The war between Mexico and the United States had burned for months, each battle hotter than the last. Under the command of the renowned American General Zachary Taylor, the American troops, reinforced by the Texas cowboys armed with newly issued British-style rifles, had proven nearly invincible in open combat.
At Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, they annihilated the larger Mexican forces, pushing the front lines south of the Rio Grande with minimal losses. Yet when they advanced on key inland cities like Monterrey, they met an unprecedentedly fierce resistance.
Santa Anna, repeatedly defeated in open fields, was a master of defensive maneuvering and political manipulation. Exploiting rising nationalist sentiment, he organized militias and reinforced garrisons throughout the country. Most alarmingly, he procured a substantial shipment of heavy French "Napoleon" cannons, whose sheer destructive power turned Monterrey into a fortress of fire.
American assaults on the city were met with cannonade after cannonade, and a bloody stalemate emerged. Victories on open fields counted for little against walled cities, while the Mexicans could not dislodge the Americans from already occupied territories. Both sides bled profusely, consuming national strength at a feverish rate.
From his vantage in London, Arthur Lionheart observed the unfolding chaos with a detached smile. Every requisition for arms, every request for loans, fed his meticulous calculations. The war was his chessboard, and each bloody exchange a move increasing his wealth and influence.
Yet amidst the Atlantic breeze and fog-laden docks, his attention was drawn eastward.
The Royal Navy frigate from the Royal Princess of England series docked at the Thames after months at sea, carrying not only silver, first-grade tea, and imperial porcelain as part of the Treaty of Tianjin reparations—but thirty young students personally selected by the Qing official Qiying. This was the first wave of Qing government-sponsored scholars sent abroad.
When they set foot on London soil, the shock and awe were immediate. Long gowns and mandarin jackets contrasted sharply with the grandeur of the industrial city. Bridges of iron, buildings of stone and steel, carriages rolling like clockwork—they were a world apart from their homeland, as if transported three centuries forward in time.
"Oh my God…" stammered thirteen-year-old Rong Hong, eyes fixed on the riveted iron bridge over the Thames. "It… it's made of iron? How… how does it hold?"
"Speak carefully," his elder companion scolded. "These are marvels of Western craft. Imposing, yet beyond what the sages deem proper to speak of lightly." And yet, he could not tear his gaze away.
Arthur Lionheart did not approach them immediately. First, he arranged for their stay at a villa in West London, providing fine accommodations, nourishing European meals, and the comfort of order for three days. He wanted them to taste, smell, and witness the tangible power of this "barbarian nation."
On the fourth day, he appeared—regal in an impeccable British riding coat—on the villa's lawn, flanked by his aides and guards. Thirty students lined up awkwardly, foreign in gesture, dress, and demeanor.
Arthur's interpreter, a sharp young man fluent in both Mandarin and English, stepped forward. The students' fear and awe were immediate.
"Why do you all stand so stiffly?" Arthur asked through the interpreter. "Sit. Rest. You will need your energy."
The interpreter conveyed his words with a precise, calm tone. Arthur's sharp gaze swept across each trembling face.
"I know what you call me behind my back—'Blonde-Haired Devil,' 'King of the Sea Demons.' I know your hearts harbor defiance, even hatred, for me and for the British Empire."
"This is expected," the interpreter translated. "You were defeated. That is the first truth you must accept. But you have been brought here not to humiliate you, but to show where you, and your so-called Celestial Empire, have truly fallen behind."
A mirror and a pair of scissors were placed before each student.
"Welcome to the British Empire," Arthur continued through the interpreter. "Your first step to integration in this civilized world is—"
He pointed to the queues trailing from their heads.
"—to remove them."
"What?!" The words cracked like lightning.
"No! Never!" their self-appointed leader cried. "These hair, these bodies, are gifts from our ancestors! The queue is the essence of the Qing Dynasty, our loyalty to the Emperor! Cutting it is betrayal!"
"Essence? Loyalty?" Arthur laughed, a sound void of sympathy. Swiftly, his guards seated the boy, and with a precise gesture, Arthur himself severed the long, oiled queue. It fell on the lawn like discarded rope.
"No—!!!" The boy's cry pierced the air, raw and desperate.
One by one, the others followed. Tears, humiliation, fear, and absolute obedience fused into a single, unforgettable lesson: in Arthur Lionheart's world, power was the only teacher.
Later, in the private kitchens of Buckingham Palace, Arthur prepared a sumptuous European dinner for Victoria. Herb frittata, braised beef, crystal-clear consommé, sole meunière, glazed vegetables, delicate sauces, and golden tarte Tatin filled the room with a harmony of scents.
Victoria, her round belly a gentle curve beneath her gown, perched near the counter, watching her husband move with both mastery and affection.
"My dear, you are in fine spirits tonight," she observed.
"Indeed," Arthur replied, arranging the dishes with care. "Today I have taken thirty tails of stubbornness and trimmed them, one by one. A lesson in obedience, if you will."
Victoria's brows knit with concern. "Arthur… do you not fear the resentment they will harbor?"
He brushed her cheek gently, his touch warm, attentive, devoted. "Fear is a luxury for the naive. The clever understand that respect is earned through audacity, and obedience through certainty. For the obstinate, only a firm hand reveals the truth."
As he plated the dishes—beef sliced with precision, vegetables glistening under a light glaze, sauces spooned with care—he whispered, "And yet… my love, this meal, this home, this warmth… it is for you. For us. For the life we build together."
Victoria smiled, leaning into him. "Then we shall share this warmth, always, even amidst all the cold and cruelty of the world outside these walls."
Arthur offered her the first bite, holding it with reverent affection. "Eat, my queen. Sustain yourself… for our future little prince or princess."
She laughed softly, eyes sparkling. "And you, Arthur? Will you eat?"
"Only as much as I have earned," he replied, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "For even in the shadows of empires and revolutions, it is love that nourishes the heart."
Outside, London slept under a velvet sky, while within the palace, the most ruthless mind in Europe proved equally tender in the presence of his queen.