metal rings, instruments of precision. At the center stood his pride—the electromagnetic induction apparatus. He demonstrated how motion in a magnetic field produced a current, faint yet undeniable.
Arthur observed silently. And only when Faraday finished did he speak.
"Your discovery is immense," Arthur said. "But the current you produce—intermittent, unsteady—cannot yet power machines or illuminate homes. However…"
He stepped forward, voice low, resonant.
"What if, instead of moving magnets by hand, we harnessed a stronger force? Suppose a steam engine could rotate a large coil at a constant speed, slicing through lines of force continuously, endlessly. A perpetual motion—creating a continuous, powerful current."
Arthur allowed himself a faint smile.
"Strong enough, one day, to light all of London."
Faraday paled.
A steam-driven rotating coil.
The first spark of the modern electrical generator.
The missing link he had sought without knowing where to search.
His hands trembled as the revelation bloomed within him.
"Your Highness…" he whispered, breathless. "You have given me… what I lacked."
Arthur gently shook his head.
"No. I have simply lifted a little fog, so that you may see farther."
Then he spoke with the weight of destiny.
"I have come to make you an offer. In the name of Her Majesty the Queen, and as founder of the Royal Society for the Advancement of Science and Industry, I formally invite you to serve as our Chief Scientific Advisor."
He stepped closer.
"You will have everything you need: instruments, laboratories, assistants, limitless funding. Every discovery will bear your name. The glory will be yours."
Arthur raised his chin.
"We ask only one thing: lead us into the new age. Bring light to the Empire—not metaphorical light, but true illumination born from electricity."
For a long, suspended moment, Faraday simply stared at him. Astonishment, gratitude, fear and joy blended into a single overwhelming emotion.
Then, with profound sincerity, he bowed deeply.
"For the Empire," he said. "For science. And for the future we shall shape together."
And there, in a quiet laboratory on Albemarle Street, the fate of the modern world shifted.
A prince holding the knowledge of tomorrow, and a man destined to reinvent it.
As their hands clasped, a new era began to hum softly into life.
A current—silent, invisible, unstoppable—began to flow through history.