…After the Queen and the Prince Consort reached their final and absolute strategic consensus—
the quiet decision to dismantle America.
The immense state machinery of the British Empire began to move.
Not loudly.
Not hastily.
But with the terrifying efficiency of a civilization that had ruled the seas for centuries.
Queen Victoria appeared frequently before the public eye, her voice solemn and immaculate, invoking peace, condemning war, presenting herself—and the Empire—as the final arbiter of international righteousness. Britain, once again, occupied the moral high ground with serene confidence.
Behind the velvet curtain, Arthur Lionheart began his true work.
The American Lever
His first move was Cornelius Vanderbilt.
The Railroad King.
The most powerful economic force in North America.
A man in whom Arthur had invested patience, foresight, and capital.
Thanks to Arthur's discreet patronage and his carefully delivered knowledge of the future, Vanderbilt was no longer the desperate captain clinging to solvency.
He now commanded a vast empire of rails and shipping lines stretching across the northeastern United States.
The New York Central Railways Company monopolized freight and passenger traffic from the Great Lakes to the Port of New York.
He was no longer merely wealthy.
He was indispensable.
London
In the private VIP salon of a discreet London bank, sealed from the world.
"My dear Mr. Vanderbilt," Arthur said pleasantly, handing him a glass of rare single-malt Scotch, "I hear recent… southern disturbances have complicated your operations."
"Complicated?" Vanderbilt scoffed bitterly. "Your Highness, they've bled me dry. The moment those fools declared independence, cotton and tobacco were hit with double tariffs. Northern goods no longer sell in the South. This war costs me tens of thousands of dollars every single day."
"Yes," Arthur nodded sympathetically. "War is most inconvenient."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"So why not end it?"
Vanderbilt froze.
Arthur placed a document on the table—the Queen's Peace Initiative.
After reading it, Vanderbilt frowned.
"You're suggesting recognition of Southern independence," he said carefully. "Lincoln and the Unionists will never accept that. They call it selling the nation."
Arthur laughed softly.
"The nation?"
He leaned forward. "Tell me, Mr. Vanderbilt—between men of business—what truly matters?"
"Profit," Vanderbilt replied instantly.
"Exactly."
Arthur's voice hardened.
"Lincoln's ideals are expensive fantasies. For his precious unity, he is prepared to grind the entire Northern economy into dust. He will sacrifice men like you—the very architects of American wealth—without hesitation."
Arthur smiled.
"But I am not so careless."
Three Guarantees
"If you persuade Congress to accept Her Majesty's mediation," Arthur continued, "I guarantee you three things."
First.
"The British Empire will open its entire market—India, Australia, Africa, even Qing China—to Northern industry. Rail, steel, machinery. No barriers. No obstruction."
Second.
"All British agricultural loans to the Confederacy will be cut immediately. Within six months their credit-based war economy will collapse. They will survive only by purchasing Northern goods."
Arthur swirled his glass.
"And third."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"The golden waterway between the two oceans."
Vanderbilt's breath caught.
"The Panama Canal."
Arthur's gaze was merciless.
"If peace is accepted, I will grant you exclusive agency rights over all future New World canal trade."
Silence.
Vanderbilt's world narrowed to a single phrase:
Exclusive rights. Panama Canal.
His eyes burned red.
This was not profit.
This was immortality.
He would not merely be the Railroad King of America—
he would become the Shipping King of an entire hemisphere.
Every ship.
Every cargo.
Every ocean crossing.
Generations of Vanderbilt wealth—guaranteed.
Compared to that…
What was national unity?
What was patriotism?
Meaningless.
"Your Highness," Vanderbilt whispered, gripping Arthur's hand, "are you serious?"
"I never joke with friends," Arthur replied calmly.
Vanderbilt rose abruptly.
"Then leave Congress to me."
His voice sharpened like steel.
"I'll remind them that war does not generate profit. Peace does. British cooperation does."
"And anyone who blocks this path—"
He smiled thinly.
"I will destroy."
Washington Turns
Under Arthur's direction and Vanderbilt's financial assault, the political wind in Washington shifted violently.
Media outlets abandoned the front lines, replacing battlefield reports with glowing visions of imperial markets and canal riches.
Congressmen were bought.
Editorials were planted.
Public opinion fractured.
Why die for abstraction, the people asked, when factories could sell to India for real gold?
Under internal corruption, external British pressure, and Confederate resistance, Congress collapsed.
After weeks of brutal debate—nearly descending into violence—
The vote passed.
By three votes.
Defeat
As the result was announced, Abraham Lincoln stood alone on the steps of the Capitol.
The American flag fluttered weakly in the dying light.
The dream of unity died with it.
Not on a battlefield.
But in a London drawing room.
Defeated by a British prince he would never meet—
one who ruled without ever raising a sword.
Buckingham Palace
Arthur Lionheart received the news quietly.
He fed the document into the fireplace.
Then he turned to the great map of North America.
With a slender blade, he traced a line along the old Missouri Compromise.
And cut the United States in two.