For a long moment, no one breathed.
The gun smoke hanging inside the Woolwich proving ground lingered in the air like a hesitant ghost, as if even the atmosphere were waiting for the Admiralty's verdict.
It was the Earl of Minto who finally spoke, his earlier confidence drained from his voice.
"Your Lordship… you do understand what you are asking of us. To even consider such an idea is to defy centuries of naval doctrine."
Arthur Lionheart inclined his head slightly.
"Doctrine does not win the wars of tomorrow."
Old Sir Erasmus Campbell — his worn Trafalgar-scarred uniform still bearing faint burn marks from that legendary battle — cleared his throat.
"You would risk your fortune, Lord Lionheart. But are you willing to risk your name as well? Should your iron monster fail, no royal favour will shield you from ridicule. Britain remembers her fools."
Arthur held his gaze without flinching.
"I am willing."
A wave of murmurs rolled through the line of officers.
Some incredulous.
Some uneasy.
Some… intrigued.
Then the Duke of Wellington stepped forward, leaning on his cane. Age had bent his back but not his judgment. His cold, sharp eyes studied Arthur as if reassessing him entirely.
"Gentlemen," the Duke said slowly, "I have watched innovation be mocked in every decade of my life. And I have seen armies perish because their commanders mistook tradition for certainty. The boy is right."
Arthur allowed himself the faintest smile — the Duke called every man under forty "boy."
"The British Empire," Wellington continued, "cannot afford to be overtaken by France… or America. The world is changing. I will not be remembered as one of the men who refused to see it."
Minto clenched his teeth. He looked at the charred oak table, the perforated steel plate, and finally Arthur's calm, unyielding expression.
"A private experiment…" he murmured. "Funded entirely by yourself… without official approval… and without the Admiralty assuming responsibility? That is what you propose?"
"Exactly."
"And the project — the engineering? Who will supervise it?"
"I will," Arthur replied. "With the assistance of my chief engineer and the foremen of the Wolverhampton foundry. We have already produced plates thicker than the one you saw today."
Minto exhaled slowly.
He had decided.
"Very well. The Admiralty will observe your work — discreetly. If you succeed, Britain will owe you more than you can imagine. If you fail…" His silence sharpened the warning. "You will fail alone."
Arthur bowed his head.
"That is all I ask."
They left the proving ground as the sun sank behind the smokestacks of Woolwich, painting the sky in copper and coal grey. The wind carried the scent of factory soot along the river — the smell of a new age being forged.
When Arthur's carriage rattled over the cobbles toward Buckingham Palace, he finally allowed himself a long, steady breath. His heart still beat fast, though he had shown none of it. His gamble was immense — perhaps unprecedented. And yet he felt no fear.
Only a sharp, exhilarating thrill.
This was the moment he had waited for.
An empire on the brink of a new course.
A navy ready to transform.
A throne occupied by the young woman he loved more deeply than he dared confess to anyone but her.
In the faint reflection of the carriage window, he saw again the steel plate — the future he intended to build.
A future in which, he hoped, Victoria would one day sail with pride.
He smiled to himself.
The Admiralty believed he had wagered his fortune.
But what Arthur Lionheart had truly placed at stake… was History itself.
He found Victoria alone in their private sitting room, seated before the fireplace in a comfortable dressing gown, Dash curled lazily in her lap. The flames cast warm reflections in her blue eyes — eyes that were now filled with deep, wounded worry.
Arthur approached to greet her with a kiss, but she subtly avoided him.
"Hmph."
A gentle, regal rebuke.
Arthur smiled helplessly, drew a small stool to her feet, and sat down, looking up at her.
"Are you upset about what I did this afternoon?"
"I am not upset," Victoria said — though her adorably pouting lips could have held a bottle of oil. Stroking Dash's silky fur, she murmured, "I simply fear my husband is becoming a reckless gambler."
"A gambler?" Arthur echoed.
"Isn't it so?" she turned toward him, her beautiful eyes filled with anxious concern. "Arthur, do you know what you're doing? This is a battleship! A kind the world has never seen! Lord Melbourne told me those greybeards at the Admiralty estimate it would cost at least… at least hundreds of thousands of pounds! That is nearly half my personal treasury!"
Her voice tightened with each word, as if she could already see her precious gold flying away on iron wings.
"You staked everything on a future no one can guarantee! And if… if it sinks at launch, like they say it might… we will be ruined!" She gazed at him pitiably. "I would be the poorest queen in Europe again."
Arthur's heart melted.
He knew she was not truly grieving for the money.
She was frightened for him.
He took her hand and kissed it gently, then met her eyes — steady, warm, confident.
"Victoria… let me show you what I saw today."
He led her into the adjoining study. Maps, blueprints, engineering sketches, even half-finished mechanical pieces rested on the great "Imperial Strategic Table." Lamps cast brass-coloured halos across the room, giving everything a faint mechanical glow — like the birth of a steampunk future.
Arthur picked up a small model: a sleek, dark ironclad hull with rounded turrets gleaming under the lamplight.
"Do not imagine a ship," he said softly. "Imagine a revolution."
Victoria inhaled sharply.
"A fleet that no longer bows to the wind," Arthur continued, his voice deep and mesmerizing. "A fleet that can race across the sea even in dead calm — twice as fast as any sailing warship."
He brushed his fingers along the steel miniature.
"A fleet clad in iron armour no cannon can pierce. A fleet that can fire explosive shells capable of tearing wooden hulls apart with a single strike."
Victoria's eyes widened.
Arthur stepped closer, lowering his voice to a compelling whisper.
"Picture it, my love. When your invincible fleet sails from Gibraltar to the Cape, from India to Canada… when every nation sees your banner — the lion and the harp — they will no longer hesitate. No doubts.
Only respect.
Only fear."
Then, with slow, solemn grace, Arthur knelt on one knee before her.
"Victoria… you will not merely be Queen of the British Empire.
You will be the first Empress of the modern world."
The words struck her like a lightning bolt.
Images of his past miracles flooded her mind — the telegraph, the penicillin, the sewing machine, the explosive shells, the calculating machine he was designing with Ada…
Arthur Lionheart had changed the world before.
He could do it again.
Her heart pounded wildly.
Her blood felt almost molten with excitement.
Suddenly she rose — so abruptly that Dash slid to the floor with an indignant yelp — and she cupped Arthur's face, kissing him with fierce, passion.
"I support you!" she declared breathlessly. "Not only in words! You shall have all my personal treasure! And if that is not enough — I shall pawn my crown!"
Arthur laughed softly, touched beyond measure.
"Silly girl," he murmured, pinching her cheek with affection. "There is no need to pawn your crown. Your husband is not that poor yet. I still have some resources left."
He grew serious then, his eyes locked with hers.
"But you must do one thing."
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Sit on your throne, radiant as you are… and wait to see how I build this vast empire for you — and for our child."
Victoria embraced him tightly, burying her face against his chest.
She knew with unshakable certainty that marrying this man had been the best, the luckiest decision of her life.
What she did not know was that, while they held each other tenderly and dreamed of an iron navy, a silent financial conspiracy was already taking shape in the hushed corridors of the London Stock Exchange.
A shadow preparing to strike at Arthur Lionheart's commercial empire.