Autumn, 1840.
After Arthur Lionheart's return to London—having successfully triggered a chain of international reactions—the whole of Europe, indeed the entire world, found itself suspended in an air of tension and expectation.
It felt as though a new global transformation was coming, one that would be led unmistakably by the British Empire.
And today, the veil would finally be pulled away.
The autumn session of Parliament had officially opened at the Palace of Westminster. By tradition, Her Majesty the Queen attended the ceremony in person to deliver the Speech from the Throne, outlining the imperial government's political agenda for the coming year.
Within hours, the speech would be carried by The Times and the diplomatic courier networks to every corner of the world.
All of London had emptied into the square before Parliament, eager to hear the Queen's voice. Inside the Parliament Hall, every seat was filled—ministers, nobles, foreign envoys—each sitting straight as an iron rod.
Arthur Lionheart, dressed in ceremonial attire befitting both his royal status and his role as Supreme Military Adviser, sat quietly in his place just beside the Queen's throne. A faint, knowing smile played on his lips—the smile of a man who had laid the foundations of a strategy now ready to be unveiled.
Today, for the first time, he and Victoria—the twin stars of the Empire—would announce their meticulously crafted global doctrine to the world.
Exactly at ten.
After the Speaker's announcement and a full standing ovation, Queen Victoria ascended the steps to the throne. She wore a deep purple coronation gown—the color of imperial absolutism—and diamonds crowning her hair with cold brilliance. Lord Melbourne, the Prime Minister, walked solemnly behind her.
Her pregnancy gave her a new gravity. The shy girl she once was had vanished entirely. Her blue eyes, luminous and steady, radiated a serene but unchallengeable majesty.
She sat slowly, lifting her gaze over the hall. The crowd held its breath.
Then she began—her voice clear, resonant, carrying to every corner of the chamber.
Against custom, she did not open with a review of past achievements.
Instead, from the very first sentence, she unveiled a concept so vast, so audacious, that several ministers stiffened in their seats.
"Gentlemen," she declared,
"last year, my husband—Prince Arthur Lionheart—led our invincible fleet on a grand Voyage of Peace. They journeyed from the Great Qing Empire in the East, to the mysterious realm of Japan, then onward to Calcutta and the Russian Empire. They did not bring war or devastation. They carried the benevolence of the British Empire—our steadfast belief in free trade."
A few generals twitched at this, knowing all too well the "peaceful" nature of British cannons in the East. Some foreign envoys exchanged looks filled with suppressed sarcasm.
Bombardment and 'treaty enforcement' as a voyage of peace?
Your Majesty—your husband's political skin is clearly rubbing off on you.
Victoria ignored every raised eyebrow.
She continued, her voice taking on the sanctified cadence of a monarch exporting values rather than merely announcing policy.
"Through this journey, we came to a solemn realization:"
"There is still too much barbarism in our world. Too much backwardness, injustice, and conflict."
"There remain empires who shut themselves from civilization. There remain greedy slavers exploiting innocent lives. There remain powerful nations who covet the lands of their weaker neighbors."
"These forces gravely hinder the common progress of human civilization—and deeply endanger the sacred global commercial order upon which all nations depend."
"Therefore—"
Her voice rose with sudden force, echoing through the hall.
"I, Victoria, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, on behalf of the British Empire, hereby propose to the world a new national doctrine—"
"A global peace order—Pax Britannica—jointly upheld by our Empire and all civilized nations that cherish peace and free trade, with 'fair commerce' and a 'mighty navy' as its twin pillars!"
The term thundered through every mind present.
A new global peace order?!
Under British leadership?!
Foreign envoys stared as though witnessing the proclamation of a world sovereign.
Victoria watched their astonishment with rising fire in her chest. This—this clarity of vision, this sweeping redefinition of the world—was exactly what Arthur had taught her:
"Use a concept too grand to refute. Redefine the board—before anyone can make a move."
She continued:
"Under this New Order!"
"First: Trade must be free. No nation may erect unreasonable tariffs or use force to obstruct legitimate commerce. Any action undermining free trade shall be considered a provocation against all civilized nations!"
"Second: The seas must be safe. Piracy must be eradicated. All major international trade routes must be protected. To this end, the Royal Navy of the British Empire shall—without hesitation—assume its duty as the new World's Policeman In a geopolitical sense."
World's… policeman?
Mr. Stevenson, the American envoy, nearly dropped his notebook. The scale of this ambition exceeded even his darkest suspicions.
Victoria pressed on:
"Third: Territorial disputes must be resolved through civilized, diplomatic negotiation. Any attempt to alter regional balances through barbaric force shall be subject to mediation under this New Order."
"And our Royal Navy shall serve as the unwavering guarantor of this New Order."
"We shall patrol every ocean on this earth—fighting piracy, securing trade routes, and mediating all disputes that we judge harmful to regional stability."
"We shall wield the sword in our hands to bring lasting peace to the entire world!"
Her final words crashed like a tidal wave.
Silence followed. Absolute, breathless silence.
Everyone—British and foreign—was shaken to the core by the Queen's declaration. It was imperial hegemony dressed in the shimmering language of peace, liberty, and civilization.
Britain no longer sought to be merely a colonial empire.
It sought to be the ruler of the planet.
The hegemon above all others.
After a long pause, Prime Minister Melbourne rose, applauding with solemn vigor.
One by one, members of Parliament and the nobles of the realm followed—erupting into thunderous applause, as though celebrating the coronation of a global monarch.
Their faces glowed with the unmistakable pride of a nation convinced of its mandate.
Foreign envoys could only swallow their curses, force strained smiles, and join the applause—lest they appear uncivilized before the new world sovereign.
Beside the throne, Arthur watched quietly as his Queen radiated brilliance and composed before the world.
Warm affection curved his lips.
The Golden Age he envisioned, using the United States of America as an example, would transform its future foreign policy, characterized by global military and diplomatic intervention to maintain international order, into an era in which Great Britain would shape the world order, where it is already beginning to cast its first long, triumphant shadow over the Earth.
And now it would crown this Golden Age with its brightest jewel.