He wasn't given the chance.

Because the moment he pushed open the balcony doors to return inside, a footman nearly collided with him—face pale, breath fast.

"Lord Phillip Wellington?"

Phillip blinked. "Yes?"

"A message for you, my lord. Urgent."

The footman extended a small envelope stamped with the crest of the Royal Admiralty—the anchor crossed with blades of laurel.

Phillip felt a prickle of confusion.

The Admiralty?

At this hour?

He slid a finger beneath the wax and unfolded the letter.

Lord Wellington,

Your presence is requested at the Admiralty House at dawn.

Bring your father, the Duke of Wellington.

Matter of national importance.

— Admiral Harrington Grant, First Sea Lord

Phillip stared at the signature.

A summons from the First Sea Lord himself.

His stomach tightened.

The Admiralty doesn't summon engineers for idle conversation.

Behind him, footsteps approached.

The Duke of Wellington—broad-shouldered, commanding, still carrying the stern grace of a decorated general—stopped at Phillip's side.

"You look grim," the Duke said. "What is it?"

Phillip handed him the letter.

His father skimmed it and let out a low hum.

"Well. That answers one question."

"What question?"

"Why the Admiralty has been lurking at the edges of Parliament these past weeks," the Duke murmured. "They're curious. Nervous. Your steam engine rattled more than the House of Commons."

Phillip frowned.

"You think this is about the locomotive?"

"I'm certain it is." The Duke folded the letter carefully. "Steam is power. Steam is speed. If steam can pull a train, the Admiralty is wondering whether steam can pull a fleet."

Phillip felt his pulse quicken.

He had expected foreign monarchs to take interest in his locomotive.

He had not expected Britain's first response to come from the Royal Navy.

At dawn, London was still half-asleep, wrapped in a thin veil of fog. The Duke's carriage rolled across the cobblestones toward the river, where the hulking silhouette of Admiralty House rose like a stone fortress.

Phillip stepped out first, coat buttoned, hair neat, but his mind racing.

The Duke placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever this is," he said calmly, "you face it as a Wellington. So breathe."

Phillip inhaled deeply.

They entered the building together.

Wide corridors lined with naval paintings stretched ahead—battleships at full sail, admirals standing sternly upon decks, sea charts curling behind glass frames.

At the end of the hallway, a double door swung open.

Inside waited the highest-ranking officers of the Royal Navy.

A long mahogany table dominated the chamber, papers strewn across it like scattered maps of the world. Around it sat:

Admiral Harrington Grant, First Sea Lord, white-haired but sharp-eyed.

Vice Admiral Sussex, stern as iron.

Commodore Briggs, broad and scarred.

Several other officers, all decorated, all powerful.

When Phillip and the Duke entered, the room immediately straightened.

"Duke of Wellington," Admiral Grant greeted. "Lord Phillip Wellington. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

The Duke nodded. "Your summons made the urgency clear."

Phillip bowed respectfully. "I am ready to assist however needed."

Grant's piercing gaze locked onto Phillip.

"You invented the steam locomotive."

Phillip hesitated. "I—am responsible for designing its latest efficient form, yes."

Grant nodded slowly. "Then you are the man we need to speak to."

He gestured to the table.

"Sit."

Phillip and the Duke took their seats.

Grant leaned forward.

"Let us speak plainly, Lord Wellington. Your locomotive… is it truly as powerful as they say?"

Phillip kept his voice steady.

"It can pull thirty wagons of cargo at a steady thirty miles per hour."

A ripple of murmurs spread across the table.

"Thirty…?"

"Impossible speed…"

"A frigate under full sail rarely reaches—"

Grant raised a hand. Silence returned.

"And," he continued, "it is powered entirely by controlled steam pressure?"

Phillip nodded. "Yes. Generated through high-pressure boilers."

The First Sea Lord folded his hands.

"And could such a machine—scaled appropriately—drive a ship?"

Phillip inhaled sharply.

There it was.

The true purpose of the summons.

The Admiralty wanted steam power.

He had expected this one day.

He had not expected it this day.

Phillip thought carefully before he answered.

"In theory, yes," he said slowly. "Steam can turn wheels on land. It can also turn paddles or propellers in water."

Vice Admiral Sussex leaned forward, expression intense.

"Would it be strong enough to move a warship?"

Phillip stared at him for a moment.

Then he answered honestly.

"With proper engineering… yes. A steam-powered vessel could move independently of wind. It could maintain speed in calm seas. It could even move against the wind."

That sent a shock through the table.

Admiral Grant's voice grew quiet.

"You are telling us, Lord Wellington, that you can free our navy from the mercy of wind and tide?"

Phillip measured his next words carefully.

"I am telling you," he said, "that steam may one day do for the seas what it has done for the rails. But such a project is not immediate. It requires resources, calculations, maritime testing—far more than a simple scaling of a locomotive."

Commodore Briggs tapped the table, impatient.

"How many years?"

Phillip exhaled.

"With all of the resources and manpower provided by the state, I'd say about one to two years."

Phillip's answer froze the room.

Every admiral, every captain, even the Duke of Wellington turned toward him as though he had spoken blasphemy.

"One to two years?" Commodore Briggs repeated, voice caught between disbelief and awe. "To build a sea-worthy engine that can outpace the wind?"

Phillip nodded calmly. "With full state support. With shipyards prepared, metallurgists trained, and engineers assigned. I will need iron plates rolled to new tolerances, boilers reinforced with alloy mixtures currently used only in our locomotives, and paddle-wheel or screw designs refined for maritime load. But yes… one to two years is possible."

The Duke gave him a sidelong glance, equal parts proud and wary.

Admiral Grant leaned back slowly in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"Gentlemen," he murmured, "Britain stands on the edge of a naval revolution."

Sussex whispered, almost reverently, "A navy unshackled from wind…"

Briggs slammed a palm on the table. "We must begin immediately!"

But Grant raised a hand. "Not so fast. Only the Cabinet and the Admiralty Board can authorize a project of this scale. We must prepare a formal proposal—and Lord Wellington will be at the center of it."

Phillip felt the weight of the moment settle across his shoulders like a mantle of iron.

Grant stood.

"The age of the sail is ending. And you, Lord Wellington… may be the one to usher in what follows."

Phillip rose with the room.

He bowed.

"Then I will not fail you, Admiral."

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