Inside the carriage, there was complete chaos.
Several open books and a toppled basket of fruit were scattered across the refined velvet cushions, and the air carried a faint fragrance mixed with a lingering sense of fear.
Princess Victoria sat upright, clutching her skirt tightly, her knuckles white from the excessive force. Her lady-in-waiting, Frances Bunsen, was frantically tidying up beside her, muttering, "Oh, God bless you! Thank the Virgin Mary! Your Royal Highness, are you all right? Did you hurt yourself anywhere?"
However, Victoria seemed not to hear her questions. Her beautiful eyes remained fixed on the direction where the young man had disappeared from view.
Even at that moment, her heart continued to beat uncontrollably, and a lingering flush from shock remained on her pale cheeks, adding breathtaking beauty to her already delicate features.
Victoria was only seventeen, in the prime of youth. Her figure was petite and graceful but not fragile; on the contrary, she possessed a robust vitality cultivated through years of horseback riding. Her skin was so fair it was almost translucent, and in the slightly dim light of the carriage, one could almost see the faint blue veins beneath it, delicate as fine porcelain.
Her thick, dark brown hair was silky like chocolate, and although a few strands had fallen onto her smooth forehead from the recent jolt, it only added a touch of tender vulnerability. But what struck most were her eyes.
They were rare blue eyes, so clear they seemed to reflect the entire sky. Long lashes curved upward like small fans, and each blink was like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. Normally, these eyes always held the composure of royalty, with a hint of melancholy, but now they were full of lingering fear, shock, and an emotion she had never felt before: curiosity.
Her lips were full and delicate, like rose petals about to bloom, naturally tinted with a healthy pink that made one want to kiss them. Her high, refined nose added dimension and nobility to her slightly rounded face.
Altogether, the future queen, at that moment, was like a delicate rose that had survived a storm: beautiful, fragile, yet possessing indomitable vitality.
"Your Royal Highness? Your Royal Highness?" Frances Bunsen called cautiously two more times.
Victoria finally snapped back to reality, as if waking from a dream. She took a deep breath, and the violent heaving of her chest gradually eased.
"I'm fine, Frances," she said. Her voice was still slightly trembling, but she had regained her composure.
She closed her eyes, and the dangerous scene from earlier replayed involuntarily in her mind. The runaway goods carriage had been like a roaring beast, the helpless royal guards, the terrified screams of the crowd, and the moment the shadow of death fell… she almost thought she would die there.
Yet, in that desperate moment, the young man appeared: Arthur Lionheart.
He was like a lightning bolt splitting the darkness, intervening in the disaster in an incredible way. His agile figure leaping onto the carriage, veins bulging on his arms as he restrained the horses, his terrifyingly calm eyes burning like fire in the face of death… all of this left an indelible mark on her mind.
Victoria had lived seventeen years, and the men she had met were courtly attendants or polite nobles, always wearing a mask of hypocrisy. Their gazes were full of reverence, flattery, or overt political ambition.
But Arthur was different.
When their eyes met in that life-or-death moment, she saw no fear or flattery in his gaze. It was a pure, powerful, commanding look. He did not see a princess; he saw a life that needed saving.
Above all, he had performed an immense service, yet when the guards surrounded him, he did not stay to claim credit or reward. Instead, he bowed calmly, then turned and walked away without hesitation.
This resolve and mystery, like a small hook, gripped Victoria's heart firmly.
Who was he?
Why did he possess such strength and courage?
Why, after saving her, had he chosen to leave silently?
Countless questions fluttered through her mind like butterflies.
"Captain Cornwall," Victoria suddenly said, her voice not loud but full of undeniable authority.
The captain of the guard, Captain Cornwall, immediately approached the carriage window, kneeling on one knee, his face full of shame. "Your Royal Highness, the protection provided by this subordinate was inadequate. I deserve to die ten thousand times!"
"Your culpability can be discussed after our return to the palace." Victoria did not look at him, continuing to gaze out the window. "Now I order you to use all your power to discover the identity of the young man who just saved us. I want to know everything about him: his name, his past, where he lives, everything!"
"Yes, Your Royal Highness!" Captain Cornwall did not hesitate for a moment. He immediately followed the order, signaled to some of his men, and quickly pursued the direction in which Arthur had disappeared.
Victoria leaned gently against the velvet backrest, feeling as if all her strength had been drained. Instinctively, she touched her chest, still aching.
"A beggar…" she murmured to herself.
She had noticed Arthur's clothing. Although clean, the fabric and cut clearly belonged to the poorest social strata.
A poor man, a young man who might struggle even with basic sustenance, yet possessing courage and strength lacking even in the royal guards.
This stark contrast made his image in her heart even more mysterious and grand.
"Your Royal Highness, shall we return to Buckingham Palace?" Frances Bunsen asked cautiously.
"No, back to Kensington Palace," Victoria said decisively. "I was frightened today and need rest. Besides, I do not want what happened today to reach my mother or Sir Conroy."
The baroness paused, then understood the Princess's intentions. The Duchess of Kent and her advisor, Sir Conroy, exercised nearly pathological control over her, and would never allow any uncontrollable person or event to approach the Princess. If they learned about today's incident, they would certainly dramatize it, even slandering the young man who saved her.
The carriage moved again, under the vigilant guard, retracing its route to Kensington Palace.
Victoria drew back the window curtain and took one last look at the chaotic intersection, her blue eyes glinting, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, across the city, Arthur, having evaded his pursuers, was hiding in an inconspicuous corner, panting heavily.
His back was soaked in cold sweat, and his arms still trembled uncontrollably—a normal reaction after expending all his strength.
Everything that had just happened, seemingly effortless, had been extremely dangerous. One small mistake at any moment, and he would now be a cold corpse.
But Arthur had gambled and won.
Not only had he survived, but he had also left an impression on Victoria's heart, creating waves of intrigue.
Leaning against the wall, he thought to himself: "This is only the beginning. I need real power: economic and entrepreneurial. Only then can I approach the future Queen as an equal, not as a beggar or outsider, but as a peer in influence and resources. Only then can I interact with Victoria as a free, strong, and independent man."
With that determination, Arthur immediately began planning his next moves: expand small enterprises, accumulate wealth, and gain influence, becoming a force in the city that could not be ignored.