The Shadow of Great Britain

The morning light was not bright, filtering through the curtains and draping all colors in between black.

In the empty room, Victoria sat alone on the chaise longue, wrapped in a gray-white gauzy shawl, her eyes fixed on the mist that hadn’t dissipated outside the window.

She didn’t fix her attire nor summon her maid, but leaned quietly.

The moment she decided to separate rooms with her mother, she felt as if an eighteen-year weight pressing on her heart had finally been lifted.

Yet when she was alone, she always felt an emptiness in her heart, her chest twisting in pain.

The shackles of the Kensington System were gone, and she had gained freedom.

But at the same time, after losing her father seventeen years ago, she had now severed ties with her mother as well.

The world seemed vast and empty, leaving her all alone.

She took a slow breath, as if inhaling an entire cold morning.

The air was damp and stagnant, even her breath exhaled without a hint of warmth.

The fireplace had gone out, with wisps of white smoke lingering over the ashes, as if the years-long disputes were still releasing their final warmth.

She tightened the shawl around her, not for warmth, but as if arming her heart with a layer of armor.

Victoria’s fingers subconsciously traced the wood grain of the armrest; every line seemed to remind her that from now on, no one would shield her from the wind and rain.

Her memories of her father were few, nearly all impressions of him came from portraits and others’ scant words.

She couldn’t imagine the tone of his voice, nor had she any recollection of his warm embrace.

And now, her mother had left her as well.

Perhaps even earlier, her mother had already been walking a different path from hers.

So when she reached the end, looking back, not even a shadow of her mother could be found.

She just sat there quietly, for a long while, not saying a word or shedding a tear.

She wondered, if her father were still alive, would he tell her how to face all that was coming? Would he guide her on what to do next?

Just then, a gentle knocking sounded at the door, neither urgent nor intrusive.

”Your Highness... no, Your Majesty.” It was Leisen’s voice, her gentle tone like a soft fur coat wrapped around her: ”May I come in?”

Victoria didn’t answer immediately; she closed her eyes, as if gathering her earlier emotions, and after a few seconds, she softly said, ”Come in, dear.”

The door opened slowly, and Leisen saw Victoria sitting there with the shawl around her, her eyes slightly red. She didn’t ask much but went straight to her side, squatting down gently as she used to when lulling her to sleep: ”Your Majesty, the counselors from the Privy Council will come to see you before nine to hear your first speech since your accession.”

Victoria lifted her head, her expression becoming somewhat confused.

It was then she realized, that as Queen, she not only had the power to move her bed out of her mother’s room but also the duty to ensure the government ran smoothly.

”A speech?” Her voice sounded a bit dry: ”What... what should I say?”

Upon hearing this, Leisen took out a neatly rolled parchment and placed it on the small table in front of her knees: ”This was just handed to me by Sir Arthur, he said maybe you would find it useful.”

Victoria picked up the roll of parchment and gently unfurled it.

The ink was clear, the strokes steady.

”Since I am entrusted with this responsibility by heaven, I shall strive to fulfill my duties as Queen with a heart of gratitude and humility. I am very grateful for the kindness and love the people have always shown me, and I deeply believe that the wisdom of Parliament and the loyalty of the Britons will be my most important support.

I understand, this is not a symbolic honor, but a truly heavy responsibility. Although I am still young, I hope that my future words and deeds will be worthy of the trust and expectations the subjects place in me.

I was born and raised in England, grown under the tutelage of a gentle and wise mother. From a very young age, I learned to respect the constitution, love this country, and understood the true meaning of freedom and order.

From today on, I will do my utmost to uphold the religious system established by law, while ensuring all subjects enjoy religious freedom. I will persist in defending the rights of the people, strive to promote the welfare of all strata of the country, and uphold the interests of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.”

Victoria read the words silently, her fingertips resting on a small patch of ink that hadn’t yet dried on the edge of the parchment.

The paper was slightly yellowed, yet exuded a clean and steady scent, reminiscent of the person who wrote those words.

”Not honor, but responsibility.”

”Do my utmost to defend the rights of the people.”

”Uphold the interests of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.”

As she read, she suddenly felt as though the mist outside the window had cleared a little, and the heaviness in the air was being gradually dispelled.

For a moment, Victoria felt a bit dazed.

Sir Arthur Hastings seemed to stand right before her, wearing that well-fitted black morning coat, his sleeves meticulously buttoned.

One hand in his pocket, holding a few pages of notes in his other hand, his tone was not loud, but calm and composed.

”The constitutional system is not a framework for the King to rely on, but a baseline the King must uphold in times of crisis.”

”Your Highness, being the nation’s symbol does not equate to being an ornament. You must first learn to earn trust before earning respect.”