The House of Lords of the British Empire.
It was a powerful body of nobles with the authority to review laws passed by the House of Commons, but recently people had begun to say that it was slowly losing ground.
The reason was simple.
The aristocrats had inherited wealth and power for generations, while the members of the Commons were elected by the people.
The difference in legitimacy was enormous.
In the past, if the Lords disliked something they could simply exercise an unlimited veto and force the Commons to listen.
But if they tried that today, public opinion would explode.
So unless a bill directly threatened aristocratic interests, they usually avoided using their veto.
More often than not they simply let legislation pass, following the attitude that it was easier to go along with things.
As a result, debates had grown increasingly casual.
Attendance had dropped as well—many nobles wondered why they should bother attending sessions that were both boring and predictable.
But days like today were an exception.
The chamber of the House of Lords was nearly full, and the atmosphere was far more solemn than usual.
"This is the bill passed by the Commons," one noble said. "It contains some rather interesting provisions. After all, the Prince Consort has just achieved remarkable accomplishments in Canada and Asia. The purpose of the bill, they say, is to ensure that he can continue performing such services without unnecessary burdens."
"I see. How curious that the Commons—who despise privileges not written into law—would introduce legislation to honor the Prince Consort."
"Their intentions are obvious, aren't they?"
A quiet chuckle echoed through the chamber.
The man who spoke was one of the giants of British politics.
Though now more interested in observing the flow of the Empire than participating directly, he remained a legendary figure.
The father of the current Prime Minister.
The hero still celebrated throughout Britain.
Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.
He gave a faint, mocking smile.
It had always been like this.
And it would probably never change.
From the moment it was born, the House of Commons had constantly tried to reduce the influence of those born into privilege.
And irritating as it was to admit, the times were gradually moving in their favor.
When he had met his son Charles Wellesley recently, the boy had seemed troubled.
So this must have been the cause.
Charles had been close to Killian Gore Hanover, after all.
Passing a law that seemed aimed directly at him would have been uncomfortable.
But that was politics.
Coldly speaking, the greater Killian's influence grew, the less favorable it was for Charles.
Wellington disliked the Commons' maneuvering.
But in the long term, perhaps reducing Killian's influence would actually help his son.
The Duke decided he would do what he always did these days—
Observe from the sidelines.
He's been unstoppable until now, Wellington thought.
Perhaps this is simply the moment when someone finally checks him.
No one remained victorious forever.
When Wellington himself won the Battle of Waterloo and first became Prime Minister, he too had believed his era might last forever.
But everyone knew how that ended.
A crushing electoral defeat.
The Conservative Party losing its long-held control of government.
Killian had enjoyed continuous success.
Perhaps it was simply his turn to come down.
If Wellington had one hope, it was that Charles would learn something from this and become more cautious.
The Duke quietly stood and moved to a seat near the corner of the chamber, watching the debate unfold.
The House of Lords had little reason to oppose the bill.
It would probably pass smoothly.
Just as he began idly wondering which vinegar would taste best with the meat he planned to eat later—
"I firmly believe this bill must be rejected!"
A familiar voice rang out.
Wellington's eyes widened.
Why on earth is that man defending Killian?
The speaker was Henry Paget, Marquess of Anglesey.
Once one of Wellington's most capable commanders during the Waterloo campaign, and now a fellow member of the House of Lords.
Anglesey's voice thundered across the chamber.
"I believe this bill is malicious in intent while pretending to be benevolent! Look at it carefully. It dresses itself up as praise for the Prince Consort's achievements—but what does it actually do? It tells him that he must never hold any office in Parliament or the government!"
"But surely tradition—"
"Of course I know the tradition!" Anglesey snapped. "And that's exactly why it should remain a tradition. Why turn it into law? This is nothing more than a preemptive strike by the Commons. They're afraid the public might want the Prince Consort to enter politics, so they're attacking first. And they've dressed it up with a convenient justification. That's what truly angers me!"
"Frankly it does seem a bit petty," another noble said. "But I still don't understand why you're so passionate about this. You're not particularly close to the Prince Consort, are you?"
Someone recalled something.
Earlier, when the Lords had once discussed sending Killian to Asia to "tame" him, Anglesey had initially voted in favor before suddenly switching to opposition.
That had caused some discussion at the time.
Had Killian somehow gained leverage over him?
But Anglesey immediately shook his head and raised his voice.
"I say this because I am a soldier who has fought for this country! The Prince Consort went to distant Canada for the sake of the nation, and then spent more than half a year at sea traveling to Asia. And now you intend to pass a law stabbing that man in the back while pretending to honor him? No! Absolutely not!"
"Well… when you put it that way…"
"At times like this, it is the duty of the House of Lords to stand firm in opposition. People must see that this nation still understands honor—that those who serve the country are treated with respect! We have allowed the Commons far too much latitude. This is the result! Power requires checks and balances—and the Commons themselves have proven that today!"
Since when was Anglesey such an eloquent speaker?
Wellington stared in disbelief.
But the mood in the chamber shifted instantly.
Some nobles were delighted—finally a chance to slap the increasingly arrogant Commons.
Others genuinely agreed that a man who had rendered such service deserved proper respect.
Still others had invested heavily in Canada and hoped that supporting Killian might benefit their interests.
Their motivations differed.
But they all arrived at the same conclusion.
It was time to remind the Commons what a veto felt like.
For Wellington, who had long since retired from active politics, the entire scene felt like an absurd farce.
How on earth did things end up like this?
* * *
"…And so, the House of Lords has concluded that the bill passed by the House of Commons contains numerous deficiencies. They have requested that it be reconsidered."
"I see. That's good news."
"So this was your plan, Your Highness? Using the House of Lords to delay the bill?"
"That's the first stage, yes."
Even I hadn't expected the nobles I had quietly bought off during the opium crackdown to prove this useful.
It was a good thing I hadn't purged them completely back then.
Resources saved for later always found their moment.
The Marquess of Anglesey had performed his role even better than expected.
"However," Charles Wellesley said cautiously, "if the Lords continue blocking the bill, public opinion will eventually shift toward the Commons."
"That would happen if they used the veto for a ridiculous reason," I replied. "But this time the justification is quite convincing."
"True… I see. By inserting the House of Lords into the conflict, you've created a shield. The conflict becomes Lords versus Commons rather than Crown versus Commons."
"Exactly. Though that's not the entire plan."
Humans instinctively dislike betrayal.
Whether it's an innate instinct or a learned reaction doesn't matter.
It's universal.
So I began using The Morning Post—the same newspaper I had once used to bring down Robert Peel.
Soon the headlines began appearing across London.
[Royal Family at the Center of a Clash Between the Commons and the Lords!]
["The Commons are abusing legislative power to restrain the Prince Consort. This is nothing less than a legislative coup!" — Marquess of Anglesey]
["The bill merely formalizes a long-standing tradition. The Lords are exploiting this issue for political purposes." Commons Respond Immediately — What Is the Truth?]
The Lords and Commons had clashed countless times before.
But this situation was unusual.
The nobles weren't defending their own privileges.
They were claiming to defend the royal family.
At first the public didn't know what to think.
Opinions were divided.
But that didn't last long.
The Morning Post, funded by me, flooded the city with newspapers.
Again and again and again.
Gradually, criticism of the Commons grew louder.
Meanwhile I avoided stepping directly into the conflict.
Instead, I let the papers focus on small personal stories about the royal family—appealing to emotion rather than logic.
[Prince Consort Killian's Tears — "When I returned after a year, my children were already babbling words I had never heard before. It made me realize how long the journey to Asia truly is."]
["Even so, I have no regrets. It was service to the Empire. I only regret not being there for my children."]
[How Dangerous Is the Voyage to Asia? Even seasoned naval sailors shudder at the thought.]
I simply repeated the same story calmly.
How difficult the journey to Asia had been.
How guilty I felt leaving my young children behind.
The Marquess of Anglesey seized the moment perfectly.
He held a massive press conference, inviting every journalist he could find.
People said this was the largest press conference since the last general election.
The public interest grew hotter by the day.
"Let's examine these provisions carefully," Anglesey declared. "The sections about Canada and Asia are merely decorative language. In reality, they simply clarify the authority the Prince Consort already has. Meanwhile the restriction forbidding him from holding any office in Britain is written clearly at the very beginning! Doesn't that reveal the Commons' true intention?"
"But Your Lordship!" a reporter protested. "Isn't it tradition that the Prince Consort remains politically neutral?"
"Has the Prince Consort ever violated that tradition?" Anglesey shot back. "They are turning something that never needed legislation into a law! Imagine you were in his position. You spend a year away from home serving the nation, missing your children's first words and first steps—and when you return, you discover a law designed to restrain you!"
The Commons tried to defend themselves.
But in public opinion battles—
Emotion always beats logic.
And so, for the first time in years, the clash between the Lords and the Commons intensified.
And this time—
The balance of public opinion began shifting toward the House of Lords.
* * *
"Stop disguising your attack on the royal family as legislation!"
"The Commons must explain themselves!"
"Party leaders must apologize to the Prince Consort immediately!"
"Awaken! Apologize!"
I watched the protests with amusement.
Look at that fire burn.
The Lords were absorbing all the damage on the front line.
Why should the royal family intervene directly?
The Lords had always wanted to discipline the Commons.
All I had done was hand them the opportunity.
They fought each other.
Meanwhile I stayed behind the scenes, playing the role of a patriotic servant of the Empire.
My image remained untouched.
The Commons wouldn't remain beaten forever.
Soon the conflict would grow even more intense.
And that—
Was exactly the moment I was waiting for.
When it arrived, I would summon every journalist in London to Buckingham Palace.
To end this war.
Because then—
I would descend.