Chapter 3

“Must you really send me away…?”

Victoria’s mother, the Duchess of Kent, wiped away tears with her handkerchief. And standing right beside her was John Conroy.

I swallowed an inward chuckle.

The Kensington System.

When I read those words in Victoria’s diary, I had clicked my tongue in disbelief.

‘Not letting young Victoria stay alone even for a second, making her hold someone’s hand even when walking down the stairs, not to mention cutting her off from meeting other children and blocking her from getting close to other royals?’

Why?

Because it was a customized rearing method designed to break Victoria’s spirit, make her dependent on the Duchess of Kent and John Conroy, and pull her strings like a puppet.

There are people in this world who wrap things like this up and call it protection, but my old company had been the same—wrapping things under the packaging of a “family-like company” while gagging employees’ mouths and treating them like puppets.

“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll try to visit often.”

“…Really?”

I smiled instead of answering.

The phrase “I’ll try to visit” meant I had absolutely no intention of ever visiting.

To think I’d be able to use that exquisite conversational tactic—making a promise without any obligation to fulfill it—in this era, too.

When I smiled once more with an agreeable face, the Duchess of Kent nodded as if reassured.

Watching the carriage shrink away into the distance, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

Still, to think I actually became the king—well, queen.

My heart pounded.

“Ah, standing around won’t get things done.”

I calmed my pounding heart and pulled myself together. There was something more urgent than adapting to a new environment.

That was to place a trustworthy person by my side who could act as my hands and feet.

“Baroness Lehzen.”

Summoned by my call, she had rushed to Kensington Palace. She looked rather pedantic, but overall, her face carried an air of trustworthiness.

According to Victoria’s diary, Baroness Lehzen was a more reliable presence than her mother.

She had encouraged and supported Victoria to think for herself amidst the psychological pressure from Conroy and the Duchess of Kent, and she had cared for Victoria devotedly when she was sick. The diary noted that she was one of the few people who treated Victoria as a human being rather than a tool.

However, because Baroness Lehzen held the title of a baroness from the Kingdom of Hanover rather than Britain, British high society did not recognize her title, and she could officially never hold a post like Woman of the Bedchamber, which was reserved exclusively for women from prominent British noble families.

Even so, I couldn’t just let go of an S-rank talent.

“I promised to assign you no official title, but I think I’m going to have to go back on my word.”

“Pardon? But Your Majesty, I am….”

The corners of Baroness Lehzen’s eyes trembled slightly.

Joy and fear clashed visibly across her face.

“It’s the title of Lady Companion. I’ll make an official declaration when the time is right, but until then, I want you to help me… in an unofficial capacity.”

I said it straight as it was. Creating a brand-new official position would shake up the entire royal organization, and criticisms would pour down that I had created a special post based on personal favoritism.

Considering the backlash from noble society against giving the title of “Lady” to a foreigner and a de facto commoner, unofficial was the best option for now.

“T-To someone as lowly as myself, something so undeserved… Sob. Your Majesty! I shall serve you with all my heart and soul!”

Watching Baroness Lehzen shed tears made my heart swell with emotion.

A few days later.

I pulled up Victoria’s diary and stared at the events I had to resolve.

“The one I have to solve right off the bat is… of all things, the Opium War!”

The Opium War.

An aggressive, utterly repulsive war where morality and conscience were tossed to the dogs—easily ranking in the top five ugliest and dirtiest conflicts in human history.

‘Pumping opium into Qing China to cover Britain’s trade deficit, and when China tried to stop it, mobilizing the military as if waiting for the chance to invade, burn, and loot…. Ah, the more I think about it, the more furious I get.’

No event illustrated the greedy, ugly face of 19th-century imperialism more nakedly than this.

And they wanted me to stop this?

My head was a complete mess of tangled chaos.

How? By what on earth am I supposed to do it?

With about three years remaining before the outbreak of the Opium War.

It was longer than I initially thought, but the problem was that being queen didn’t mean I could just do whatever I pleased.

Britain was strictly a nation adopting a constitutional monarchy.

That meant I could only exercise royal authority within the limits permitted by law, and anything beyond that was impossible without the will of Parliament and the cabinet.

Looking through Victoria’s diary around the time the Opium War with Qing China was voted on, the war had broken out because it narrowly passed in Parliament.

“Parliament, huh…. In the end, there’s no other way to stop the Opium War than to persuade Parliament.”

[00:31 remaining until today’s diary reading session ends.]

Just then, the clock depicted on the diary flashed, signaling that time was running out.

“Ah, just a little mooooore!!!”

Since I didn’t have many memories from the original Victoria, the information written in the diary was virtually the only thing I could rely on.

‘A mere 30 minutes a day! Isn’t that a bit much, humanly speaking?’

I poured out complaints, but only an empty echo answered back.

As I collapsed limply onto the bed, Dash came panting and burrowed into my arms.

“Dash!”

As I slumped haphazardly onto the bed, Dash came panting and burrowed straight into my arms.

It was warm.

The hand that had been trembling stopped on its own.

“Still, Parliament, huh….”

If I went to Parliament and pleaded that we must stop the Opium War, would those people say, “Understood, Your Majesty,” and bow submissively?

‘No, absolutely not.’

Right now, power in Britain was divided between the Monarch and Parliament.

If the queen lowered her head and gave in, Parliament would applaud, but the king’s power would drop correspondingly while Parliament’s power grew stronger.

That meant I would inevitably be dragged around by Parliament, and at some point, far from upholding conscience and morality, I wouldn’t even be able to stop them if they committed atrocities.

‘I will never let that happen.’

Back then, how had I managed to win against the company?

Sure, I had help from many people, but didn’t I study extensively, gather evidence, and run around with my own two feet?

‘In the end, I have no choice but to become a smart queen.’

I had become queen, but there was still time left before my coronation—the ceremony that officially recognized my authority.

Time seemed plentiful, but starting after the coronation, I would have to govern alongside Parliament in earnest.

That meant a mountain of things to learn and master was piled up waiting for me.

‘Come to think of it, didn’t they say Lord Melbourne came by every day to offer advice?’

Staring at the fading traces of Victoria’s diary that had just been displayed, I smacked my lips.

‘Rule number one of social life: keep your enemies closer than your friends.’

I didn’t like Lord Melbourne, who was trying to tame me, but he knew the ins and outs of 19th-century British knowledge that I lacked, and he possessed the worldly-wise arts of survival as a seasoned politician.

‘What needs to be learned must be learned.’

I picked up a pen and wrote a letter asking Lord Melbourne for various pieces of advice, and starting the very next day, he came to visit me daily.

Well, strictly speaking, he came to try and tame me.

“Your Majesty, as you know, the Canadian border issue with the United States continues to plague us.”

“Unrest in Ireland is also looking quite serious.”

“We must keep a close eye on the movements of France and Russia as well.”

Like a well-rehearsed script, Lord Melbourne rattled off the realities and immediate challenges facing Britain.

The way he seemed to frankly reveal his inner thoughts while simultaneously keeping a distance gave me an uncanny sense of déjà vu.

‘It was the same back then, wasn’t it?’

When I was in the middle of a lawsuit against the company, several politicians had come looking for me, promising to help.

And I realized then.

Taking the words of a seasoned politician at face value was the quickest way to make a fool of yourself.

“How about sending a special envoy to the United States?”

“What is the reason the Irish are causing unrest?”

“There’s no chance France and Russia would join hands, is there?”

At my following replies, Lord Melbourne’s eyebrows twitched minutely and the corners of his mouth twisted.

Could it be that the phrase “the weight of conscience,” which I had slyly slipped into my accession declaration last time, was still lingering in the back of his mind? It seemed he was trying to sound me out to see what kind of intent I had.

‘If I don’t, I die!’

If I came right out and said I was from the future, he’d have me locked up in the Tower of London by the end of the day.

So I needed to conceal my true thoughts and maintain a poker face.

Right, what wouldn’t I do to survive?

As if a mental fortitude forged in the courtroom would get dulled just because I’m here.

However, right now I was Queen Victoria.

A mere eighteen-year-old, world-blind young girl (or something wearing the appearance of one).

A power struggle where the monarch of a constitutional monarchy goes toe-to-toe with the Prime Minister head-on was not a wise move.

I knew full well that squaring off in a game of hard-versus-hard would ultimately result in a loss only for me.

That was why I decided to act like a figurehead CEO for the time being.

To put it bluntly, the actual operation of the state and policy decisions were handled by elected powers such as Parliament and the cabinet, while the monarch did not exercise direct political power—meaning it was no different from a figurehead CEO who held only the name and no real authority.

‘Of course, I have zero intention of staying a real figurehead.’

To make Britain a great nation where justice and moral values are realized, I would eventually have to intervene directly in events unfolding inside and outside of Britain.

However, since it wasn’t yet time to bare my claws, I decided to flash a harmless smile.

Just like Liu Bei in Romance of the Three Kingdoms, whom I had read about in the past, played the fool for a while when he temporarily entrusted himself to Cao Cao in order to escape his suspicions, I needed to slip out from under Lord Melbourne’s suspicions as well.

“Oh my, Lord Melbourne. It seems I’ve gone and mixed up my papers… again.”

On purpose, of course.

While listening to state reports, I would occasionally stare out into space with unseeing eyes and tilt my head.

“That is… um… I don’t remember, so I’m afraid I don’t know….”

I do not remember.

The magical sentence frequently used during parliamentary hearings in South Korea that could deflect any suspicion and responsibility.

When I added the innocent, naive smile typical of an eighteen-year-old girl to this, confusion flashed across Lord Melbourne’s face.

[Did I overestimate that queen?]

His gaze seemed to say just that.

Considering that the audacity from the Accession Declaration had vanished and I was now claiming to know nothing, it was only natural for him to be baffled.

Yes, go ahead and look down on me like that.

Lower your guard and let your vigilance slip.

They say even a rabbit does its best when catching a lion, but against a beast cosplaying as a rabbit, you’re bound to be caught completely off guard.

As a result of playing the fool for a while, Lord Melbourne and I managed to become quite chummy.

After all, to a clever politician, there is no friend closer than a harmless monarch.

Anyway, thanks to that, I even got to attend a party hosted by Lord Melbourne, and looking at the guest list alone, the lineup was staggering.

Lord Chancellor Baron Cottenham, Lord President of the Council Marquess of Lansdowne, Home Secretary Lord John Russell, Tory Leader in the House of Lords the Duke of Wellington, Foreign Secretary Lord Palmerston, and so on…

Judging solely by the official titles in front of them, it felt as though everyone ranked from 1st to 10th in South Korea’s protocol precedence had made a total mobilization.

The venue for the party was Lord Melbourne’s townhouse located at 39 South Street in Mayfair, one of London’s premier affluent neighborhoods.

Riding in a carriage across Hyde Park, I arrived at the townhouse in under ten minutes.

‘Tonight’s battlefield will be right there.’

The moment I stepped inside the townhouse, guided by the footman, the flunky at the entrance shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Her Majesty the Queen!”

Instantly, everything stopped as if by magic.

The chatter of dozens of people vanished.

The melodies of string instruments scattered into the empty air.

Even the clinking of wine glasses and the low murmurs of confidential talks all sank into silence.

Everyone in the room turned their heads toward me all at once.

Dozens of pairs of eyes fixed upon me, Victoria.

‘Things like this… I really can’t get used to.’

The men bowed deeply at the waist, and the noblewomen bent their knees, dragging the hems of their elaborately puffed dresses across the floor in deep curtsies.

Like a field of wheat bowing uniformly to the passing wind, all of Britain’s figures standing at the pinnacle of power knelt before me.

At that moment, the party’s host, Lord Melbourne, stepped out from the crowd and bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty, it is an indescribable joy to have Your Majesty’s glory grace this humble house.”

As he took my hand and led me into the banquet hall, the frozen world began to move again, very slowly and cautiously.

The music softly resumed playing and people’s conversations restarted, but the atmosphere had completely changed. Because I was at the end of every conversation and at the periphery of every gaze.

A moment later, Foreign Secretary Lord Palmerston, bearing the gaze of a fox, approached me.

“With the political situation of Europe resting upon the shoulders of Your Majesty’s uncle, King Leopold of Belgium, you must have many worries.”

“King Leopold always considers the peace and well-being of Britain above all else, My Lord.”

I countered smoothly with those words.

“Still, rather than the king’s shoulders, isn’t the tip of the Foreign Secretary’s pen sitting across from that king far heavier?”

At that, a smile mixed with admiration and wariness bloomed around Lord Palmerston’s mouth.

He then gave a light bow and melted away into another group as if nothing had happened.

‘Did I get through the first scouting skirmish safely?’

Soon after, I encountered a living legend.

The Hero of Waterloo who defeated the legendary Napoleon—the Duke of Wellington.

He approached me and said shortly and bluntly.

“A crown is heavier than any helmet, Your Majesty. Please bear only that in mind.”

Even after that, suffocating sparring matches with other nobles continued, and every ambitious man and politician in Britain sought me out to drop a word before disappearing.

Just around the time I had dealt with a few dozen people and felt like I roughly knew who was who, Lord Melbourne approached carrying something.

“You seem fatigued in body and spirit from having so many worries, Your Majesty.”

With those words, he picked up a crystal glass filled with red wine from a tray held by a servant and handed it to me.

“There is nothing quite like wine laced with laudanum when you have a headache.”

Beyond the fragrant aroma of grapes, a very faint, bitter, herbal scent was mixed in.

Laudanum?

The moment I wondered what that was, a word I had seen in Victoria’s diary flashed brightly in my mind.

Laudanum.

In other words, opium.

So right now, Lord Melbourne was handing me opium-laced wine as a miraculous cure for headaches.