Victoria woke early that morning, her heart filled with anticipation.
Until now, the furthest she had ever traveled was the outskirts of London.
But this time she was leaving London entirely—crossing the sea to Ireland.
Her first true journey.
Strictly speaking, it could hardly be called a vacation.
Still, she could not suppress the excitement.
If the famine had already begun, she would never have allowed herself such childish excitement.
But this journey was meant to prevent the disaster before it began.
If the coming catastrophe could be stopped, no one would be able to deny Killian's achievements.
And her own position—having stirred public attention and helped push the effort forward—would become even stronger.
The momentum was perfect.
Which meant that this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity had to be prepared flawlessly.
Normally, when a monarch of the British Empire traveled somewhere, it was far more than simply a "high-ranking visitor arriving."
Months before the visit, countless officials would gather in meetings to finalize every detail.
Once those plans were completed, instructions would be sent to the local authorities.
After preparations were finished, inspectors would be dispatched again to verify everything.
Only after every step was confirmed would the royal carriage leave the palace.
Typically, Parliament, the government, and royal officials handled all of this together.
But this time Victoria had no intention of leaving everything to them.
Because if she simply delegated everything and waited passively, the entire trip would become nothing more than a ceremonial performance.
The meeting two days earlier had made that painfully clear.
"Your Majesty visiting Ireland is certainly welcome," Killian said during the meeting.
"But why are we only visiting Cobh in County Cork?"
"Who planned this itinerary?"
The room fell silent.
"Well… that decision was made considering the local circumstances—"
"Oh," Killian interrupted calmly.
"So it was arranged by the Chief Secretary."
"And those 'local circumstances' justify this?"
The meeting included several prominent figures.
Lord George West, the Lord Chamberlain.
Edward Eliot, Earl of St Germans, the Chief Secretary for Ireland.
Viscount Melbourne, leader of the Whigs.
Prime Minister Robert Peel of the Conservatives.
Daniel O'Connell.
And Killian Gore.
With such powerful figures gathered together, agreement was never going to come easily.
Although most of them belonged to the Conservative Party, that did not mean they all thought the same way.
The Chief Secretary attempted to defend himself.
"We also had to consider practical matters."
"The town of Cobh has already agreed to rename itself Queenstown in honor of Her Majesty's visit."
"If Her Majesty tours the town and hears from the citizens, it will present an excellent image."
"So it's meant to be a ceremonial visit," Killian replied flatly.
"Not ceremonial. It will still have real impact."
"Impact?" Killian scoffed.
"Do you understand how much hope the Irish people have placed in this visit?"
"They believe the beautiful Queen is finally coming to hear their voices."
"They believe that once Her Majesty sees Ireland's hardships with her own eyes, real solutions may follow."
"And yet you propose a visit that merely passes through Cobh?"
"Well… we could add Dublin to the itinerary—"
Killian clicked his tongue.
"So in the end you intend for the Queen to visit only wealthy, well-maintained areas."
"That's not—"
The Chief Secretary sighed.
"Even when Her Majesty travels through London, routes are chosen through prosperous districts."
"I merely followed standard practice."
His frustration was understandable.
Traditionally, royal visits were designed so the monarch would see only the best.
There were even cases where walls had been built to block the view of poor districts during royal processions.
But when Victoria first heard the proposed itinerary, she felt an immediate sense of rejection.
At first she had not understood its implications.
Now she did.
It meant:
Go there. Smile politely.Stand like a beautiful flower while everyone else handles the real matters.
She already knew the monarchy was becoming increasingly symbolic.
But being treated so openly as decoration was still unpleasant.
Victoria turned toward the Prime Minister.
"Prime Minister, how much influence do I have over the Irish itinerary?"
"The final decision naturally belongs to Your Majesty," Peel replied.
"Parliament and the government merely prepare proposals on your behalf."
"However, these decisions are normally approved as they are, since they are made by experienced experts."
Victoria nodded slowly.
"But when it comes to Ireland, I doubt there is anyone more qualified than the Foreign Secretary."
"Am I mistaken?"
Peel smiled.
"I would say you are correct."
"In that case," Victoria said calmly, "we should listen to the expert."
"Minister, if you disagree with the Chief Secretary's proposal, please present an alternative."
Edward Eliot, despite his title, was an Englishman with little real experience in Ireland.
Listening to Killian's opinion was the obvious choice.
Even Eliot himself did not object.
Killian spoke quietly.
"This visit is an opportunity to demonstrate that Ireland truly belongs within the British Empire."
"It must not feel ceremonial."
"The world has changed."
"Educated citizens are increasing every year."
"If we rely on old methods, we will provoke resentment instead."
Victoria nodded firmly.
"I agree."
"After Ireland, we will visit Scotland to strengthen the unity of the Empire."
"This project involves enormous effort and funding."
"So please prepare a plan that achieves the maximum possible result."
Killian inclined his head.
"Understood."
"I will draft the itinerary with Mr. Daniel O'Connell."
"Then it will be reviewed by the Chief Secretary and the Prime Minister before being submitted to Your Majesty."
"Does anyone object?"
No one did.
Peel even supported the idea enthusiastically.
"With respect to the Chief Secretary," he said, "many people in Ireland would gladly welcome Killian himself as governor."
"And besides Mr. O'Connell, no one here understands Ireland better than he does."
Victoria blinked.
Lately the Prime Minister seemed strangely eager to support Killian.
Did he have some sort of weakness?
Or perhaps he had made a mistake and felt guilty.
Whatever the reason, watching Killian speak confidently among such powerful figures filled Victoria with pride.
Suddenly she remembered something her uncle had once told her.
He is talented, but he is half Irish.
His limits are clear.
You may use him as a piece in your game.
But like a bishop in chess, he will never become more than that.
At the time she had not openly disagreed.
But if the former king were alive today, she would answer very differently.
I'm sorry, but I believe I judge people better than you did.
The famine investigation commission.
The Queen's visit to Ireland.
Both were unprecedented undertakings.
Yet after extensive debate, the plans were finalized without major conflict.
To outsiders it might seem the government was focusing only on Ireland.
But that concern had already been addressed.
In England and Wales, Victoria actively intervened in the opium issue, calming public anxiety.
Scotland would be visited after Ireland, which delighted the Scottish public.
Research had revealed that several regions there—especially the Highlands—were already approaching a Malthusian trap.
The land was small.
The population exceeded three hundred thousand.
Food production simply could not keep up.
If the potato crop collapsed there as well, Scotland could face famine similar to Ireland's.
Which meant the Queen's visit carried enormous significance.
"Your Majesty, are you feeling well?"
"Yes," Victoria replied brightly.
"I feel wonderful."
"This is my first time sailing across open waters. It's rather exciting."
Early morning sunlight shimmered across the Thames.
Surrounded by royal attendants and officials, Victoria boarded the ship gracefully while crowds gathered to see her off.
Prime Minister Peel remained behind to manage government affairs.
Instead, he appointed Killian to oversee the expedition.
Given that Killian's plan had replaced the Chief Secretary's, the decision had been inevitable.
"Our route will take us through the Channel and into the Celtic Sea," Killian explained.
"We will approach Ireland's southern coast."
"If the journey becomes tiresome, we can stop at a nearby port."
Victoria laughed.
"I've always dreamed of traveling like this."
"Isn't it romantic?"
As the ship passed St. Paul's Cathedral and the Palace of Westminster, Victoria gazed eagerly at the scenery.
Killian, remembering the miserable months he had once spent sailing to Asia, could only smile wryly.
Victoria poured herself a glass of wine.
"When we arrive in Cobh, shall we begin the official schedule immediately?"
"Yes," Killian replied.
"However, I must apologize in advance."
"Once we arrive, we plan to avoid overly extravagant meals or celebrations."
"Considering the situation in Ireland."
Victoria nodded.
"That makes sense."
"If we're going there to help starving people, eating luxurious steaks would look terrible."
In the original history, Victoria had visited Ireland during the famine.
But she had been shown only wealthy areas.
She returned believing the famine was exaggerated.
The result was disastrous.
Britain became even more indifferent.
Irish resentment grew stronger.
Killian had no intention of repeating that mistake.
"Before we arrive in Cobh," he said, "I'll brief Your Majesty on the full itinerary."
Victoria smiled.
"Before that, why don't you have a drink and enjoy the view?"
"The city looks beautiful from here."
"Then please admire the scenery while I speak."
"At Cobh there will be a welcoming ceremony."
"But honestly, there is little I need to say."
"The Irish will already be impressed by Your Majesty's elegance."
Victoria coughed softly.
"You think I'm elegant?"
"There is no need to say it."
Victoria looked quite different from the portraits Killian remembered.
Her height still bothered her.
But that could easily be solved with the invention of high-heeled shoes.
In fact…
Perhaps that could become a profitable business.
If Victoria wore them publicly, aristocratic ladies would rush to buy them.
The key question was whether shoemakers could design heels comfortable enough to support women's weight.
Something to investigate once he returned to London.
Soon it was time for lunch.
Killian cleared his throat.
"Your Majesty, there is one final matter."
"Something I hope you will understand."
"Go ahead."
"People in Ireland will pay great attention to what you eat."
"In fact, nothing promotes a food better than the Queen eating it herself."
Victoria nodded.
"I know."
"That's how potatoes became accepted despite tasting terrible."
Killian continued.
"To minimize famine damage, we cannot rely on one solution."
"Emigration, alternative crops, agricultural reform, land reform—we must use all of them."
Victoria narrowed her eyes.
"That explanation sounds suspiciously long."
"So what exactly do you want me to do?"
"We must promote an alternative crop."
Killian placed a dish on the table.
"Rutabaga."
"It resembles a turnip but survives cold climates far better."
"It should grow well in Ireland."
"For the time being, it can replace potatoes."
Victoria smiled confidently.
"Then let's taste it."
"It may be extremely unpleasant," Killian warned.
"You might want to add sauce—"
"What do you take me for?"
"I already tried potatoes before this trip."
Victoria speared a piece with her fork and took a bite.
Her expression froze instantly.
Silence filled the cabin.
"Your Majesty," Killian said carefully.
"If it's unbearable, you may spit it out."
Rutabaga was infamous.
Terrible taste.
Terrible texture.
Low calories.
The unholy trinity.
It had only two advantages:
It grew easily.
And it contained useful nutrients.
There was little chance it would suit a queen's palate.
Which was why he had suggested sauce.
Victoria forced a smile.
"Delicious."
"A truly unique texture…"
"Quite distinctive."
Killian sighed.
"You don't have to eat it."
"I can arrange things so it only appears that you did."
Victoria shook her head stubbornly.
"No."
"You're working so hard for Ireland."
"I must do my part."
"Before we arrive in Ireland, I'll get used to this… devil's vegetable."
Even soldiers during the First World War had hated rutabaga.
And yet here was the Queen of Britain forcing it down without sauce.
Perhaps love really did make the impossible possible.
Watching her determination, Killian felt certain of one thing.
The Irish visit would be a tremendous success.
Thank you, Your Majesty.
I will repay this favor someday.