Chapter 3 : I'm going to Australia

January 9, 1900, three days after the burial of Duke Arthur.

It was the third day since Queen Victoria had issued her order to the government, and five days had passed since the assassination of her favorite son, Duke Arthur.

Buckingham Palace, Queen Victoria's office.

Early in the morning, Queen Victoria sat at her desk, her face pale and her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep. With a sharp gesture, she swept the stacks of documents resting on the desk to the floor. The sound of papers hitting the ground echoed through the room, a reflection of her anger and grief.

The reason for her rage was clear: the murder of her beloved son, Duke Arthur. Thanks to the efficiency of the British intelligence agency, the most advanced in the world at the time, a detailed list of everyone involved in the plot had reached her desk within days. This information, a state secret, was known to no one else.

"Arthur! My poor Arthur, I am so sorry for you," murmured Queen Victoria, her eyes fixed on the list she held with trembling hands. The document clearly stated that Duke Arthur had been assassinated by a gunman loyal to Crown Prince Edward.

"Albert, I am the one who hurt our son," whispered the Queen, her gaze shifting to the portrait of her late husband, Prince Albert, hanging on the wall. Though nearly forty years had passed since his death, his presence was still felt in every corner of the palace. "Arthur never wanted to compete with Edward, yet he ended up dying in this struggle for the throne."

Duke Arthur had been Queen Victoria's favorite son, not only because of his amiable character but also due to his distinguished role in the British Army. While Prince Edward had been sidelined for years, Arthur had risen quickly through the military ranks, earning the respect of his men and the love of his mother.

However, the relationship between the brothers had never been easy. Edward, jealous of his mother's favoritism toward Arthur, had seen his brother as a direct threat to his claim to the throne. And though the Crown Prince had always denied any involvement in the assassination, the intelligence agencies had uncovered enough evidence to implicate those close to him.

"Edward . . ." murmured Queen Victoria, her eyes lingering on the words "Crown Prince" written in the document. The name burned her eyes, but she could not bring herself to say it aloud. Not yet.

After a long silence, the Queen finally composed herself and called out, "Beatrice, go and fetch young Arthur."

Princess Beatrice, the Queen's youngest daughter and her greatest support since Prince Albert's death, nodded silently and left the room. It wasn't long before she returned, accompanied by a young man with a serious expression and a steady gaze: young Arthur, the Queen's grandson and namesake of the late Duke.

The old butler, Hunter, escorted the young man to the door of the office and waited outside, leaving the Queen and her grandson alone.

"Arthur, come to your grandmother," said Queen Victoria, her voice soft but laden with emotion. For the first time in days, a faint smile appeared on her face.

Young Arthur quickened his pace and approached his grandmother, taking her hand gently. "Grandmother, Arthur is here," he said, his voice firm and reassuring.

Queen Victoria looked at him with eyes full of pride and sorrow. In that moment, she knew that her son's legacy had not died with him. Young Arthur, with his determination and courage, was the hope for a future that now depended on the decisions she would make in the coming days.

"Arthur, how have you slept these past two days?" Queen Victoria did her best to maintain her composure, but her slightly trembling voice betrayed the pain in her heart.

"I'm fine, Grandmother. But please, don't let yourself sink into sorrow. Even though Father is gone, the country still needs you. I need you, and all the members of the Royal Family need you too." Arthur looked steadily at Queen Victoria, understanding the cruelty of a woman her age losing her son in her twilight years. The shadow of the war that had claimed his father's life still lingered in the air, a constant reminder that the British Empire was not invincible.

"Good boy, don't worry about me. I am fine. Soon, I will arrange a formal ceremony for you to inherit your father's title. If you need anything, don't hesitate to tell me." Queen Victoria offered a maternal smile and gently stroked Arthur's head, as if trying to impart some of the strength she herself was struggling to maintain.

"Grandmother . . ." Arthur hesitated as he heard the Queen's words. He knew that what he was about to ask might be another blow to her, but he couldn't stay silent. The war had changed everything, and he was no longer the boy he had once been. His father's death on the battlefield had left a deep mark on him. He looked at Queen Victoria, whose gaze was as warm as ever, and felt a lump in his throat.

"What is it, child? Don't be afraid, your grandmother is here to listen," said Queen Victoria, perceptive as always, noticing the hesitation in her grandson and offering a reassuring smile.

"Grandmother, I no longer want to stay here. I need to leave, to get away from all of this. I need . . . to relax." Arthur clenched his teeth, feeling the weight of his own words. It wasn't just a whim; it was a desperate need to escape the shadows of war and loss.

Queen Victoria did not react with the emotion Arthur had expected. Instead, she remained silent, as if weighing every word her grandson had spoken. The air in the room grew heavy, laden with a meaning neither of them wanted to voice.

After what felt like an eternity, Queen Victoria finally spoke, her voice hoarse with suppressed emotion: "Where do you plan to go, Arthur?"

"I'm not sure, Grandmother. Perhaps Australia or New Zealand. I've heard the ocean views are breathtaking. Maybe it will be a good place to . . . find some peace." Arthur avoided looking directly at her, knowing his excuse wasn't entirely convincing.

Queen Victoria was not naive. She knew the ocean views weren't the real reason behind his decision. If it were just that, the United Kingdom had equally beautiful coastlines. But she understood that Arthur wasn't seeking a landscape; he was seeking an escape. A respite from the burden of being the Heir to an Empire at war.

"Then, Arthur, will you return?" asked Queen Victoria, her voice filled with a mix of hope and resignation.

'Will I return?' Arthur silently asked himself. If there was nothing forcing him to come back, he probably wouldn't. Though he was under the protection of Queen Victoria and could travel freely to any corner of the British Empire, something inside him told him his destiny lay elsewhere. The war had changed him, and he could no longer be the prince everyone expected him to be.

Queen Victoria, for her part, knew her time was running out. She had lost her son in the war, and the weight of the crown grew heavier each day. According to her doctors, her health was declining rapidly. History said she would die in January 1901, but now, with the added pain of losing her son, she wasn't sure how much longer she could endure.

"Arthur," she said finally, her voice carrying the weight of an entire empire, "Do what you must. But remember, no matter where you go, you will always be part of this family. And this empire . . . this empire will always need you."

Arthur nodded silently, feeling the weight of his grandmother's words. He knew his decision wasn't just a personal escape but also a rejection of a destiny that had been imposed on him. But at that moment, all he could do was take a step forward and face the future, no matter how uncertain it might be.