Reincarnated as the Crown Prince

Lancelot disembarked first. He wore no crown, only a worker’s coat with a Civic badge pinned to the collar. At his side, Juliette carried a rolled blueprint tube and a sealed leather dossier marked "Expedition One: Dawn Road."

Bellido followed, wiping sweat from his brow. "We’re weeks ahead of schedule. You’ve got every dockworker in Cadiz threatening to unionize just to get some sleep."

"They’ll get rest once the engine hums from Dakar to Valencia," Juliette muttered.

At the end of the dock, Admiral Vives saluted. His naval coat was immaculate despite the chaos around him.

"Your Highness," he said. "The fleet awaits."

Lancelot returned the salute. "Let’s begin."

The loading ramp thudded into place.

—

Three days out from the Iberian coast, the sea was calm. Lancelot stood on the deck of the Resolución, staring out at the Atlantic horizon. He was joined by Dr. Calvet, a noted geographer and ethnographer who had recently returned from a failed British expedition in Sierra Leone.

"You know," Calvet said, adjusting his spectacles, "the British send priests. The French send traders. But you send engineers. That’s either madness or genius."

Lancelot didn’t smile. "The others want converts or coin. I want conduits. Steel, electricity, knowledge. Let others own the gold—if we control the machinery, they’ll come to us for everything else."

Calvet nodded. "Still, the climate will break men before battle does. Malaria. Rot. Insects that eat copper. You’ll need more than engineers. You’ll need hospitals."