A few days after the election results were announced—
the Arran estate had been transformed into a celebration hall for the Conservative Party's victory in Ireland.
"Forty-five seats!" one of the party men exclaimed excitedly. "Forty-five! That's seventeen more seats than the last election! This is all thanks to your efforts, Earl."
The Earlof Arran chuckled modestly.
"You flatter an old man too much. This was a result achieved by everyone's efforts. How could I claim it as my own?"
"Modest as always. Even O'Connell's Repeal Party only gained eleven seats compared to last time, while we gained seventeen! Meanwhile the Whigs have been utterly crushed."
"That's true," the Earl replied thoughtfully.
"They collapsed from thirty-three seats to five. We certainly absorbed most of those losses."
He waved his hand lightly.
"But the credit belongs just as much to you younger members. The transformation from the old Tory Party into the Conservative Party did much to refresh our image."
At that moment, Charles Wellesley laughed heartily and approached with several young politicians.
He introduced them one by one.
Benjamin Disraeli.William Gladstone.
The Earl already recognized the names.
Not just the names—
he also knew exactly what relationship these men had with his son.
He had learned everything from James.
Neither the Conservatives nor the Whigs could secure a parliamentary majority without Daniel O'Connell's cooperation.
So both parties had rushed to send representatives to Ireland.
Wellesley and his allies had supposedly come to persuade O'Connell.
But the Earl already knew the truth.
O'Connell had already reached a private agreement with Killian.
And the next prime minister would come from the Conservative Party.
The Whigs and Conservatives, however, remained completely unaware of this.
Which meant they were desperately trying to convince a man whose decision had already been made.
Charles Wellesley and Disraeli had volunteered to handle the negotiations.
And Robert Peel had sent them to Ireland with something close to prayer.
Their public reputations were favorable.
That alone made them the best candidates to approach O'Connell.
Of course, the outcome was already predetermined.
O'Connell would eventually appear to be persuaded by Wellesley and support the Conservatives.
And when that happened—
Wellesley's status within the party would rise dramatically.
It was an astonishingly elaborate political script.
And when the Earl learned that the mastermind behind it all—
was his own son, Killian Gore—
he felt emotions he could barely describe.
"Earl, we'll take our leave now," Wellesley said politely.
"Oh, before we go—do you happen to know where Killian is?"
"He's probably on the first floor greeting the other guests."
"I see. Then we'll go find him."
The Earl watched them leave.
Though he was the master of the estate—
he knew very well who Wellesley considered the most important person here.
From the moment the young politicians arrived, they had been subtly searching for Killian.
At first, the Earl thought James was joking when he explained everything.
Yes, Killian was intelligent.
But he was still just a student.
Yet somehow—
his personal wealth might already exceed his father's many times over.
He was secretly funding the next generation of Conservative politicians.
He had formed a partnership with the rapidly rising Daniel O'Connell.
And on top of that—
he was said to be on friendly terms with Princess Victoria, King William IV, and even the Duchess of Kent.
That last part was particularly unbelievable.
Everyone in Britain and Ireland knew that William IV and the Duchess of Kent had a strained relationship.
How could someone possibly maintain friendly relations with both of them at the same time?
Yet according to James—
Killian had somehow accomplished exactly that.
The Earl still felt as though he were under a spell.
Of course he was proud.
His son had become someone extraordinary.
But the scale of it all—
was so far beyond ordinary logic that it left him almost speechless.
Still—
among all the distinguished figures gathered at this party tonight—
the most talented and promising one of them all
was his son.
Which meant that the years he had spent exhausting himself preparing the estate for Killian's future—
had not been wasted.
As the Earl lingered in quiet reflection, James approached quickly after spotting him.
"My Lord, here you are. You must be tired. Shouldn't you go inside and rest?"
"Even if I've left the hosting to my son, the master of the estate cannot simply disappear," the Earl replied.
"I just finished greeting some of the younger Conservative politicians."
"I see. What did you think of them?"
The Earl laughed softly.
"To be honest… I still can't quite believe it."
"Disraeli is one thing. But Charles Wellesley is practically aristocratic royalty even among England's elite."
"And Killian is supporting someone like him from behind the scenes?"
"If it were the other way around, I would understand."
"That's because the young master is extraordinary," James said calmly.
When James had revealed the truth with Killian's permission, he explained why it had been kept secret before.
There had been no reason to worry the Earl unnecessarily.
Which meant—
Killian's position was now secure enough that there was no longer any danger in telling the truth.
The confidence behind that decision was astonishing.
"So you've become Killian's right hand instead of mine," the Earl joked.
"Well… about that…"
"I'm only teasing," the Earl said with a chuckle.
"Of course you'd change horses. Why stay with an old mule like me when there's a stronger, younger one available?"
He paused.
"Tell me honestly—what do you think?"
"Can Killian become someone greater than Daniel O'Connell?"
James hesitated.
"Forgive me for saying this in front of you, Earl," he said carefully.
"But if we're making comparisons…"
"Shouldn't we be comparing him not to O'Connell—but to men like the Duke of Wellington or Charles Grey?"
For a moment, the Earl wondered if that was going too far.
An Irish nobleman being compared to figures of that stature?
But perhaps that thought itself—
was proof that his old mind still struggled to accept the changing world.
"What a shame," the Earl murmured.
"If I had fathered him just a little earlier… perhaps I could have lived long enough to witness that future."
"Don't say such things," James replied quickly.
"If you simply reduce your workload and rest properly, you could live many more years. You're only seventy-four."
"Seventy-four is already an age where a man wouldn't look out of place in a coffin," the Earl laughed.
Once upon a time, he had believed he would have no regrets when death came.
But recently—
that had changed.
He knew exactly when.
It began the day James arrived at his estate holding the hand of a boy he never knew existed.
From that moment—
he wanted to live just a little longer.
Long enough to see that boy grow into his own destiny.
But now it seemed Killian was already preparing to fly far beyond anything his father could offer.
Entirely through his own ability.
"James," the Earl said quietly.
"Would you say my work here is finally finished?"
"Earl… what are you saying?" James replied uneasily.
"You should live a long life and watch the young master climb higher and higher."
The anxiety in James's voice made the Earl smile faintly.
Perhaps he had overexerted himself lately.
Even this short conversation was making him tired.
"I think I'll close my eyes for a moment," the Earl said.
"I'd like to speak with Killian. Could you bring him here?"
"O-of course! I'll fetch him immediately!"
"So dramatic," the Earl muttered with amusement.
As he watched James hurry away, he suddenly remembered something.
He had forgotten to say goodbye.
He would have to remember to tell his son.
With that thought, he closed his eyes.
* * *
"Father!"
The moment James told me something was wrong, I ran upstairs without hesitation.
Fortunately—
my father was only sitting up slightly in bed, looking at me with mild confusion.
"Why are you rushing like that?" he asked.
"If the guests see you, they'll think something terrible happened."
"James made it sound like you were seriously ill," I said, catching my breath.
Perhaps James had simply overreacted.
People of my father's age often had sudden changes in health.
Still—
it was better to overreact than ignore the danger.
"Wellesley said he was looking for you earlier," my father said.
"Did you speak with him?"
"Yes. He's leaving tomorrow to negotiate with O'Connell."
"Negotiations…" my father murmured with a quiet laugh.
"I hope they go well."
"I have a good feeling they will."
He smiled.
"It's strange."
"Our family has produced intelligent men before—but never someone with your political instincts."
"I wonder where you inherited such talent."
He rose slowly with the aid of his cane and walked toward the bedroom.
I followed close behind, ready to catch him if he stumbled.
Once he settled comfortably on the bed, he stretched and exhaled deeply.
"Ah… that's better."
"Lively parties are exhausting at my age."
"That's why you shouldn't attend them anymore," I said.
"You should rest."
"You sound just like James."
He looked at me thoughtfully.
"You're already doing well on your own."
"You probably don't need my help anymore."
"That's not true," I said.
"Because of your efforts in this election, everything unfolded exactly as I hoped."
He nodded.
"I do have many questions for you."
"James told me most of the story—but not your personal thoughts."
He looked at me with obvious curiosity.
"Ask anything."
"Well…" he said with a mischievous smile.
"I hear you spend a great deal of time with Princess Victoria at Kensington Palace."
"What do you think of her?"
"Do you think she might have some interest in you?"
"That's impossible," I said quickly.
"You know what would happen if I tried something like that."
"Between a man and a woman, liking someone is simply liking them," he replied.
"You don't have to analyze everything politically."
His enthusiasm made me sigh.
It seemed parents everywhere enjoyed discussing their children's love lives.
"Unfortunately, we're not in that kind of relationship."
"I see," he said.
"Then tell me—was she pretty?"
"She's actually been losing weight recently," I said.
"She wasn't overweight to begin with, but apparently she's been eating much less lately."
"Perhaps there's someone she wants to look beautiful for," he said with a knowing smile.
"You're just interpreting everything according to your hopes."
He chuckled.
Realizing this conversation could go on forever, I changed the subject.
"I also met King William IV recently," I said.
"Buckingham Palace was impressive."
"Was it?" he said.
"But if your plans succeed, you'll eventually become someone who can walk into such palaces without hesitation."
"That's what I'm working toward."
James had apparently told him something else.
"You know," my father said.
"James told me something interesting."
"He said comparing you to O'Connell is too small."
"He said men like the Duke of Wellington or Charles Grey would be a more appropriate comparison."
He looked at me carefully.
"That made me realize something."
"I've never asked what you truly want to become."
"So tell me, Killian."
"What do you want to be in this country?"
My future goal.
That was difficult.
A peer in the House of Lords?Prime Minister?The hidden power behind Buckingham Palace?
None of those quite captured it.
So I answered honestly.
"I want to become someone who can control this country according to my will."
"You mean becoming prime minister?"
"If that's necessary, then yes."
"But becoming prime minister alone isn't enough to truly control a country."
My father burst into laughter.
"So you meant that literally."
"I've heard men claim they want to free Ireland or become the secret adviser of a queen."
"But I've never heard anyone say they want to control the entire country itself."
"And the man saying it is my own son."
"I only say that to you," I replied.
"I would never say such a thing in front of others."
After laughing for a long time, he closed his eyes again with a peaceful expression.
"Before bringing you here, I struggled with doubt," he said quietly.
"Was I doing the right thing?"
"Was I creating conflict among relatives?"
"Was I stirring trouble simply because I was obsessed with bloodlines?"
"But now I can say this with certainty."
"The greatest gift of my seventy years of life…"
"was you."
"We didn't have much time together."
"But those few years with you were happier than the seventy years before them."
"And please give my regards to James."
"Tell him I hope he rises to a position worthy of his ability."
"Don't say things like that," I said quickly.
"We still have many happy years ahead of us."
Something felt wrong.
I turned to fetch a doctor—
but my father gently touched my arm.
The touch was so weak it barely counted as a grip.
Yet it felt impossibly heavy.
"Killian."
"Yes, Father. I'm listening."
I sat beside the bed and took his hand.
His voice had grown quieter—
but strangely clearer.
Almost like the final bright flash before a candle dies.
"The position I leave you… will probably be too small for your talents."
"Ireland itself may be too small to contain you."
"So…"
His hand tightened faintly.
"The path where you obtain everything you desire…"
"I will watch it from heaven with your mother—the woman whose name I never even learned, but who gave me the greatest gift of my life."
"Whether it's a person…"
"or a country…"
"Take everything you want."
What could I possibly say to that?
"…I will," I replied quietly.
"So don't worry."
"My life changed the day you brought me here."
"The higher I rise in this country… the more it will be because of you—"
"Father?"
Arthur Gore, the 3rd Earl of Arran—
my father—
did not answer.
He wore a peaceful smile.
As though he had heard my final words.
He never opened his eyes again.
And something warm—
something I never believed I would shed—
rolled slowly down my cheek.