The confession Arthur Lionheart had whispered into Victoria's arms the night before—raw, steady, spoken with a tenderness that almost broke her—had quieted the storm of postpartum fears haunting her heart. But Arthur knew the truth:
**Words alone were not enough.**
London suffocated her.
Court life drained her.
Politics consumed him.
And childbirth after childbirth had worn down her spirit.
If he wanted Victoria to heal—not just for a night, but truly—he needed to free her from the weight of the crown.
So at dawn, he walked into the council chamber and detonated a political thunderbolt.
"As of today," Arthur announced calmly, "Her Majesty and I will suspend all court engagements. Effective immediately, we are taking our family to Balmoral Castle for a month of health and recovery."
Silence—then pandemonium.
Prime Minister Lord Melbourne nearly choked on his tea.
"Your Highness! This is utterly impossible!" He was red-faced, trembling with outrage.
"Prussia and Austria are on the brink! France demands technological treaties! America descends into chaos! Which of these crises can proceed without your judgement?"
Arthur clapped a reassuring hand on Melbourne's shoulder.
"You can handle them, my dear Prime Minister. I trust your wisdom—and I expect you to excel."
Outsiders heard only the affectionate confidence of a prince consort.
But everyone in the room understood the truth:
**Arthur Lionheart had just reinforced Melbourne's authority to an unquestionable height.**
Two years earlier, Melbourne's Whigs had lost the elections. By all rights, Sir Robert Peel's Conservatives should have taken the reins of government.
In the "old" history, Peel would have replaced Melbourne without hesitation.
But in *this* timeline?
Arthur had paid Peel a private visit—one that changed everything.
He didn't threaten him.
He didn't blackmail him.
He simply showed Peel two "economic forecasts" with catastrophic implications.
The first concerned Peel's vast textile empire.
Arthur lightly observed that their outdated spinning frames would soon be crushed by the new steam-driven models being released by **Future Industries Group**—Arthur's own industrial titan.
The second concerned the Corn Laws.
Arthur gently mentioned that he held a fully signed "Anglo-American Agricultural Cooperation Agreement"—a document capable of flooding Britain with cheap American grain overnight, collapsing domestic prices.
Peel understood immediately:
**Arthur held the empire by the throat—but always with velvet gloves.**
They made a gentleman's pact.
Peel's Tories could dominate parliament.
But Melbourne would remain Prime Minister under the banner of a "coalition," protected until he chose to retire with dignity.
Arthur granted this not out of self-interest, but loyalty.
Melbourne had once protected Victoria like a daughter and then because before he became Victoria's husband they had become friends..
And Arthur never forgot a kindness.
The council chamber seethed as he led Victoria out, ignoring the panicked ministers scrambling to cover a month's worth of royal absence.
Victoria, wide-eyed and flushed, whispered, "Arthur, did you truly just order the entire government to survive without us?"
He smiled, brushing a curl from her cheek.
"I promised to give you peace, my love. And I intend to honour it."
Three days later, at the Royal Dock, a sleek white steam yach—waited silently.
No crowds.
No ceremony.
No court spectacle.
Just freedom.
The engines hummed softly as the yacht slipped down the Thames, cutting north along the coast like a pale arrow.
The children fell asleep quickly—Vicky tangled in blankets, Edward snoring softly.
Victoria, wrapped in a simple wool dress and sharing a single cashmere blanket with Arthur, curled beside him on a deck chair under the swelling Scottish stars.
The sea breeze played with her hair.
"This feels unreal," she murmured, resting against him. "No titles. No courtiers. Just… us."
Arthur warmed her cold fingers between his hands.
"Then let it be real. Let this month belong to you alone."
She smiled—a small, shy smile he rarely saw anymore.
By the time they reached Aberdeen and rode inland, Balmoral rose before them like a dream: stone towers, heather-covered hills, and the River Dee glittering like liquid silver.
It was not Buckingham's rigid majesty.
It was a sanctuary.
---
## **A Month of Healing**
The very first morning, Victoria—dressed in a fitted riding habit—challenged Arthur to a race across the fog-softened moorlands.
"If I win," she declared, lifting her chin, "you carry me back to the castle."
"If *I* win," Arthur murmured, leaning close, "I collect a kiss. In front of the horses."
She blushed scarlet.
Then spurred her horse forward with a laugh.
She lost.
And Arthur definitely collected his kiss—smug, slow, playful—while she pretended to protest, cheeks aflame.
Afternoons were for the lake, where Arthur taught her and the children to fish using a new reel mechanism he had "invented." Victoria shrieked with delight when she caught a salmon larger than her forearm, jumping about like a schoolgirl.
In the evenings, they gathered around the castle's massive stone fireplace.
Arthur grilled the day's catch with nothing but sea salt and pepper.
The flames crackled.
The scent filled the hall.
It was the simplest meal Victoria had eaten in years—yet she swore it tasted like heaven.
Afterward, he took her hands and guided her through a lively Highland circle dance.
She stumbled every third step.
He laughed every time she did.
Vicky and Edward copied them, falling over repeatedly and giggling until they hiccupped.
---
## **Under the Moonlight**
When the children were asleep, Arthur and Victoria walked along the River Dee in the cool silver light.
No court.
No duties.
No fear of judgement.
Only the quiet flow of water and the soft brush of their shoulders as they walked.
Eventually, she stopped.
Turned.
Stood on her toes.
And kissed him gently.
Not hungry.
Not desperate.
Just full of gratitude and tender affection.
"Arthur…" she whispered, resting her forehead against his chest, "the darkness isn't so heavy anymore."
He wrapped his arms around her.
"Good. Then we'll stay here until the last shadow fades."
The Highlands glittered with stars above them, endless and calm.
And within Balmoral's ancient walls, the empire's first family found something rare:
**a single month where love, laughter, and peace outweighed the weight of the crown.**
---