Several weeks later.
Buckingham Palace once again hosted a grand State Banquet, this time in honor of Lord Melbourne, the Prime Minister, newly returned from a diplomatic visit to Austria.
The banquet hall overflowed with warmth and lively conversation.
Arthur Lionheart and Queen Victoria, seated among envoys from across Europe, exchanged light laughter with their guests. Victoria wore a high-waisted silk gown, her face aglow with a happiness that seemed almost luminous.
But just as the first course—chilled oysters dressed with lemon—was served, something unexpected occurred.
The moment the plate was set before her and the faint scent of the sea reached her, Victoria's face drained of color. Her delicate brows tightened; she pressed a handkerchief to her lips as a sudden wave of nausea rose within her.
"Ugh…"
She tried to stifle it, but a soft retching sound escaped.
Quiet though it was, it did not go unnoticed. Arthur Lionheart and Lord Melbourne immediately leaned forward, concern flashing in their eyes.
"My love, what's wrong?" Arthur asked quickly, steadying her shoulder, his voice threaded with fear and tenderness.
"I… I'm all right," Victoria whispered, though she had grown visibly paler. "It's just that… the smell struck me and I suddenly felt sick…"
"Call for the Royal Physician at once!" Arthur ordered. A spark of hope stirred within him, but he pushed it down, keeping only urgent worry on his face.
The lively banquet fell into absolute silence. Every conversation stopped as nobles and envoys turned tense, thoughtful eyes toward the Queen.
Moments later the Chief Royal Physician arrived—Sir James Clark, an elderly gentleman with a neatly pointed beard, hurrying in with his medical case.
With Victoria's permission, a lady-in-waiting helped her sit more comfortably. Sir Clark knelt beside her, pressing gentle fingertips to her lower abdomen—one of the standard diagnostic methods of European medicine at the time. As he examined her, he quietly asked about recent symptoms: fatigue, nausea, a missed cycle—well-known signs.
The entire hall held its breath.
One could have heard a pin drop.
Sir Clark's expression shifted—first grave, then puzzled, then startled—until finally, unmistakable joy lit his features.
Suddenly he straightened, hands trembling. With a sharp thud, he dropped to one knee before Victoria and Arthur, his voice shaking:
"Your Majesty… Your Royal Highness… my deepest congratulations!"
"All signs indicate that Her Majesty is with child!"
"You are expecting!"
For one suspended second, silence.
Then Buckingham Palace erupted.
A wave of applause and jubilant cries surged through the hall like thunder rolling across mountains.
"Good heavens—Her Majesty is pregnant!"
"Magnificent! The Empire shall have an heir!"
"God save the Queen! God save the Prince Consort!"
Every rumor—of an unhappy marriage, of the Queen's supposed frailty—vanished in an instant. No argument could have silenced them more decisively than this miraculous news.
Lord Melbourne's eyes reddened with emotion. He rose immediately, raising his glass high.
"To the Queen! To the future Prince or Princess! To the British Empire! Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
All the nobles and envoys leapt to their feet, glasses lifted in joyous celebration.
Victoria herself remained motionless, overwhelmed.
Her hand drifted instinctively to her still-flat abdomen, where a tiny life grew quietly. A sensation entirely new—tender, warm, fiercely protective—washed over her.
Tears welled and flowed freely, but they were not tears of distress.
They were pure, glittering joy.
She turned to Arthur Lionheart, who was equally overcome, and whispered, her voice trembling:
"Arthur… we're going to have a child…"
"Yes, my dearest." He leaned close and pressed a gentle, reverent kiss to her forehead. "We are. Thank you… for giving me a home."
What had begun as a State Banquet had become a celebration of life.
And amid this joy, Queen Victoria made a decision so bold that even Arthur was briefly taken aback.
Still holding his hand, she rose to address the ministers and nobles.
"My husband, Arthur Lionheart, has brought not only wisdom and prosperity to me, but to the entire Empire. And now, he brings us an heir."
"His achievements deserve the highest honor our nation can bestow."
"I shall confer upon my Prince Consort an additional title."
Arthur felt a flicker of disbelief. Again? His list of honors was already becoming difficult to remember.
In the parliamentary session that followed, the Queen's proposal met virtually no resistance. Those aligned with Arthur's vast industrial influence supported it enthusiastically, and even the staunchest Conservatives hesitated to oppose a Prince Consort whose power, wealth, and prestige had become immovable.
Thus, with unusual unity, Parliament approved the Queen's request.
Arthur Lionheart received two new titles:
Duke of Blackley — Black symbolizing coal and iron, ley meaning "open land" representing the new industrial prosperity he had brought to the Empire.
and
King Arthur — an elevation from "Prince Lionheart," echoing the legendary monarch and acknowledging Arthur's unprecedented standing.
From that moment, his formal style became grand and unmistakably distinguished:
King Arthur
Prince Lionheart
Duke of Blackley
Saint Arthur
Prince Consort
Later that evening, Arthur stepped onto the Buckingham Palace balcony, one arm around his beloved wife—his pregnant Queen—and looked out at the rejoicing crowds below.
In that moment he knew, with absolute certainty, that his place within this vast sun-lit Empire had become unshakably secure.
And at last, he could begin the slow, deliberate shaping of the great design he envisioned for the future world order.