My meeting with François Guizot had gone smoothly, but his visit was only the beginning.
After France came Spain, Austria, and many other nations in quick succession. One after another, ministers and deputy ministers poured into London, and I found myself in the unfortunate position of personally addressing their concerns.
Still, things went relatively well—at least up to Austria.
After all, who had arrived from Vienna?
Clemens von Metternich.
One of the towering diplomatic figures of the Austrian Empire, the very man who had helped shape the new European order after the Napoleonic Wars.
I had expected him to interrogate me relentlessly.
Instead, our meeting ended almost before it had begun.
"Britain has no intention of spreading war across the world the way Napoleon once did, I presume?"
"Of course not."
"I see. Then let us continue working together for the peace of the world."
That was it.
The entire conversation ended almost as quickly as lightning striking dry wood—something closer to You're not behind this, are you? Good. Let's both keep doing our jobs.
After that, Metternich never sought another meeting with me.
It left me wondering why he had come in person at all.
But watching his behavior, it seemed clear that he was less concerned about Britain itself than about how France, Russia, and the other powers would react to this situation.
Strictly speaking, that made sense.
Perhaps in the past Austria might have found itself in direct rivalry with Britain—but under the current balance of power, such a confrontation was unlikely.
From Vienna's perspective, the real question was how France and Russia would move after this.
Thanks to that brief sparring match, I was able to catch my breath before facing the man I truly needed to watch.
The Foreign Minister of the Russian Empire.
Our so-called Mother Russia, which pretends to be a nation of bold men but is, in truth, often a nest of paranoid schemers.
Karl Nesselrode.
From the beginning, he had been one of those whose attitude toward this marriage was… less than enthusiastic.
Of course, a seasoned diplomat like him would never reveal such feelings openly. On the surface, our meeting was perfectly cordial.
"Allow me to congratulate you," Nesselrode said. "With this marriage, Britain's diplomacy will surely spread its wings even further. I can only envy such skill."
Even that subtle barb was likely calculated.
He intended to observe every small reaction, searching for clues to Britain's true intentions.
"It is hardly skill," I replied calmly. "Before I am a Foreign Secretary, I am simply a man who wishes to return Her Majesty's love. Everything else is secondary."
"I understand that you are the youngest Foreign Secretary in British history," Nesselrode said. "And that your career has continued to shine since then. Yet you are willing to set aside such a position in order to become the Queen's consort. That must mean your love for Her Majesty runs quite deep."
I gave a slightly embarrassed smile.
"When you put it that way, I suppose that is true."
"That is reassuring to hear," Nesselrode said. "My government is, of course, delighted by this joyous occasion. Still… there are those who harbor certain concerns."
So he stood in exactly the same position as Guizot.
If Russia and France were thinking along the same lines and preparing to restrain Britain together, things would become rather troublesome.
"I have heard similar concerns from many quarters," I said with a light laugh. "At this rate I may spend the entire time before the wedding explaining myself."
"Explaining?" Nesselrode asked. "You mean other nations have expressed their concerns directly to you?"
"They have. And each time I have assured them that it is all a misunderstanding. Britain has absolutely no such intentions. We are already stretched thin simply stabilizing the territories we have recently acquired. To suggest that we would attempt to swallow additional Asian states in our current situation—frankly, that would be absurd."
"Then you are saying your… background in this marriage is merely coincidence."
"Not coincidence," I replied. "Let us say simply that I happened to possess the sort of background that made such a marriage possible. As I said, Britain's primary goal at present is to stabilize the strategically important territories we have already gained. We have neither the time nor the capacity to look elsewhere."
In other words:
Expansion into Asia was so unrealistic that we had never even considered it.
Nesselrode fell silent for a moment, sipping his tea as if weighing the truth of my words.
Britain's newly acquired territories after the war with Qing China were scattered across vast distances, connected only by sea.
Meanwhile, in the New World, Canada's population continued to grow, and the frontier pushed steadily westward.
Anyone familiar with this situation would find my argument quite persuasive.
Even if they doubted our intentions, they could easily believe we lacked the capacity.
"Certainly," Nesselrode admitted, "for the time being that may be true."
"Governing distant territories across oceans is more difficult than it appears," I said. "Russia possesses vast lands as well, but most are connected by land routes. Perhaps our differing circumstances have caused some misunderstanding."
Nesselrode chuckled.
"Well then, perhaps if Russia were able to reach the sea as well, such misunderstandings might disappear. Greater mutual understanding would surely reduce the chances of conflict."
Nice try.
"Or it might create an even greater conflict," I replied. "If Russia were to claim the entire Black Sea, it would inevitably require seizing territory from others. Would that not terrify the world?"
Trying to slide that argument past me, was he?
Even if Britain did nothing, plenty of European states would panic at Russian expansion.
France alone would be enough to rally half the continent against them.
And Russia's allies?
There were none worth mentioning.
There was a famous saying that Russia had only two allies—its army and its navy.
Russian diplomacy was so notoriously poor that it had alienated nearly every neighbor.
Of course, Britain had not exactly helped matters.
We had spent decades quietly persuading the rest of Europe that Russia was a dangerous menace.
"Ah, it seems there has been a misunderstanding," Nesselrode said.
"When I spoke of reaching the sea, I did not mean the Black Sea. Tempting as it may be, even we understand the timing is not right. I was referring to somewhere further east."
"The east… You mean Primorye? The region along the Sea of Japan?"
"Precisely. A distant land in the Far East, unrelated to Europe. Surely that would not provoke the same tensions."
"But that territory currently belongs to Qing China."
Nesselrode smiled faintly.
"Were Hong Kong and Shanghai not once Chinese as well?"
Ah.
So that was his meaning.
You took land from China—now it is our turn. Don't interfere.
For most European states, Primorye was not particularly important.
But for Russia and China, it was strategically vital.
If China lost it, the empire would lose direct access to the Sea of Japan.
If Russia gained it, they would finally secure an outlet to the Pacific.
It was no coincidence that in real history Russia had pressured China during the Second Opium War, demanding Primorye in exchange for mediation.
And now Nesselrode himself was practically confirming those intentions.
Whether he had come to negotiate this from the beginning or had merely changed course after confirming Britain's lack of interest in Asia, the objective was obvious.
"It sounds to me as though you are proposing a war with Qing China," I said calmly.
"In such a joyous setting," Nesselrode replied with a smile, "it would be inappropriate to discuss such grim matters. Perhaps we can arrange another meeting in the future. But I assure you—this will cause no harm to Britain. I merely wished to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings."
"I appreciate your consideration," I said.
"I also believe pointless confrontation benefits neither of our nations. If we continue to speak openly like this, we may avoid misunderstandings and pursue our mutual interests."
From Britain's perspective, Russia controlling Primorye was not ideal.
But realistically, it would be almost impossible for Britain alone to prevent it.
Even if we tried, we could not hold the region indefinitely.
Sooner or later Russia would simply take it back.
That was why, in actual history, Britain and France had quietly accepted Russia's acquisition of the region in the Treaty of Beijing.
Nesselrode knew this perfectly well.
Which was why he had drawn the line so clearly.
Primorye alone.
No interference.
But this time, the situation was different.
From his tone, Russia seemed eager to provoke Qing China into conflict.
And more importantly—
France was also trying to push its way into Asia.
If both Russia and France began stirring trouble in Northeast Asia, it would be fascinating to see how those anxious regional states reacted.
Well.
That was one more piece of information I could pass along.
I would report every last detail.
After all, I was practically family to the Korean royal house—and a distant relative of the Shogun.
Surely warning one's relatives about approaching danger was only proper.
And if they rewarded such loyalty appropriately…
Well.
That would hardly be unreasonable.
At last, after finishing every duty as Foreign Secretary, the fateful day arrived.
I woke before dawn.
I tried to fall asleep again, but it was impossible.
I was not trembling, nor did my heart pound with nervous dread.
But my mind grew clearer and clearer, as if I had already drunk ten cups of coffee.
There was still plenty of time before the ceremony.
With nothing better to do, I took a shower and sat quietly on the sofa, waiting for the sunrise.
So.
The day had finally come.
I had been so busy with official duties that I had almost forgotten—but everyone else had already begun treating me as the future royal consort of the British Empire.
And after today, it would no longer be merely courtesy.
It would be reality.
Soon the attendants arrived and helped me dress.
I put on the uniform of an Admiral of the Royal Navy, along with the star of the Order of the Garter, the highest honor in Britain.
Watching me, Charles Wellesley whistled and gave a thumbs-up.
"Good heavens. You were already a handsome fellow, but dressed like that you'll have every lady in London staring. Her Majesty may never dare let you out of the palace again."
"It's just a uniform," I said. "You're exaggerating."
"You have no idea," Wellesley replied. "Women adore a man in uniform. Anyway, we'll be heading to the ceremony soon. How do you feel?"
"Happy. Nervous. Complicated. I can't quite put it into words."
"That's normal," Wellesley chuckled. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Welcome to the world of married men."
The remark seemed to carry several meanings, but I had no time to dwell on it.
My first wedding.
It felt wonderful.
Exciting.
Almost as if my feet were no longer touching the ground.
But every new beginning is also a farewell to the past.
From today onward, my life would move in a direction completely different from the path Killian Gore had followed until now.
At least on the surface.
Can I do it?
Of course I can.
If I didn't believe that, I never would have come this far.
I took several deep breaths, steadying my mind.
Then I heard the voice announcing that the carriage had arrived.
"Well," Charles said. "Shall we go?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Today is the funeral of Foreign Secretary Killian Gore."
"And the birth of the Prince-Consort of the British Empire."
From today onward, my life at the forefront of power would end—for a time.
From now on, I would move in the shadows.
Slowly.
Quietly.
I would seep into every corner of the British Empire—
Its politics.
Its economy.
Its society.
Until my influence was everywhere./