For months, Arthur Lionheart, Prince Consort of the United Kingdom, had quietly studied the documents Matheson had given him.
Matheson suspected nothing.
To him, they were just economic data, ship registries, export lists, records from colonial offices—
nothing more than numbers and ink.
But Arthur saw what no one else bothered to see:
behind every figure, a deviation;
behind every deviation, a hidden route;
and behind every route, the outline of a vast opium network running through Asia like a poisoned vein.
And he had absolutely no intention of telling Queen Victoria what he was really doing.
She believed he was merely overseeing "overseas commercial adjustments."
A misunderstanding Arthur found extremely convenient to preserve.
With the evidence tucked away in his private study, he had crafted a plan—
audacious, dangerous, brilliant:
to secure direct influence over the Republic of Lanfang without formally involving the Crown.
If he succeeded, London would gain a political foothold in the Far East—
one not controlled by parliament, ministers, or the imperial bureaucracy.
For that, he needed a fleet.
Not a grand one—
a small, sharp, loyal fleet.
One crisp morning, Arthur summoned Captain Hopkins to his private residence, far from courtly corridors and listening ears.
The Prince Consort looked perfectly composed in his dark suit.
But his eyes—his eyes had the cold brightness of a man who had already chosen his battlefield.
"Captain," Arthur began, "you will not depart as a representative of the Empire."
Hopkins froze.
"You will depart as my personal envoy."
Arthur placed three items on the table:
– a letter sealed with an antique jade stamp,
– a sandalwood box filled with documents on opium smuggling and Dutch collusion,
– a new flag: black and gold, bearing a stylized dragon.
"These are not gifts," Arthur said, almost gently. "They are leverage. And they will work."
Hopkins bowed his head, still trying to grasp the implications.
Arthur knew perfectly well that the Crown would never approve of what he was about to do.
The Empire needed caution.
The Queen needed peace.
And the ministers were terrified of angering the Dutch.
But Arthur was not the Crown.
Arthur was the loophole.
Acting in his own name, he could forge unofficial agreements, influence local leaders, and construct parallel networks of allegiance.
Lanfang would be the first.
Three months later, the small fleet was ready.
Not large—
but disciplined, sharp-edged, suffocatingly precise.
The flagship, newly christened Lion Glory, led the formation under the black-and-gold Lion banner.
It wasn't the flag of any empire.
It was Arthur Lionheart's declaration of intent.
Victoria stood at the pier that morning, the mist coiling around her like a veil.
"Are you certain this won't spark diplomatic incidents?" the Queen asked.
Arthur offered her a thin, impeccable smile.
"Incidents? No, Your Majesty. Opportunities."
Victoria nodded, trusting him—as she always did.
She saw a brilliant, calm husband.
The world was about to meet something else entirely:
a ruthlessly effective diplomat.
The Lion Glory released a long, resonant whistle as it cut through the fog.
One by one, the ships vanished into the grey horizon.
Arthur did not move.
Hands clasped behind his back, he watched the last silhouette dissolve into the river mist.
That day, a fleet did not depart.
His foreign policy did.
A policy no minister had authorized.
A policy the Court had not foreseen.
A policy even the Queen had not fully understood.
Arthur Lionheart had begun his quiet war.
And no one in London had the faintest idea.