1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 266: A Dialogue Between Monarchs?

The main hall of the Royal Palace in Athens.

The marble floor was so shiny it reflected the mythological murals on the dome.

King George I sat on his ancient throne, carved with a double-headed eagle and a cross, a jewel-encrusted scepter at his side, but his face was ashen. Even his magnificent royal robes could not conceal the slight tremor in his body.

Beneath the throne, the Prime Minister and a host of ministers stood with their hands at their sides, silent and trembling.

In the center of the main hall, three uninvited guests stood side by side, like three judges who had stepped out of a foreign myth.

Sir Charles Harding, the British ambassador, sat in the center, flanked by Baron von Schneider, the German ambassador, and Captain Vasily Orlov, the Russian minister. Their presence created a suffocating atmosphere throughout the hall.

Constantine, dressed in simple field uniform and without any medals, stood quietly beside his father's throne. His presence seemed out of place in the somber atmosphere of the court.

Sir Harding's gaze, like a precise scalpel, deliberately bypassed Constantine and cut directly at King George I.

He took a step forward, holding a document in his hand, but did not unfold it.

He used no roundabout diplomatic language; his voice pierced the hall, each word striking the hearts of all the Greeks.

"By the common will of the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the Emperor of the German Empire, and the Tsar of All Russia, I hereby convey the following consensus to the Kingdom of Greece."

Harding cleared his throat and, in a judgmental tone, read out the unseen ultimatum.

"First, a combined fleet of the British, German, and Russian navies has been assembled in the Dardanelles Strait with permission from the Ottoman Empire. If necessary, it will blockade all ports of the Kingdom of Greece, including Piraeus, within twenty-four hours."

"Secondly, through coordination among Britain, France, and Germany, financial institutions in Paris, London, and Berlin will simultaneously freeze all overseas assets and credit lines of the Greek government and its royal family."

"Third, all exports to Greece will be temporarily suspended. This includes food, medicine, and all manufactured goods."

Each one is a heavy hammer.

Every blow struck the lifeblood of this nascent nation of Greece.

Sir Harding put away the documents and gave a slight bow, but there was not a trace of respect in his posture.

"Your Majesty," his voice was devoid of warmth, "you have one hour to decide the fate of Greece. Will you accept our mediation and travel to London for the peace conference? Or…?"

He didn't finish his sentence, but the threat posed by those unspoken words was far more terrifying than the words themselves.

George I's body trembled even more violently beneath his magnificent royal robes.

He gripped the armrests of the throne tightly, his fingernails turning white from the force.

These threats, every single word, awakened a deep-seated fear of the great powers within him. He recalled the history his fathers had told him, the humiliation of how once-powerful Denmark had tried to hold its head high only to be slapped into the dust by these behemoths.

The country was bankrupt, burdened by foreign debt, its ports were blocked, and people were wailing in hunger... a series of tragic images flashed through his mind.

His lips opened and closed, but no sound came out.

He looked at his son pleadingly, his eyes filled with pain, fear, and struggle. He hoped his son could create a miracle, yet he also feared that his son would drag the country into an abyss of no return.

Constantine stepped forward, ready to speak.

"Your Highness the Crown Prince!"

Sir Harding immediately interrupted him, his voice full of condescending arrogance and rudeness.

"Excuse my bluntness, but this is a dialogue between monarchs. We are awaiting His Majesty the King's reply."

This is a meticulously planned scheme.

In front of all the ministers, Constantine was publicly stripped of his right to speak, and all the pressure was poured down on the most vulnerable king, like a mountain.

Sir Harding wanted to break the spine of the victorious prince in front of everyone, to make him understand that battlefield victory was worthless in the face of the will of the great powers.

Inside the hall, all the Greek ministers wore expressions of humiliation.

Constantine was not provoked.

He didn't even glance at Sir Harding again.

Instead, he took a step back, turned around, and faced his father, who was teetering on the throne.

He did not use any foreign language that any of the ambassadors could understand, but spoke in clear, steady Greek. His voice was not loud, but all the Greeks in the hall could hear him clearly.

"Father."

He spoke, and the entire room fell silent.

"We have won."

"On the battlefield, with the blood of the enemy and the lives of our soldiers, we won the greatest glory for a country and a nation in nearly five hundred years."

"Now, we are the victors, not beggars waiting for trial in court."

His words made all the dejected Greek ministers instinctively straighten their backs.

Constantine paused, then his tone softened but became even more forceful.

"But the people of Greece cannot shed any more blood. They have already sacrificed too much for this country."

"We have won the war; now, it is time to win peace."

He looked into his father's eyes and said, word by word.

"Accept their offer and go to London. Let the world see that Greece not only has brave and fearless soldiers, but also a peace-loving and magnanimous monarch. Only a victor deserves to talk about peace."

George I was stunned.

He stared blankly at his son, at those clear and determined eyes.

He got it.

His son gave him a perfect stepping stone, a step woven with glory and righteousness, enough to cover all fear and weakness.

He did not succumb to the tyranny of the great powers.

He made this choice of monarchy voluntarily after a glorious victory, for the nobler goal of "peace".

A surge of warmth rose from the king's chest, dispelling all the chill.

Under everyone's gaze, his back gradually straightened again.

He slowly rose from the throne that had almost crushed him. He grasped the scepter, a symbol of royal power, and with unprecedented majesty, surveyed the three arrogant ambassadors below.

"For lasting peace in the Balkans, and for my people to no longer suffer the torment of war," the king's voice boomed and solemnly, echoing through the hall, "I, King George I of Greece, accept the ceasefire."

"The Greek delegation will be on time at the conference table in London."

Constantine stood quietly behind his father, in the shadow cast by the throne.

His gaze passed through the hall, calmly meeting Sir Charles Harding's somber gaze.

You won this round of the coup.

But the game has only just begun.