Constantinople—no, Istanbul.
The Topkapi Palace, once the proud witness to the Ottoman Empire's most glorious years, now lay shrouded in a suffocating darkness, almost apocalyptic in its weight.
Another "unlucky soul"—the eighteen-year-old Sultan Abdulmecid I—trembled like a leaf.
He had learned of the existence of the Treaty of Saint Petersburg even before Louis-Philippe, thanks to spies stationed in Saint Petersburg.
As he read the intelligence report, phrases like "Britain and Russia will amicably discuss the future of the Ottoman Empire" and "jointly administer Crimea" struck him like a thunderbolt.
"Britain and Russia… together?! Are they… planning to station their troops at my very gates, on the Black Sea?!"
Abdulmecid's world seemed to collapse. His vast yet decaying empire had always survived by playing a delicate game—leaning toward Britain to counter Russia one day, then courting Russia to temper British naval supremacy the next.
This humiliating diplomatic dance had, until now, been effective. But now, the two powers that should have been tearing each other apart were calmly sitting at the same table, plotting how to devour the "sick man of Europe."
"What kind of game is this?!" he muttered, slumping onto his throne.
Before his eyes, the terrifying vision of Cossack cavalry charging Istanbul, burning, killing, and pillaging his harem, seemed almost real.
As Abdulmecid considered fleeing overnight to Egypt, seeking refuge with the increasingly defiant governor Muhammad Ali, his Grand Vizier, Mustafa Reşid Pasha, stepped forward with a plan.
"Your Majesty!" Reşid Pasha said, kneeling with deep reverence. "Our conventional diplomacy has failed. We can no longer hope to sow discord between Britain and Russia."
"Then what remains?! Shall we wait to be torn apart piece by piece?!" the Sultan cried, desperate.
"No, Your Majesty." In Reşid Pasha's eyes burned a fierce determination. "If we cannot defeat them, our only choice is to commit fully to one side."
"To Russia? Impossible! They have coveted our lands for centuries."
"Then to Britain," Reşid Pasha said, deliberately, "the stronger, wealthier, and, relatively speaking, less territorial-minded power."
"But Britain and Russia are allied now!" protested the Sultan.
"Not as Your Majesty perceives. Their fundamental interests diverge. Britain seeks commerce, maritime routes, global hegemony. Russia seeks land and access to the sea."
"And that British prince consort… Arthur Lionheart… is a businessman at heart. Profit and opportunity guide his actions."
"Our strategy must be precise," Reşid Pasha continued, spreading a map before the Sultan. "We must offer them a 'pie' they cannot refuse. A deep, irrevocable bond linking Ottoman interests to Britain's."
A spark of hope returned to Abdulmecid's eyes.
"And this 'pie' would be…?"
The Grand Vizier's finger pointed decisively to the narrow, arid strip of desert connecting the Mediterranean to the Red Sea: Suez.
Half a Month Later, London – Buckingham Palace
A "top secret" state letter from Sultan Abdulmecid I reached Arthur Lionheart and Queen Victoria.
The Sultan's words were humble, almost imploring. He condemned the "greedy Russians" and lavished praise upon Victoria's wisdom and Arthur Lionheart's foresight, calling them "the beacon of European civilization and the great protectors of the freedom of small nations."
Then came the proposal: a Suez Canal Development Company, with Britain permanently granted forty percent of profits. The sole condition: Victoria must publicly declare Britain as the Ottoman Empire's "most loyal strategic ally."
Victoria, astonished by the audacity, looked at Arthur Lionheart with a mixture of disbelief and warmth.
"Oh my God… Arthur…"
Arthur, wearing his characteristic cunning fox-like smile, remarked: "Shall we accept this… or accept it with reluctance?"
Victoria laughed, tapping his forehead with a playful finger.
"You… insatiable rascal!"
The maneuver was brilliant, a political masterstroke. By forcing the "sick man of Europe" to choose decisively between Russia and Britain, Arthur Lionheart had secured a permanent foothold over a strategic artery that would control half the world's trade.
Russia could only seethe in silence.
And amidst this ruthless diplomacy, the private glance between Victoria and Arthur carried warmth—a quiet acknowledgment of their shared cunning, ambition, and… something far more personal.
"My dear," Arthur said, leaning close, "the world bends to our hands… and yet, it feels as if it belongs only to us."
Victoria, her heart stirred despite the political storm, smiled tenderly.
"Indeed… but do not let your triumph make you forget, Arthur," she whispered, "I know your heart too well."