The Great Exhibition had crowned Britain with a brilliance unmatched in living memory.
For one hundred days, the Crystal Palace stood like a cathedral forged from light itself, and London became the beating heart of the civilized world. Diplomats, princes, merchants, adventurers — all came to witness the Empire proclaim its supremacy in glass and iron.
Yet at the height of this triumph, an unwelcome message crossed the Atlantic. A diplomatic communiqué from the United States — bold to the point of insolence — struck the Foreign Office with the sting of cold steel.
It was a direct reaction to a series of initiatives in South America quietly orchestrated by **His Royal Highness Arthur Lionheart, Prince Consort of the United Kingdom**.
After helping bring an end to the Mexican–American War, the Prince Consort had not faded into ceremonial ease. Instead, he guided Prime Minister Melbourne to establish a *Latin American Joint Development Bank* in concert with France and Prussia — a glittering European instrument of loans, leverage, and control.
To the unsuspecting, it was philanthropy.
To those with eyes, it was empire by arithmetic.
Within months, most Latin republics — save proud Brazil — found themselves bound by European credit, European engineers, European extraction rights. Their ports bustled with foreign goods; their mines echoed with foreign accents.
Arthur Lionheart's influence in the Republic of Texas deepened as well. British trade flourished, and the Gulf of Mexico quietly housed an unofficial forward presence of the Royal Navy.
The southern half of the Americas felt the tightening coils of European power.
And in Washington, the northern republic bristled.
President John Tyler — bombastic, self-assured, and eager to carve his name into the marble of history — stormed into Congress and unleashed a speech that rattled chandelier crystals.
"Gentlemen! A European spectre — crowned, perfumed, dripping with aristocratic arrogance — walks upon our hemisphere!"
He denounced British "financial colonisation," condemned European intrigue, and thundered:
**"The Monroe Doctrine stands!
America is for Americans!"**
Any European interference in the Western Hemisphere, he shouted, would be treated as a direct act of hostility.
The speech reached London in mere days.
Downing Street erupted.
"Has Tyler gone mad?"
"Does he believe himself a second Washington?"
"Send the fleet! Seal New York like a tin box!"
Palmerston and the hawks demanded immediate retaliation — a naval demonstration to remind the Americans who ruled the seas.
But amidst the storm of voices, **Arthur Lionheart**, Prince Consort, sat in composed silence.
He tapped his finger against the polished table with the faint amusement of a man listening to distant thunder.
Finally, Melbourne turned to him.
"Your Royal Highness… what is your judgement?"
Arthur rose with effortless grace — the poise of a courtier, the calculation of a statesman, the predatory calm of a man who had never forgotten that power was simply elegance sharpened.
He approached a grand map of the Americas displayed upon the wall.
"My judgement," he said, "is that this is excellent."
The room stared.
"Excellent?" Melbourne whispered.
Arthur smiled — a cool, incisive smile that often made even seasoned ministers straighten their posture.
"Indeed. The Americans have long played the courteous neighbour. Too courteous. They gave us no pretext to influence their internal affairs. But now…"
He tapped the map, just above Washington.
"…President Tyler has handed us the perfect justification."
"He shouts his doctrine to the heavens? Let him. Empires are not maintained by proclamations."
He lifted his hand, letting his fingers mimic the fall of coins.
"They are maintained by capital."
Then he curled his hand into a slow, deliberate fist.
"And when words fail — by force."
His eyes darkened, thoughtful, merciless.
"Tyler possesses Roosevelt's vanity without Roosevelt's vigour. He waves the famous American 'big stick', but lacks the arm to lift it."
A faint, cutting smirk appeared.
"If he insists on brandishing it at the Crown, then I shall break that arm — gently — and he will thank us afterward for having corrected his posture."
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