After securing Tsar Nicholas I and signing the "Secret Treaty of Saint Petersburg," a document that would shake the European continent to its core, Arthur Lionheart felt as if he had achieved a monumental victory. Relief coursed through every fiber of his being.
For the moment, he set aside the intricate schemes surrounding Boundary Island, Ironclad Ships, and Financial Warfare.
Now, all he desired was to honor the promise he had made to his wife: to escort her on a genuine honeymoon, free of political interference.
He declined Nicholas's enthusiastic invitations to "jointly explore the feasibility of a Balkan railway" and ignored the persistent audiences requested by Austrian and French envoys, whose patience was wearing thin.
Instead, he conveyed a singular, almost whimsical request through Count Orlov:
"My dear Nicholas, now that we are truly family, may I borrow your royal carriages to escort my wife on a private tour of your ancient capital, Moscow, and the magnificent Catherine Palace at Tsarskoye Selo? Surely, it is not too much to ask?"
What could Nicholas possibly say to such a request?
The autocratic tsar, who by now considered Arthur the Lionheart an ally capable of stopping entire economic machinations with a mere thought, quickly masked his anxiety with an ostentatious enthusiasm, worthy of a "member of the family".
Orders were swiftly given: the royal carriages, drawn by hundreds of Orlov Trotters, were brought out in all their splendor.
And so, under the envious gazes of every Russian noble, and accompanied by the British Royal Guard they had brought, Arthur Lionheart and Victoria began their journey —protected at the highest possible level.
The carriage rolled over the vast Russian plains. Unlike England's gentle pastoral scenery, here the landscape was raw, primitive, and brimming with life.
Victoria, like a joyful songbird, pressed her face to the window, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Arthur, look! What is that? A birch forest? It's so beautiful!"
"And those village houses, all with pointed roofs—they're adorable!"
Arthur Lionheart, ever the patient guide, lounged against plush cushions of bear leather and velvet, sipping chilled a glass of whisky, answering her every question with a soft, knowing smile.
"Yes, my dear. That is a birch forest, favored by the Russians. They say it resembles their women—delicate yet enduring."
"And that village, the 'log cabins,' is typical of Siberian architecture. Built from solid logs, warm and resilient enough to endure the harshest winters."
Their first stop was Catherine Palace at Tsarskoye Selo.
Victoria gasped upon seeing the Rococo grandeur, the azure façade adorned with gilded ornamentation.
"Arthur... this… it's too… too incredible!"
Inside the legendary Amber Room, a space of amber and gold, Victoria felt transported into a mythical golden kingdom, her breath held in awe.
"Do you like it?" Arthur asked, smiling.
"I do… but…" Victoria hesitated, conflicted. "It feels… too much. Too ostentatious. Oppressively so."
Arthur Lionheart's expression softened. He wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered:
"Remember, my dearest, the true strength of a nation is not in the gold it hoards in palaces, but in the steel its factories can forge. The first is mere façade; the second, substance. We must build an empire that boasts both grandeur and real power."
Victoria considered his words thoughtfully.
After leaving Tsarskoye Selo, their convoy continued to Moscow.
Hand in hand, they strolled through the streets, appearing simply as a wealthy English couple.
Arriving at Red Square, Victoria's eyes widened at the candy-colored onion domes of St. Basil's Cathedral.
"It's so beautiful, Arthur! Architecture that seems from another world!"
Arthur Lionheart embraced her from behind, his voice low and sharp:
"After its construction, legend says Ivan the Terrible blinded the architect. The Tsar would not tolerate a second building as beautiful."
"What?!" Victoria covered her mouth, shocked. "That Ivan the Terrible… so cruel!"
Arthur pinched her nose playfully.
"Compared to such tyrants, does your majesty still not appear remarkably 'merciful' and 'kind'?"
They climbed the towering Kremlin walls together. From the vantage point, Arthur pointed to the distant plains, recounting another chapter of history.
"Look there. Just thirty years ago, another man, who also sought to 'unify Europe,' Napoleon, led his hundred thousand invincible troops to Moscow."
"But what awaited him was not surrender, but an empty city, set ablaze for three days and nights. The Russians, with decisive cruelty, chose to destroy their own capital rather than bow to invaders."
"Napoleon's army, once unstoppable, was left to starve and freeze. Fewer than thirty thousand returned to Paris alive."
Victoria leaned on his shoulder, shivering slightly in the cold wind.
"Arthur," she whispered, "do you think… we will become the next Napoleon?"*
"No." Arthur's response was resolute.
He placed an arm around her shoulders, his gaze fixed on the silent city beneath the setting sun, eyes glinting with absolute certainty.
"Napoleon sought conquest with force alone. To conquer us," he smiled, "we will use our railways, our telegraphs, our goods, and our bread—half the cost of theirs—to win hearts, appetites, and lives. That is true conquest. Irresistible conquest."
On the final day of their journey, Arthur unveiled a "new gift" that left Victoria completely surprised.
He called court painters before them, positioning himself and Victoria for a portrait with the background, behind them the golden domes and crimson walls of the Kremlin.
"Smile, my dear!" he urged with an affectionate smile.
Victoria, unsure yet trusting, offered her most radiant smile.
"Hold still!" The artist quickly captured the moment, immortalizing it in charcoal.
Looking at the finished painting, Victoria saw her radiant smile and her husband's handsome face looking at her with a loving expression. She was so moved that she almost melted.
This honeymoon, she realized, was the happiest, most relaxed, and most romantic time of her life.
She was no longer a queen burdened by state affairs, and he no longer a strategist obsessed with empires.
They were simply a young couple in love, caught in a fleeting world of warmth and devotion.