The royal study was quiet that morning, save for the faint ticking of the longcase clock nestled beside the bookcase. Prince Lancelot stood by the window, arms behind his back, watching the smoke trails of chimneys spiral into the clear sky. Below, the capital stirred—rchants rolled carts through muddy streets, scribes posted new decrees, and guards stood watch over the plazas. But Lancelot’s eyes were fixed far beyond the city’s borders.
He had won the political gamble. The coalition was shattered, the Church silenced, and order restored. But now ca the true battle—reshaping the realm into a modern nation. That ant steel, power, machines, and above all, minds sharp enough to build them.
He turned to Alicia, who stood waiting by the desk, notes and ink ready.
"I need nas," he said.
"Nas, Your Highness?" she asked.
"Not of nobles. Not of bishops. Of scholars," he clarified. "I want a list of every person in Aragon who has studied the sciences—tallurgy, chemistry, physics, electricity. Anyone with experience, even if incomplete. Alchemists. Tinkerers. Mathematicians. If they’ve written theories or built devices, I want to know."
Alicia blinked, startled at first—but then nodded.
"I’ll have the lists within a day."
By evening the next day, Alicia returned—visibly flustered, but with a strange glint in her eyes. She placed a thick leather-bound dossier on Lancelot’s desk.
"I’ve gone through every university registry, private patronage letter, and estate archive," she began. "Most fit only one or two of your fields. A tallurgist here, a herbal chemist there. So know the ancient texts, others dabble in water chanics, but..." She hesitated.
He raised a brow. "But?"
"There’s one," she said slowly. "One person who appeared in every field. Chemistry, tallurgy, physics, mathematics, even speculative electricity. She’s... unusual."
Lancelot’s eyes narrowed with interest. "Unusual how?"
"She’s a noblewoman. Lady Mirena d’Aurelion. Young, barely twenty-three. Daughter of a fallen Viscount. Her estate fell into ruin during the last famine, but she never left. Refused marriage proposals. Funded experints by selling family heirlooms. And her records... they’re staggering."
Alicia opened the folder. Inside were sketches, complex notations, entire diagrams of devices Lancelot himself hadn’t yet dared introduce—arc furnaces, wire coils, alloy compounds, even crude schematics for electromagnetic induction.
"She created this?" he asked, stunned. And then studied the folder.
The margins are filled with what looks like calculations of gas compression rates, tensile strength charts, steam cycle efficiency, even preliminary notes on alternating current.
This was beyond this world’s science. To think that a person with such wisdom exists in this era. Truly amazing! He must get her.
"She has no formal titles left," Alicia added. "No estate inco, no court connections. But she’s been publishing under pseudonyms in obscure printing presses in Salamanca and Burgos. Most dismissed her work as mad alchemy."
Lancelot closed the dossier slowly, then looked out the window again. But this ti, his gaze wasn’t on the horizon. It was inward.
"Get her," he said.
"Shall I send a letter?" Alicia asked.
"No. A carriage. Personally. Bring her to Madrid. If she says no, tell her the fate of the kingdom depends on it."
Three days later, the court murmured with curiosity as a strange vehicle entered the palace gates—more utility cart than noble carriage. It reeked faintly of oil and so unidentifiable burnt compound. Out stepped a woman in a soot-stained coat, high boots, and a leather satchel brimming with blueprints.
Lady Mirena d’Aurelion stood not like a courtly guest, but a storm in boots. Her blond hair was tied hastily, strands jutting out wildly. A pair of brass-rimd goggles rested on her head, and her eyes darted around the hallway with the wariness of soone more familiar with explosions than etiquette.
"Are you sure this is the palace?" she asked the guard.
"Yes, my lady. You’re expected."
"...We’ll see."
***
The doors to the Regent’s study opened, and Lancelot stood from behind his desk. Alicia stood to the side, hands folded, watching carefully.
"Lady Mirena," Lancelot greeted.
"Your Royal Highness, it’s a pleasure to see you in person," she said respectfully.
"I am too as well. Now you must be wondering why I called you out here."
Mirena didn’t reply, instead she waited for him to answer.
"The reason was your work. You have a great scientific mind that even impressed ."
Mirena smiled heartily. "You do, Your Royal Highness?"
"I do, and the reason I appreciate it is because I understand it. I too am an avid engineer," Lancelot continued, walking toward the center of the room. "Not formally, of course. The tutors at court only taught geotry, fortification theory, and the usual naval arithtic. But in secret, I devoured every scrap of chanical treatise I could get my hands on."
Mirena’s eyes widened slightly at that. "Most nobles think physics is for blacksmiths and chemists for healers. You surprise , Your Highness."
"I’m going to show you so of my blueprints which would definitely understand with that great mind of yours, do you mind?"
Mirena raised a curious brow. "Blueprints? Yours, Your Highness?"
Lancelot didn’t answer with words. He rely turned, stepped to a side cabinet, and unlocked a drawer lined with velvet. From within, he drew a thick, ironbound folio and several scroll tubes sealed in wax. Alicia moved aside to give them space as he laid the materials across the center table.
"These are designs I’ve been refining in secret," he said. "So are based on fragnts I inherited from court engineers. Others... are my own visions."
He carefully unfurled the first parchnt—an elegantly inked cross-section of a massive vessel.
"The Besser Converter," he said. "An iron shell lined with refractory brick. Molten pig iron is poured in here—air blasted through the bottom tuyeres. The oxygen strips the carbon in minutes, raising the temperature and purifying the steel."
Mirena stepped closer, her breath catching. "You sketched this without ever building one?"
"I modeled it in the cellar of the old sumr palace," he replied. "Using iron pots, bellows, and far too many ruined tiles."
He rolled open the next diagram—this one more compact, featuring pistons, rods, and a flywheel.
"A working steam engine. High-pressure, single cylinder, external condenser. Built for torque over speed. I wanted to power grain mills in the provinces without relying on rivers."
"Brilliant." Mirena leaned in. "You even accounted for thermal expansion gaps on the piston head... Did you calculate torque?"
"Yes. See here—" he pointed to a set of annotations. "At 80 psi, we get a peak output of 8 horsepower. Crude, but sufficient to rotate a four-blade millstone assembly."
He didn’t stop. Next ca a sleeker, more refined schematic. A cylindrical housing surrounded a magnet rotor, with loops of copper wire coiled precisely along the interior wall.
"An electric motor," Lancelot said. "Designed for direct current using a commutator and brushes. I was working on a prototype using galvanic cells for power, but the battery output wasn’t strong enough yet."
Mirena’s eyes sparkled now. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, nearly knocking her goggles loose. "If you pair this with my induction chamber design, you can create a rudintary power grid. We’d only need a dynamo."
He grinned. "Already thought of that."
The next drawing showed a train of cars linked together—smoke billowing from a broad-nosed locomotive.
"The Aragon Express, I call it," he said. "A steam locomotive, inspired by the British prototypes I’ve only heard whispers of through old rchant letters. Narrow-gauge to navigate our mountain terrain. If we standardize the tracks, we can connect Toledo, Zaragoza, and Valencia in under a decade."
Mirena stepped around the table slowly, taking in each piece like a child marveling at stars.
He pulled out one last diagram—its lines more intricate, more experintal. Copper coils, ammonia lines, heat exchangers.
"A refrigeration system," he said. "Closed-cycle vapor compression using an ammonia-based fluid. With this, we can store perishable food, extend supplies for campaigns, and even preserve dicine."
"That... that would change everything," she whispered. "Every garrison, every hospital, every ship."
Lancelot nodded. "It’s not enough to industrialize for war. We must also industrialize for life. The people must feel the Crown’s touch not just in law—but in light, heat, food, and speed."
Mirena looked up at him—truly looked at him now, no longer just a noble prince or a client offering patronage.
"You didn’t bring here to dazzle with ideas," she said slowly. "You brought here to give the ans to build them."
He held her gaze. "Correct. I need soone not just to advise —but to lead the scientific transformation of this realm. You’ll be the Director of Science and Technology."
She took a breath. "I accept. On one condition."
"Na it."
"I want total creative freedom. No courtly interference. No budget cuts from frightened ministers. And the right to test my prototypes without ’ethics reviews’ from philosophers who’ve never held a hamr."
Lancelot chuckled. "Granted. I’ll draft a Royal Charter myself—ensuring your departnt answers only to the Crown."
Mirena grinned. "Then we’ll build an empire of circuits, pistons, and steel."
Alicia stepped forward finally, smiling despite herself. "Shall I notify the Treasury?"
"Yes," Lancelot said.
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