After Sir John Conroy left with a satisfied expression, I quickly grabbed a glass of water and rinsed the unpleasant taste from my mouth.
Listening to that second-rate schemer while pretending to flatter him had left my head spinning.
Was the British royal household really safe if it was being manipulated by someone like that?
Well, it wasn't exactly my problem.
In fact, I had benefited from the situation.
Still, the sheer absurdity of it all was hard to ignore.
I decided there was no point standing around alone any longer and headed back toward the other students.
Just being in Eton's uniform was enough to draw attention here.
Unfortunately, my attempt to quietly blend back into the crowd failed immediately.
"Killian! There you are. I've been looking everywhere!"
It was Robert, rushing toward me.
"Oh—someone asked to speak with me for a moment," I said. "Did the headmaster need me?"
"No, Headmaster Keate is busy thawing out the students who are still frozen with nerves. Actually… someone over there wanted to meet you. If you have time, would you come greet him?"
"Me?"
So it had finally begun.
Robert had already told me enough to know this moment would come eventually.
And since I had deliberately allowed information to spread that I frequently visited Kensington Palace, curiosity was inevitable.
I had already prepared for the possibility of meeting senior Tory politicians at this event.
"I've actually been hoping to greet him myself," I replied calmly. "Let's go."
"Great. This way."
I had been planning to expand my business into the horse racing industry after reorganizing the casino anyway.
Becoming acquainted with someone as influential as the Duke of Rutland would only help.
But the moment Robert led me into the center of the Grand Hall—
I froze.
"Oh! It's been a while. Have you been well?"
Wait.
That wasn't the Duke of Rutland.
It was Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington.
When I turned toward Robert in disbelief, he realized he had forgotten to mention who wanted to see me. With an awkward expression, he quickly slipped away.
Still, this wasn't entirely unexpected.
Wellington was one of Eton's most famous alumni.
It would have been stranger if he hadn't attended.
The real problem was the two men standing beside him.
One was a thin elderly gentleman who had been staring at me intently.
The other was a stout middle-aged man smiling warmly.
"So that's the boy you recommended?" the stout man said to Wellington. "I can see the intelligence in his face already. Or perhaps he's simply handsome enough to make it seem that way. Ha!"
"You'll understand once you speak with him," Wellington replied calmly.
"Which explains why Your Grace wrote a recommendation letter for him after a single meeting."
The stout man stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Pleasure to meet you. I've been curious about you. My name is Robert Peel—I've recently taken responsibility for leading our party."
Ah.
So this was him.
The capable statesman who had established the Metropolitan Police of London during his time as Home Secretary.
The man who had succeeded Wellington as leader of the Tory Party.
And the future prime minister who would one day abolish the infamous Corn Laws.
His sharp political eyes were studying me closely.
I shook his hand respectfully.
"It's an honor to meet you, Sir Robert. I've long admired your achievements in improving London's public safety."
It wasn't entirely flattery.
The creation of the police force had driven many thief-takers and private detectives out of work.
Which meant I had been able to recruit several excellent agents.
Whether he intended it or not, he had helped me build a capable organization.
"I've heard about you as well," Peel said. "Hearing that young talents like you are emerging reminds me of my duty to create fertile ground for the next generation."
"I'm deeply grateful that you think so highly of students like myself."
As we exchanged polite compliments, I glanced toward the thin elderly man who had been silently observing me.
Anyone standing beside Wellington and Peel had to be someone important.
Was he also from the Tory Party?
Before I could decide how to greet him, Wellington spoke.
"Well then," the duke said, "since you've met our party leader, it's only fair that you meet the other side."
He gestured toward the elderly man.
"You may not have met him before, but you've certainly heard of him. This is Charles Grey, leader of the Whigs—and the current Prime Minister."
I had expected the Whigs to be aware of me.
But I hadn't expected the prime minister himself to appear.
"P-pleased to meet you, Prime Minister," I said, bowing slightly. "My name is Killian Gore."
Grey nodded.
"I've heard about you recently. When the Duke mentioned he intended to summon you here, I decided to wait and see you myself."
Standing before me now were:
Arthur Wellesley, former prime minister and Tory leader
Robert Peel, current Tory leader
Charles Grey, the current prime minister and leader of the Whigs
I had just been speaking with a petty schemer like Conroy.
Now I was suddenly facing the final bosses of British politics.
Still, I had expected something like this eventually.
Outwardly, I looked extremely nervous.
Inwardly, I remained calm.
"Prime Minister," I said awkwardly, "I'm honored that someone of your position would wish to meet a mere student. May I ask why—"
"I hear you've been visiting Kensington Palace recently."
Grey's words made both Wellington and Peel shake their heads.
"Prime Minister," Wellington said calmly, "that is simply a private matter between the boy and Princess Victoria."
"Indeed," Grey replied. "Which is precisely why I'm curious. Are you saying even you don't know why he visits the palace?"
"I wrote him a recommendation letter," Wellington said lightly, "but I don't monitor every detail of his life."
"In that case," Grey said with a faint smile, "perhaps we should all hear the explanation together. If something were to happen between the boy and the princess, it might become… inconvenient."
Wonderful.
Two prime ministers testing each other's nerves.
And I was caught in the middle.
Grey obviously didn't expect to get a real answer.
He simply wanted to observe my reaction—and Wellington's.
Which meant the best response was obvious.
"I can tell you, if you're truly curious."
Grey blinked.
"…Oh?"
"Killian," Wellington said quickly, "if you'd rather not answer, you don't have to—"
"It's fine, Your Grace."
I had already prepared this explanation with Victoria in advance.
If they wanted to investigate later, they were welcome to try.
"After all," I continued carefully, "the person I meet may one day become the queen. It's natural for people to be concerned. But there isn't anything secret about it."
"I see."
"The Duchess of Kent wished to slightly adjust the princess's educational environment as she grows older. She wanted someone of a similar age who could provide a positive intellectual influence."
"And that person is you?"
"Yes. When the duchess visited Eton, she was searching for a suitable student."
This was perfectly believable.
Pairing young nobles with intellectual companions had been a common aristocratic educational method for centuries.
"So you're essentially her study companion?" Grey asked.
"Yes," I admitted with a slightly embarrassed expression. "To be honest, it's intimidating to study alongside someone who might one day become queen. Sometimes it feels like I don't belong in such a place."
A hint of awkward honesty.
And just a touch of insecurity about my background.
No one on earth would believe a thirteen-year-old could fabricate emotions like that on the spot.
My age was usually a weakness.
But in moments like this—
It was nearly invincible.
Grey gave a faint smile.
"Being chosen among so many Eton students is proof of your talent. Don't feel intimidated by differences in status. Use it as motivation."
"Thank you for your wise advice, Prime Minister."
Grey chuckled awkwardly.
"…Somehow I ended up encouraging you. That wasn't quite my intention."
Still, he accepted my explanation far more easily than expected.
Not only because I was young.
But because of my background.
If I had been a promising English noble, they would have suspected far more.
But an Irish mixed-blood student?
Their instincts told them Victoria would never form a genuine personal bond with someone of my status.
My background itself served as the perfect shield.
Grey cleared his throat and changed the subject.
"Well then. Enough gloomy discussion. The debate is about to begin. As an Eton alumnus myself, I should watch our successors win."
"I've already been reflecting on how fortunate I was to attend Eton," I replied politely. "Both the former prime minister and the current one are my seniors."
Grey laughed.
"Indeed. Eton remains the heart of the Empire's talent pool. Don't you agree, Duke?"
"I do," Wellington said. "Though people like to compare them, Eton and Harrow are not truly on the same level."
"I agree completely," Grey said. "Honestly, placing them side by side for this debate almost insults Eton's pride."
"If we demonstrate the difference clearly today," Wellington replied, "everyone will see that the comparison was meaningless from the beginning."
As the two men enthusiastically criticized Harrow, I noticed Robert Peel's expression slowly stiffening.
Right.
The current Tory leader had graduated from—
"…We'll see once the debate begins," Peel said.
"Oh?" Grey smiled slyly. "Are you suggesting Harrow might win?"
"Well… perhaps. The schools aren't so different."
"Ha!" Grey laughed. "Duke, it seems the new Tory leader has quite a sense of humor."
"Ah, youth," Wellington said calmly. "Young men are naturally bold."
I blinked.
The former Tory leader and the Whig prime minister had just joined forces to mock the current Tory leader.
Peel, twenty years younger than them, couldn't openly argue back—but his expression clearly showed disagreement.
Watching three of the most powerful men in Britain argue about which school was better felt surreal.
Eventually I quietly bowed and slipped away.
My objective had been achieved.
They now saw me as a harmless Irish student.
And I desperately needed a moment to breathe.
* * *
"Killian Gore, correct?"
"Yes… that's me."
Apparently the heavens had no intention of granting me even a brief rest.
Just as the debate began, another well-dressed middle-aged gentleman approached me.
Who now?
Another Tory?
A Whig?
"You must come with me immediately," he said politely. "Someone wishes to meet you."
His clothing was deliberately inconspicuous.
But his posture gave him away.
He wasn't a politician.
He moved like a royal official trained under strict court discipline.
And the timing was suspicious.
Everyone's attention was on the debate.
No one was watching us.
Which meant whoever had summoned me did not want to be seen.
"Is the person waiting for me here in the Grand Hall?" I asked quietly.
"No. We'll need to go to another wing of the palace."
His gaze naturally shifted toward the north wing.
Even I couldn't help feeling a flicker of tension.
Inside Buckingham Palace, only a handful of people could summon someone to a private room.
And if the destination was the king's private wing—
The possibilities became very limited.
"Understood," I said calmly. "Shall we go now?"
"Yes. Please follow me."
First the prime minister.
Now…
The king?
My heart tightened.
This day was becoming far more interesting than I expected.