The ceremony granting the Dukedoms of Kent and Dublin proceeded without incident.
From the beginning, Victoria had no intention of turning the event into a grand spectacle. Only members of the royal family and a small circle of key parliamentary figures were invited to attend.
In truth, there had never been any real possibility of opposition.
Ireland welcomed the decision enthusiastically, while in England most people regarded it as perfectly natural.
No obstacles appeared.
Parliament, for its part, remained almost completely silent. In fact, many members were already discussing what additional rewards should be granted if I achieved significant success in Canada.
To put it bluntly, most of them had become obedient yes-men in front of the Queen.
Whatever Victoria suggested, they approved immediately.
Considering that she had openly expressed dissatisfaction with Parliament's performance during meetings preceding the ceremony, their nervousness was hardly surprising.
Under the circumstances, it would have been difficult to accuse her of political interference.
After all, it had effectively been Parliament itself that asked me to take on additional responsibilities.
If I had been merely a prince—or perhaps the Duke of Sussex, like the King's uncle—that might have been another matter.
But I was now the Prince Consort, newly married to the Queen.
And what, at this stage, was the most important duty of a Queen and her consort?
Producing the next monarch as soon as possible.
Yet in the very first year of our marriage, there now existed a possibility that I might be sent wandering across the Canadian frontier.
Naturally, Victoria was displeased.
If she were to publicly say even a single sentence—
"I worry for my husband, who may have to travel to Canada before we even have a child."
—then responsibility would immediately fall on Parliament.
Newspapers, always eager for scandal, would devour such an opportunity.
That was why no one dared oppose the idea of Victoria accompanying me to Canada.
Especially not Parliament.
They were already scrambling to clean up the mess they had created.
Every day ministers gathered with the First Lord of the Admiralty and senior military officials, drafting contingency plans.
"We must account for every possible variable that might arise during Her Majesty's journey to Canada."
"The greatest uncertainty is clearly the Atlantic crossing," one official said. "Once Her Majesty arrives in Canada, we can recreate palace conditions easily enough—servants, physicians, everything."
"But what if Her Majesty becomes ill during the voyage?"
"How long does the Atlantic crossing take by steamship these days? Three weeks?"
"With the newest steamships, roughly two weeks."
Compared to the age of sailing ships—when voyages took six to eight weeks—the journey was no longer particularly arduous.
But that was only true for seasoned travelers.
For a queen like Victoria, spending two continuous weeks aboard a ship was hardly trivial.
Until now, the longest voyage she had ever undertaken was from London to southern Ireland.
Crossing the entire Atlantic was another matter entirely.
What if she fell ill in the middle of the ocean?
"Your Royal Highness," one official asked me, "when you traveled to Asia by ship, how did you find the journey?"
"I came from that region by sea even as a child," I replied. "It was difficult, but manageable."
"A voyage to Canada is nothing compared to Asia. Still, this will be Her Majesty's first long ocean crossing, so we must prepare very carefully."
"Then we should assign a full medical staff," someone suggested. "We can also modify the ship to provide more space and comfort. If Her Majesty has sufficient room and leisure activities, two weeks should be manageable."
I cleared my throat.
"Gentlemen, you're overlooking the most important variable."
Gladstone looked at me curiously.
"You believe there is something more important than Her Majesty's health?"
"It is directly related to her health."
I paused before continuing.
"What if Her Majesty becomes pregnant while we are in Canada?"
"…Ah."
Every single member of Parliament fell silent.
Their mouths hung open.
The realization spread through the room like a shockwave.
How had none of them considered it?
Perhaps because I was standing right in front of them, they had subconsciously avoided thinking about such matters.
"But if that were to happen…" someone muttered, "Her Majesty would have to remain in Canada much longer than planned."
"Exactly," I said. "So you must assume the possibility that the stay may be extended."
Medical knowledge in this era was nothing like that of the twenty-first century.
Yet everyone understood one simple fact:
Long-distance travel was dangerous for pregnant women.
Especially if that woman happened to be the Queen of the British Empire.
Wellesley's lips parted as if he had suddenly remembered something.
For a moment, the word war—which I had mentioned earlier—seemed to cross his mind.
The implications were obvious.
If the Queen were in Canada…
And war erupted nearby…
And she happened to be pregnant…
Even I had to admit the situation could trigger a massive overreaction.
Though, from my perspective, that might create an even greater opportunity.
Still, I couldn't possibly hide such a possibility from my wife.
When I warned Victoria that a war might break out, she dismissed my concerns with a single sentence.
"If a war truly happens," she said calmly,
"wouldn't it be better for you if I were there?"
Even if war broke out, it was unlikely to reach wherever Victoria was staying.
And if any real threat emerged, the Royal Navy's massive fleets would turn the entire region into a wasteland before it could reach her.
Moreover, her presence could become a powerful diplomatic weapon.
When negotiations eventually occurred, Britain could make its position clear.
The Queen herself is present in Canada—and may even be carrying the future heir to the throne.
Do not expect concessions.
If that was the Queen's will, how could I possibly object?
So I merely watched with a satisfied smile as Parliament finalized Victoria's Canadian tour.
A Visitor from Russia
"I hear there is a possibility that Your Royal Highness may soon depart for Canada. Congratulations."
"I'm not entirely certain that qualifies as congratulations," I replied. "But thank you nonetheless."
"Oh, it certainly does," the visitor said. "You have stepped down as Foreign Secretary, yet there is still no one capable of replacing you as Prince Consort."
Before leaving for Canada, I intended to settle every outstanding matter in Britain.
Fortunately, the Russian issue I had been hoping to resolve came directly to me.
The man sitting across from me was none other than the Russian Foreign Minister, Karl Nesselrode.
For a figure of his stature to visit Britain twice in such a short period was unprecedented.
Which meant Russia was in a hurry.
"Still," Nesselrode continued, "I understand that Your Royal Highness has stepped down as Foreign Secretary. Why, then, did the Prime Minister advise me to speak with you?"
"The Cabinet is still searching for a replacement," I explained. "And several matters I previously handled must be concluded by me to avoid confusion."
"Ah. That explains it."
Relations with Russia were widely recognized as Britain's highest diplomatic priority.
On this issue, Conservatives and Whigs were virtually unanimous.
No one objected to my handling negotiations—especially since it was only temporary until a successor was appointed.
"If the Russian Foreign Minister has traveled personally rather than through the ambassador," I said calmly, "then the matter must be quite important."
"Shall we move to the main topic?"
"Yes," Nesselrode replied. "Since Your Royal Highness will soon depart for Canada, we hope to resolve this matter quickly."
"You already know what Russia seeks."
"You're referring to the matter we discussed before my wedding."
There were not many issues important enough to bring a Russian minister to London.
And if the topic had not been formally announced beforehand, it meant secrecy was essential.
Which meant only one thing.
"Russia intends to begin its expansion into Primorye, does it not?"
"Yes," Nesselrode admitted.
"We previously agreed that the matter required formal discussion. Now the time has come to reach a conclusion."
"If Your Royal Highness leaves for Canada, negotiations would have to begin again with a new minister."
Britain traditionally opposed Russian expansion wherever possible.
If a territory belonged to no one, that was one thing.
But if it already had an owner, Britain could always intervene under the pretext of protecting that owner.
Yet in our previous conversation, I had shown no strong opposition to Russia occupying Primorye.
Which was precisely why Nesselrode had come.
He wanted to finalize an agreement before a new British foreign secretary appeared.
Officially it might be a secret arrangement.
But whether one called it a treaty or a backroom deal hardly mattered—so long as both sides benefited.
From my perspective, reaching an understanding with Russia quickly was equally advantageous.
The rivalry between Britain and Russia—the Great Game—would only intensify with time.
Eventually it would explode into something like the Crimean War.
Once that stage arrived, Russia would never accept my terms.
But right now?
Relations between the two empires were tense—but not yet openly hostile.
Meaning compromise was still possible.
"So Russia's goal is not merely to enter the region," I said.
"You intend to secure Primorye permanently."
"Correct," Nesselrode replied.
"Contrary to the fears of some European states, Russian control of Primorye would not threaten Europe directly. Even if we built a navy there, reaching Europe would require sailing halfway around the world."
"That's true," I said. "But Primorye is not empty land. It belongs to Qing China."
"To take it, you would have to fight them."
"And do you have justification for such a war?"
Nesselrode smiled faintly.
"Justification can always be created."
"But if we attack openly, Britain or France might intervene."
China, despite its conflict with Britain, would almost certainly accept British assistance if Russia invaded its territory.
And Britain rarely entered conflicts alone.
Instead, it would gather allies.
After all, weakening Russia while securing new treaties with China would benefit many European powers.
Russia knew this perfectly well.
Which was why they had not moved sooner.
"So," I said calmly,
"You wish Britain not to interfere."
"And I assume you do not expect us to remain neutral without conditions."
Nesselrode's eyes sharpened.
"Are you suggesting Britain would consider neutrality… under the right terms?"
"Of course."
The truth was simple.
Britain had no realistic chance of taking Primorye itself.
Sooner or later, Russia would obtain it anyway.
If I could use that fact as a bargaining chip without spending a single pound…
Why wouldn't I?
Russia gaining a stable Pacific port might sound threatening.
But the benefits I could extract from this negotiation were worth far more.
I spread a large map across the table.
Then I tapped the region I had been watching for a very long time.
"You may advance into Primorye," I said.
"But in exchange…"
I pointed to the map.
"You will give us this."