With Parliament's approval secured, the final obstacle to this unprecedented "Royal Tour of the East" vanished.
Across the British Empire, preparations accelerated into a meticulous frenzy.
Though Arthur Lionheart joked about the journey as if it were a simple "private holiday," he alone understood the gravity of sailing into the lion's den.
Tsar Nicholas I was no complacent provincial autocrat—he was a formidable ruler, ruthless when necessary and resolute to the core.
Security, therefore, came first.
On the broad parade ground of Buckingham Palace, several hundred elite guards—handpicked from the finest regiments in the Empire—stood in immaculate formation, awaiting the inspection of the Prince Consort.
Arthur Lionheart, dressed in a tailored riding coat, strode calmly along the line.
He examined weapons and equipment with an exacting eye, even selecting soldiers at random to demonstrate live firing and close-quarters drills.
Nothing escaped his notice: a smear of mud on an officer's boot, an improperly cleaned pistol barrel, a loose strap on a cartridge box.
His precision and authority made even the proud officers of the Royal Guard flush with embarrassment.
"Barrett!" Arthur called suddenly.
"Sir!"
A tall, broad-shouldered man with scarred features stepped forward.
This was Barrett—formerly the loyal captain of the Workers' Armed Corps, whom Arthur had personally elevated. He now served within the Royal Guard as a mid-ranking officer, entrusted with far more responsibility than his modest background ever promised.
"You and your men will be responsible for the Queen's and my own close protection," Arthur said with crisp clarity.
"Yes, Your Royal Highness!"
Barrett's voice rang with pride. He understood the immense trust he had been given.
Arthur did not want merely ceremonial guards.
He wanted his people—men who would, without hesitation, shield Victoria with their own bodies if danger came. Absolute loyalty was the finest armour.
After securing the practical aspects of defence, Arthur visited the Royal Academy of Sciences, specifically the Laboratory of Electromagnetism and Computational Studies.
There, he realised a bitter truth: physical protection alone was insufficient.
True security came from controlling information.
Time was short, so he abandoned subtle hints and gradual guidance.
He chose the most direct method available to him:
He cheated.
Using a vast sum of "money" accumulated from his Future Industries Group and from the ever-increasing sales of soap and sewing machines, he acquired from the System store an incomplete and revolutionary manuscript of ideas, describing the principles behind Hertz's electromagnetic experiments and Marconi's first wireless transceiver.
When he placed the manuscript's ideas before Faraday and Ada Lovelace, both geniuses of the Empire, they stared at him in stunned silence. "My God..." Faraday whispered, running his old fingers over the schematic of the spark transmitter. "Space itself... can it carry information?"
Ada was even more shaken.
The idea that electromagnetic waves of differing frequencies could transmit different signals upended her entire understanding of computation. Her earlier binary concepts felt childish compared to this vision of wireless communication.
"Your Royal Highness…" Ada breathed, looking at Arthur with a reverence bordering on the divine.
"Is such a thing truly within human reach?"
"It was not," Arthur said softly, "until now."
He offered a faint, knowing smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen—I am preparing to depart for St Petersburg. This manuscript is my gift to you, and to the Empire. I'm not asking you to master it immediately. I'm just asking that, by following these ideas, you can show me they're doable, and who knows, you might surprise me.
"When I return from Russia,Who knows what will happen with you two working on these ideas? he thought to himself that they will prove extremely invaluable for the future.
The two scientists exchanged a look—awed, bewildered, but determined.
Another miracle had been handed to them; they would not waste it.
That night, in the Queen's private chamber, Arthur found Victoria seated at her vanity, listlessly turning over her jewellery box. He approached with a gentle smile.
"Still anxious, my Queen?"
"A little."
She did not turn, but watched him through the mirror.
"Arthur… do you believe this journey will truly be safe? Every time I think of meeting Tsar Nicholas, I feel a touch of fear."
"Do not worry, my dearest."
Arthur wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. Her reflection—youthful, uncertain—softened beneath his embrace.
"Have you forgotten how we persuaded Parliament?" he teased lightly.
"We are not undertaking a stiff, formal state visit. We are going… on a honeymoon."
"A honeymoon?"
Her cheeks coloured at once.
"Indeed."
Arthur's tone became tender, warm as sunlit silk.
"Think of this as the honeymoon we never had. You need not fret over anything. Simply choose your loveliest gown, wear your favourite jewels, take my arm, and enjoy the sights of St Petersburg like any ordinary newlywed wife. Taste their caviar, sip their vodka."
"As for the tedious matters of treaties, borders, diplomacy…"
His eyes glinted with absolute confidence.
"Leave all of that to me—your capable and ever-devoted husband."
"You, my love, need only be the happiest and most radiant bride in the world."
His words, warm as a midsummer dawn, melted the last shadows of fear in Victoria's heart.
She turned and embraced him fiercely, her face buried in his chest.
"Yes…"
"Oh, that reminds me," Arthur said suddenly.
He took Victoria's hand and guided her to the window overlooking the Thames.
There, beneath the pale moonlight, a vast white vessel lay at berth—the newly built royal steam yacht. Its elegant hull shimmered under hundreds of incandescent lamps, glowing like a fallen constellation.
"That," Arthur murmured, "is our ship. Our honeymoon castle."
"Arthur… it's beautiful," Victoria whispered, genuinely astonished.
"Guess what name I have given the ship's series,"Arthur said, looking at her with a gentle smile.
"And I would have you give her a true name, my Queen, for I have given her only the series title, not a proper one."
Victoria paused in thought.
She gazed at the crescent moon, at the scattered stars, and then at the man beside her—the one who had illuminated her entire world like a private sky.
A name came to her then, soft and radiant.
She lifted her face toward Arthur's and spoke with tender solemnity:
"Let us call her…"
"**Promise of the Star-lit Sea**."
"For you were the first to show me the beauty of that sea of stars.
And because I hope our love will endure—vast and eternal—as that very sea of stars.
This is my vow to you, and to our love."
She smiled faintly.
"As for the name of the model, I heard from Lord Melbourne that you had christened it with our daughter's title. It is truly sweet."
Arthur smiled, pressed a kiss to her brow, and told her the name was perfect.
"Regarding the name of the model, I heard from Lord Melbourne that you gave it our daughter's royal title. It's really cute."