With the Kronprins Frederik at sea and his major domestic opponents silenced, the nature of Christian's work changed. The thrill of crisis and open conflict was replaced by the grinding, relentless effort of administration. His life became a series of meetings, each one representing a critical gear in the new engine of state he was building.
A typical morning at the committee headquarters began with a flurry of rapid-fire sessions. At eight, Fievé's engineers would present a bottleneck in machine tool production; Christian would listen, then sketch a more efficient gear-cutting mechanism on a blackboard, a design twenty years ahead of its time. At nine, the governors of the new National Bank would seek his approval for funding a chemical plant to mass-produce artificial fertilizers. At ten, Stig, now the gruff and respected head of arms production, would proudly report that the ten-thousandth Eskildsen Conversion rifle had rolled off the assembly line. Christian managed it all with a calm, decisive efficiency that both awed and terrified his subordinates.
But his revolution was creating new problems. The Enclosure Act and the lure of factory wages had caused the population of Copenhagen to swell. The city's ancient infrastructure was straining, leading to overcrowding and poor sanitation. It was a problem he was studying when he received another summons from the King.
He found King Christian IX in high spirits. His kingdom was peaceful, his army was modernizing, and his international standing had been salvaged. He saw Christian not just as an advisor, but as the architect of his own successful reign.
"Count," the King began warmly, "you have secured the future of our nation. Now, we must secure yours."
Christian stood, confused.
"You are nineteen years old," the King continued. "You are the most powerful and eligible nobleman in the kingdom. It is time for you to marry. A strong dynasty is the bedrock of a strong nation. I have taken the liberty of making inquiries on your behalf."
A cold dread settled in Christian's stomach.
"The Duke of Skarsten," the King said, beaming, "has a daughter, the Duchess Ingrid. She is said to be the great beauty of Jutland. His family holds immense power there, and were… hesitant… during your initial reforms. A union between your houses would permanently unify the aristocracy behind your vision. It is the perfect political match."
Christian was trapped. In this world, a king's "suggestion" in such matters was a royal command. To refuse would be a grave, unthinkable insult. He saw his personal life being annexed for the good of the state, another resource to be deployed.
"I am honored by Your Majesty's wisdom and concern," Christian said, bowing his head in a gesture of perfect, hollow submission.
That evening, he sought out the one man whose counsel he trusted, Admiral Løvenskiold. He found him in his study, and laid out the situation, framing it as a political matter.
"An excellent match!" the Admiral declared, oblivious to Christian's inner turmoil. "Brilliant! The Duke of Skarsten's faction will be bound to you forever. The King has done you a great service, my boy."
As they spoke, Amalie entered to bring her grandfather his evening port. She stopped short upon hearing the news, her polite smile tightening almost imperceptibly at the corners.
"Congratulations on your betrothal, Count Eskildsen," she said, her voice a flawless mask of polite formality. But her eyes, for a fraction of a second, showed a flicker of hurt and disappointment that struck Christian more deeply than any political attack.
"The King's suggestion is most… strategic," Christian replied, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.
He left the Admiral's residence shortly after, the old man's hearty congratulations echoing in his ears. He had more power than any king in recent Danish history. He was reshaping a nation, commanding industries, and planning the seizure of colonies. But as he rode through the streets of Copenhagen, he felt more constrained than ever.
His life was no longer his own. It belonged to the state he was creating. His mind, his time, and now his heart, were all just assets to be managed for the greater good of the Danish Empire. He was its master, and he was becoming its first and most valuable slave.