For Victoria, the visit to Eton College turned out to be far less inspiring than she had hoped.
At first she had been genuinely excited.This was, after all, the school where the finest young minds of the British Empire gathered.
She had imagined lively conversations with the boys who would one day lead the country.
But that hope quickly proved unrealistic.
As expected, the official schedule consisted mostly of touring empty buildings and vacant classrooms while being escorted by the headmaster and teachers.
The only moment that stirred her emotions came during the welcome speech, when she heard how her father—the Duke of Kent, who had died when she was just one year old—had once generously supported the school.
After that, however, the entire visit proceeded exactly as all official events did.
Her mother took control of everything.
And Victoria's enthusiasm cooled rapidly.
"Baroness, those steps are rather high. Please walk behind Victoria in case she trips."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"This meat seems a little tough. Victoria might upset her stomach. Could you ask for a softer dish instead?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And another thing—"
There she goes again.
Victoria watched with silent irritation.
Her mother treated her as if she were some fragile glass ornament that might shatter at the slightest touch.
Not allowing her to climb stairs alone because she might fall and die? Was that truly meant seriously?
At this point, the imagination required to invent so many hypothetical accidents was almost impressive.
The Duchess of Kent seemed determined to anticipate every conceivable way Victoria might suffer a tragic mishap—and then restrict her accordingly.
Whenever these suffocating precautions began, Victoria felt less like a human being and more like some helpless object.
"Mother," Victoria said politely, "the meal was quite delicious. And the classrooms we saw earlier had such a wonderful old atmosphere."
"Did they? Well, they weren't terrible, but there was rather a lot of dust. They cleaned because they knew you were coming, of course, but the buildings themselves are quite old. What if you breathed that unpleasant air and became ill? You should remain outdoors this afternoon."
"…If a short visit could make me sick, then the students studying there would already be buried in their graves."
"You mustn't compare yourself to sturdy boys."
Of course. Naturally.
No matter what she said, the conversation always returned to protecting her health.
Victoria had long since stopped expecting anything else.
"What is the schedule this afternoon?"
"There will be a cricket match among the students. We shall watch for a while, and afterward invite a few of the most outstanding boys for tea. I will arrange everything—just enjoy yourself."
"Yes, Mother."
In truth, Victoria did not particularly care for cricket.
If given a choice, she would much rather watch horse racing.
In fact, she sometimes dreamed of owning a racehorse someday.
Though under her mother's strict control she could hardly even approach a horse at the moment.
"Oh, by the way," Victoria added casually, "did you know Cecilia's nephew is a student here?"
"Really? Ah yes, now that you mention it, I do recall hearing that. I should have tried to spot him earlier when the students were assembled. If he's mixed-blood as they say, he might have stood out."
"Perhaps."
Outwardly Victoria remained calm.
But the truth was she had already found the person she was looking for the moment she stepped from the carriage.
She had scanned the rows of students while pretending to admire the crowd.
The boy himself probably hadn't realized he had drawn her attention.
He really did stand out, she thought. Cecilia wasn't exaggerating.
At first Victoria had expected his mixed heritage to be obvious.
Surprisingly, it wasn't.
The Irish features seemed far stronger.
To most observers he would probably appear simply Irish.
Only upon closer inspection could one notice subtle hints of something more exotic.
Just enough to give him a slightly mysterious air.
Cecilia had said he was about a year younger than Victoria.
That would make him thirteen.
In a few years, she thought, he'll probably attract attention wherever he goes.
After the meal they had just settled down when John Keate, the headmaster of Eton, approached and bowed respectfully.
"The students have gathered on the field. If it pleases Your Grace, it is time to watch the match."
"Very well. You have prepared a shaded area, I trust? It's not particularly hot, but we must ensure Victoria doesn't suffer sunstroke."
"Of course. Everything has been arranged. You will be able to enjoy the match comfortably."
"Good. Victoria, let us go."
As usual, Victoria had no say in the matter.
She rose obediently.
If only time would hurry forward and erase this tedious day from her life entirely.
More than anything, she wished to become an adult as quickly as possible.
* * *
Crack!
"Wooooo!"
"Run! Run!"
"Catch it! Hurry!"
"The princess is watching! We have to win!"
Just as expected, the cricket field sounded like a battlefield.
Any young gentleman of Britain's upper class dreamed of impressing a beautiful queen.
The students seized the opportunity with manic enthusiasm—throwing balls and swinging bats as if possessed.
Unfortunately for them, the information I had gathered suggested that Victoria had little interest in cricket.
In fact, she wasn't especially interested in sports at all—except for horse racing.
Which meant she probably didn't care much who won.
In other words, the boys exhausting themselves in desperate competition were mostly wasting their energy.
Of course, that didn't mean playing badly was acceptable.
Even someone who didn't care about sports could easily tell who played well and who did not.
But no matter how much private training I had taken, I couldn't become a cricket genius overnight.
Even if my past life's experience watching baseball helped somewhat.
After careful consideration, I concluded that excelling in the game itself was unrealistic.
So I focused on something else.
Crack!
"Nice hit, Killian! Run!"
"Look at that swing. Did he spend all his time practicing form instead of playing?"
"No way. He's not that kind of show-off."
Actually… they were exactly right.
If the goal was to leave a favorable impression on the future queen, then efficiency mattered.
Why obsess over victory or personal performance?
While my naive classmates struggled for the win, I devoted all my time to refining skills that might catch her attention.
A clean, elegant swing.
Running at full speed without distorting my expression.
Even wiping sweat from my face as gracefully as possible.
The private coach I hired had looked utterly bewildered at first.
But since I paid well, he faithfully trained me exactly as requested.
I also positioned myself carefully during fielding so that my face remained visible from the angle where Victoria was seated.
To outsiders it looked like I was fully focused on the game.
No one realized what I was actually doing.
Did I truly believe this would earn her favor?
Not really.
But even the smallest positive impression was worth something.
Until the very end of the match I struggled to maintain an elegant, aristocratic appearance.
From time to time I glanced toward the stands.
Perhaps it was imagination—but it seemed Victoria often looked in my direction.
Good enough.
If nothing else, the effort wasn't wasted.
"Wow… Killian's insane."
"We're dying out here and he hasn't even made a face."
Their astonished comments were an added bonus.
Perfect.
It had looked completely natural.
* * *
After the energetic cricket match ended, the Duchess of Kent and Victoria prepared to host the scheduled tea.
Headmaster John Keate consulted the academic register and read out the names of the top students from each block.
"If these boys are already first in their classes at Eton," he said, "they will surely contribute greatly to the future of our nation. If Your Grace were to encourage them personally, it would inspire them even further."
"I agree it is a fine idea," the Duchess said. "However, neither Victoria nor I have time to meet all five. Perhaps one or two students would suffice."
"In that case… how should they be chosen?"
"Victoria, what do you think?"
Victoria understood the reason immediately.
Her mother had seen her suppress a yawn during the match.
Clearly she wanted to shorten the visit.
Still, Victoria didn't mind.
This gave her the perfect excuse to meet someone she was curious about.
"A new student and a graduating student would be best," she said. "The younger one will be encouraged to study hard, while the older one will be motivated as he leaves the school."
"Yes, exactly what I was thinking," the Duchess said warmly. "Mr. Keate, please arrange it that way."
"Very well. I'll bring the two students immediately."
"Oh, wait. I would like to meet them first. If any student might influence Victoria negatively, we'll have to choose someone else."
It was an uncomfortable remark for the headmaster.
But Keate simply smiled politely.
If even the King of Britain had given up arguing with the Duchess of Kent, what could the headmaster of Eton possibly do?
"I will arrange for the students to meet Your Grace privately. The top new student is Killian Gore. An extraordinary boy—first in every subject. Classics, literature, mathematics… remarkable talent."
"What a coincidence," the Duchess said. "I know of him already. A close acquaintance of mine often praises her nephew endlessly. Still, I should meet him personally."
The Duchess of Kent rose and moved to a private room.
A few minutes later the same handsome boy who had caught her eye during the cricket match entered quietly.
And the Duchess found herself surprised again.
The boy's movements during the game had been strikingly elegant.
Now she realized he was Cecilia's nephew.
Killian bowed politely.
"Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you. I am Killian Gore, eldest son of Arthur Gore, Earl of Arran."
"Indeed. I'm pleased to meet you. I don't know whether you're aware, but I'm quite close to your aunt Cecilia. We live in the same palace at Kensington."
"Yes, Your Grace. I've heard my aunt praise your wisdom and intelligence many times."
"Oh? Now I'm curious," she said with a smile. "What exactly has she told you about me?"
Killian glanced around the room.
After confirming they were alone, he scratched his head slightly.
"Well… it's somewhat personal, and perhaps a delicate topic. But if Your Grace permits…"
"Go ahead."
The Duchess wondered briefly if Cecilia had spoken poorly of her behind her back.
But surely a boy intelligent enough to lead his class at Eton wouldn't blurt out something foolish.
Just as her curiosity reached its peak, Killian spoke softly.
"Many people worry about His Majesty's health," he said. "But my aunt often says that with someone as wise and thoughtful as Your Grace, the future should still be safe."
"…Ah."
The topic could easily be considered improper.
But the Duchess struggled to suppress the smile tugging at her lips.
If the current King died, Victoria would inherit the throne.
Yet she was still several years from adulthood.
Which meant the Duchess herself would become regent.
Few people spoke openly about that possibility.
And yet this boy repeated it so frankly.
It felt sincere.
"Thank you," the Duchess said, composing herself. "Those are kind words."
She lifted her fan slightly to hide her expression.
A clever boy.
Illegitimate, with some Eastern blood—but intelligent.
Perhaps he could become a useful instrument.
She lowered the fan and smiled warmly at him.