Edward had quietly hoped that once Killian returned, he would finally be freed from the overwhelming burden of his duties.
But for some reason, even after returning to London, his great father did not take back the position of acting authority.
He wanted to ask him to take it back, but he had his pride as a man.
After confidently asking to be entrusted with responsibility, how could he now show weakness?
Of course, that was only Edward's perspective.
Adelaide, who had been dragged into this situation alongside him, thought differently.
"Father is back, so I do not have to help anymore, right?"
"What do you mean right? Nothing changes. Stop dreaming and get back to work."
"Are you serious? I am actually busy. Do you think running a company is easy?"
"I am busier than you. I can even bet my position as Crown Prince on it."
"Ah, this is driving me insane. How did Father manage all of this alone?"
They both sighed, tapping the table absentmindedly.
At least for now, Charles Wellesley was still helping, so coordination with Parliament was manageable.
But what would happen after Wellesley retired and the Conservative leadership changed?
That would be the real challenge.
"You need to get used to this now, or you will panic later."
"…Why do I have to suffer as well? I am not the Crown Prince. You are the one who will become Emperor."
"I can hear you even if you speak quietly."
"I am going to Canada next month."
"Good. Then you can handle matters there. You are popular in Canada anyway."
Edward nodded with a polite smile.
He had already needed someone to oversee Canada, and her volunteering made things easier.
"In the future, I will collect everything with interest."
"Yes, yes. Now stop complaining and work."
With the situation in America unstable after the death of Friedrich Engels, someone had to manage affairs there.
Originally, Killian would have handled it, but now a substitute was needed.
Among the siblings, Adelaide was the best fit.
Others, born in England, did not have the same popularity as those born in Canada.
"Just to be sure, you did not delay things on purpose until I agreed to go to Canada, did you?"
"I am not Father. I cannot plan that far."
"By the way, I heard Prussia contacted us recently."
"Oh, that? Father said he would handle it. Something personal with Otto von Bismarck."
"…Personal?"
The story of Bismarck and Engels fighting until they bled was the perfect gossip material.
For someone known as the Iron Chancellor, it was deeply embarrassing.
Edward and Adelaide were relieved they did not have to deal with it.
"What was that about a painting?"
Edward wondered if Killian had actually preserved the incident in a painting.
Surely not.
He still did not fully understand his father.
When Bismarck first heard of Engels' death, he drank and smoked, lost in thought.
His connection with Engels and Karl Marx was well known.
But no one knew the truth.
"I recall arguing with Engels when we were young. After I corrected him, he admitted his mistake."
"Is it true you fought him?"
"It was hardly a fight. If I had been serious, he would not have survived."
That had been his story.
And people believed it.
When Engels died and the revelations emerged, Bismarck observed calmly.
"So even Killian did not expect this."
He was curious.
Then the headlines appeared.
[The Iron Chancellor also involved in past conflicts?]
[A violent clash between Bismarck and Engels?]
[According to Killian's memoir, Bismarck fought Engels and was later defeated by Marx, collapsing with a nosebleed.]
"Killian, you madman. Why would you record this?"
Bismarck immediately summoned newspaper editors.
"Remove all such articles."
"But why?"
"Because they are unverified."
He struggled.
Even banning the memoir would not stop its spread.
It could even create diplomatic issues.
In the end, he decided to go to London himself.
"We must discuss American policy and cooperate with Britain."
"…Is that really the reason?"
"Do not believe such rumors."
Even as he said it, he felt uneasy.
He had boasted too much in the past.
Now it returned to haunt him.
"Your Majesty, how could you do this?"
"We came to discuss America, and now this?"
"Yes, London is in chaos because of your revelations."
"That is true. Is Berlin still calm?"
"…Not exactly."
Bismarck avoided eye contact.
"In youth, men fight. Though it is surprising that you and Engels fought so intensely."
"Did you have to reveal that?"
"If I edited it, people would question its authenticity."
"…That sounds like an excuse."
"Did you say something?"
"No."
Bismarck tried to recover.
"Perhaps you could mention possible inaccuracies?"
"Are you embarrassed by that fight?"
"Rumors grow over time. I am only concerned."
In truth, both had behaved poorly in that fight.
Bismarck had claimed victory.
But reality was less dignified.
"Let us simply admit that men fight when young."
"We were not children."
"Are you angry?"
"What does it matter now?"
"Oh? Then perhaps you would like to see something else."
Killian gestured toward a covered painting.
Bismarck's expression changed.
"What is that?"
"A piece I prepared for us to enjoy together."
Killian pulled away the cloth.
A figure lying on the ground became visible.
"Wait."
"What is it?"
"Some things are better left unseen. Let us keep this between us."
"Interesting. You seemed unconcerned earlier."
Silence followed.
Killian removed the cloth completely.
The painting was revealed.
It captured the chaotic fight in vivid detail.
To Killian, it was a masterpiece.
To Bismarck, it was a nightmare.
"Why would you paint something like this?"
The same image produced entirely different reactions.
That alone proved its value.