The moment Russia agreed to separate negotiations in London, I entered Paris without delay.
France and I had crossed paths many times before, but this was my first official visit to Paris on state business—so it felt different.
And since Louis Philippe still sat on the throne largely thanks to me, he was more than eager to see me again. The welcome ceremony was held on a grand scale.
It wasn't excessively lavish—understandable, given that the war had only just ended—but with the Prime Minister, the King, and ministers from every department in attendance, the reception was impressive enough.
Strictly speaking, I wasn't even a king—just the Prince Consort—yet the level of treatment I received rivaled that of any monarch.
Then again, judging by how no one found it strange, it seemed I had truly made quite an impact in this war.
In fact, Louis Philippe openly invited me to the palace and insisted I recount my exploits on the battlefield.
"We were locked in brutal fighting in Crimea, yet Britain launched offensives all the way into Asia. I never expected that."
"The wider the front, the less Russia can respond. The core of the strategy was to attack as many regions as possible simultaneously."
"The Prime Minister tells me your political skill is extraordinary—but to possess military talent as well? Isn't that a bit too much? And on top of that, you're handsome too. God truly is unfair."
"Your Majesty, even in your seventies, you still carry a distinguished presence. If I could age as gracefully as you, I'd ask for nothing more."
"Hah! So you're good at flattery as well. Did you know? Lately, French newspapers have been full of stories about you."
At his signal, an attendant brought several papers and handed them to me.
Who is Killian Gore Hanover, Prince Consort of the British Empire?
The Empire's secret weapon that crushed Russia—the Prince Consort?
How did Britain become the world's greatest power?
France, a nation overflowing with pride, praising a foreigner—an Englishman, no less.
If anything, this was clear proof that France had firmly chosen a pro-British path.
"Prince Killian, I hope France and Britain can remain as close as brothers. Even brothers fight as they grow, do they not? Perhaps our past conflicts were merely part of that process."
A hundred years of war hardly sounded like a "brotherly quarrel," but it wasn't as if Louis Philippe and I had fought those wars ourselves.
I nodded and spent a full hour assuring him that the friendship between our two nations would remain unshaken.
No sooner had I finished my audience with the king than Prime Minister François Guizot came hurrying over.
"Does Britain have a specific policy for this conference?"
"Nothing too detailed. But if I had to sum it up—we won the war, so we must not come out of it at a loss."
"Indeed. We must not suffer losses. In that case, France will support Britain and pressure Russia accordingly."
"Sounds good. By the way, what about the canal we discussed before?"
The shares of the Suez Maritime Canal Company—which had been jointly established with the French Rothschild bank before the war—were supposed to be transferred to me.
But Russia's sudden war had delayed everything.
"Ah… there's no need to worry. Negotiations with Egypt are complete. Construction can begin as soon as funding is secured."
"So construction hasn't started yet?"
"Unfortunately, the war has drained our finances…"
Understandable. France needed to at least pretend to begin construction to avoid suspicion from Egypt before transferring full ownership.
But announcing a new large-scale project right after such devastating war losses would be politically dangerous.
"In that case, tell Egypt this: due to war damage, France can no longer proceed, so all shares will be sold to Britain. It will make the transfer cleaner."
"That… would indeed prevent objections from Egypt."
"And the public won't care much about selling the shares. If you announce that the funds will be used to support returning veterans, your popularity might even increase."
"Excellent… that's a very good approach. Then while you're in Paris, why not finalize the agreement publicly? You mentioned Parliament has already approved it."
"They have. Let's settle everything while I'm here."
A perfect deal.
Guizot could gain public support under the guise of helping veterans, and I would gain control of the Suez Canal—binding a global trade artery to myself.
Seventy-two hours later, just before the arrival of the other delegates—
An official declaration was issued under Guizot's name:
The ownership of the Suez Maritime Canal Company had been transferred to me.
The first piece of the British royal family's domination over global maritime trade had fallen into place.
In most treaties, representatives simply sign while bureaucrats handle the details.
But when interests clash this sharply, those with real authority must step in and set the direction.
Only after agreeing on the broad framework can the officials argue over numbers and draft the treaty.
And with so many nations involved, complexity only increased.
Russia likely intended to exploit divisions—playing Prussia against Austria, dragging France into it, and shifting the burden onto the Ottomans.
A decent plan.
But the veterans of diplomacy gathered here were far too experienced to fall for it.
More importantly—
"Your Highness! It's been years since London. I'm truly delighted to see you again."
"You came to London as an ambitious young man. Now you represent your nation. Congratulations."
"All thanks to you. You gave me invaluable experience and confidence. One day, you must visit Berlin—His Majesty eagerly awaits you."
"If the opportunity arises, I will."
Otto von Bismarck.
Instead of dividing the room, he stuck to me like an overenthusiastic admirer.
An unfortunate development—for Russia.
"Let us begin," I said as we entered the grand conference hall.
Introductions were exchanged.
Then, without hesitation, I set the tone.
"Britain's position is simple. Russia must demilitarize the Black Sea. No warships. No military ports. Any objections?"
"France agrees."
"The Ottomans agree."
"…Russia accepts."
From there, everything moved swiftly.
With Bismarck openly aligning with Britain, Russia's attempts at division collapsed.
The negotiations became one-sided.
Territories. Influence. Strategic regions.
Russia lost ground across the board—Danube, Crimea, the Caucasus, Bessarabia, Poland.
They could do nothing but endure.
"Then that concludes the European matters."
Gorchakov visibly relaxed.
But I smiled.
"We will now discuss Asia."
"…What?"
"Joseon and Japan were also participants in this war. It would be inappropriate to exclude them. As their ally, Britain will represent their interests."
"That is… problematic. They are sovereign nations—"
I slid several documents across the table.
Seals. Signatures.
Authority.
Gorchakov read them—and froze.
"Power of attorney… appointing Killian Gore Lee Hanover…"
"…and… Killian Gore Tokugawa Hanover…?"
"Yes. That would be me."
In Europe, balance mattered.
In Asia?
I was the balance.
"Let's keep it simple," I said calmly.
"Russia should relinquish Sakhalin."
Silence fell over the room.
And just like that—
The real negotiations began.