Ca' Giarelli
Porto Viro, Santheres
11:45 AM
Robert had died in November, an accident gliding over Porto Tolle. A rocky outcropping had disagreed with him, and while the details were a little muddled, the glider had definitely gone down after suffering from damage. If he had been lucky, he would have survived, but not everyone can be so fortunate as that.
The past two years of his life had been beyond charmed, so perhaps it was that he had used all of his luck then.
Illeana put her veil - violet, the Santherese color for death and mourning - down on her bedside table for what had to be the thousandth time. She wasn’t intending to pick it up again, though. This, she thought, is the last time for a very long time.
At least, that’s what she wanted to believe. There really was no way of knowing what might happen, or need to happen, in the future.
A woman of nineteen now, she didn’t really need a new marriage like she had when she was a frightened, fourteen-year-old. Her close family was still either dead or incapable of leading - nothing could ever change that - but she had been now an adult for four years. She had ruled to the point where she was entrenched enough to actually fight head on attempts at a legal coup. That did not, however, make her immune to them.
She picked up one of the newspapers that sat at the foot of her bed. She was fond of print media still, though almost everything in Santheres was digital. The front page story was about her - so many of them had been in the last six months. It was almost like the Christmas Massacre all over again.
Tabloids, even legitimate news agencies from other houses, and internet trolls all took shots at her. They had a lot of things to criticize her for, some real and some imaginary. She had never gone to university… hell, she had never graduated from secondary school.
Technically, that was a crime and her mother would have been convicted had Illeana not in her capacity as duchess pardoned her of any wrongdoing and then signed a ducal exemption for herself to not have to return to school. A clear abuse of power, but legal all the same.
Most recently, however, they were all in regard to Robert. Poor, stupid Robert. He had been a child. So had she of course, legally-speaking, but foreigners always seemed so immature in comparison. She didn’t cry then, and she wouldn’t cry now. While she had grown somewhat fond of Robert in the last few years, he had always been a tool to be used.
Picking up her tablet, she called her seneschal Leandro. He picked up after two rings, just as quickly as his usual. “Can you find me some of the responses from yesterday’s press release? I’m sure they’re up already.”
Through the speakers, she could hear typing. Leandro didn’t respond, though - he was always a man of fewer words with her. They were close; many things didn’t need to be said. After a few moments, he finally replied.
“The best ones should be loaded on your tablet now. There’s also some speculation as to when you’ll officially be looking again.”
She didn’t need a new husband.
There was still something to be said, though, for finding a political match that would be a worthwhile investment.
The future could never be certain and a larger safety net could never be overlooked. It was not, of course, to obtain heirs - while that would be necessary eventually, any Santherese man could provide that. No, heirs were just long-term bonus to short-term goals.
“I’m only nineteen.”
She had forgotten in the moment that had passed that Leandro was still on the call. He responded with, “I know, but I’m not expecting you to get pregnant for years. You don’t even need to sleep with a new spouse - you just need the papers and some regular public appearances.”
Dropping her dress arms off her shoulders, she let the material fall into a pool at her feet. She mulled over his words; as much as she hated being in mourning, or being alone, she did like independence.
“It doesn’t even have to be a man,” Leandro added. “As long as the house is stronger for it and your position harder to fight.”
He did, of course, have a good point. Sure, having a chance of falling for her spouse was nice but at the end of the day, the house was all that mattered. Politics, diplomacy - maybe some helpful economic benefit if there was a megacorporation to get into bed with (not a pun she intended, of course). The fact of the matter was that the only important thing was to marry into another family with a secure, long-term position.
Or at least, if not secure immediately, something that the Giarelli family could lend their weight into protecting.
Crossing to her wardrobe, feet bare and naked to the top of her head, she open the doors and shifted a few of the dresses within. She actually preferred something more like a suit to a dress but it was far too hot these days and the estate now had a skyscraper view instead of the old ocean view that allowed the sea breeze. No, a suit wouldn’t do anyway. She was going to talk to people who were not Santherese; people who would probably have some kind of irrational opinion about women in suits. But then, whatever dress she wore had to suit their tastes better, too and couldn’t be either revealing or conservative. There was a reason she thought Santheres was the best country in the world.
“Are you still there, Illeana?”
She crossed back over to where her mourning dress had fallen. “Yeah, I was just… thinking. I think I should just go ahead and make an announcement; see what bites. It’s not like I have to commit to anything.”
Leandro’s voice sounded a little distant as he replied, “And when would you like to do that?”
“Do you think the press will hate it if I do it before most of them get back?” She smiled, bending down and drawing the dress back up to her shoulders. “I think right now, once I find a lively hat that isn’t purple. Something that says ‘I’m young and alive’ despite the mourning gown.”
She could hear him hesitate on the other end of the line. “Are… are you sure you want to do this right now? I just meant for you to think about it, not rush to a decision.”
“I thought about it, dearest. Now is the time to start. I don’t expect to end up with a husband for awhile still.”
Knowing when to let her be with her decisions, Leandro replied, “I’ll gather whoever’s here and meet you in the press room, then.” He then hung up.
Nodding to herself, she verified in her head that this really was the best idea.
Within the half hour, she was in front of the Giarelli press corps, or at least what of it was immediately available. There, cameras flashing and video recording, she made her announcement.
"Fellow citizens, world leaders, and anyone else interested in my announcements: I come to you today to confirm the words I shared with you here yesterday, the official end of a mourning period for my, our, beloved lost Robert. In his tenure as duke consort, he aided us all in providing both a youthful outlook and in grounding us in reality, especially with regard to how the rest of the world may view us.
Now that he is gone, and I have come to terms with the hole in my heart carved by his loss, I believe it is now time to move forward in life, as he would have wanted. It is time for me to fill that hole.
What I wish is to find a match for a strong, political union. This match may be one that can grow to a partnership of love and respect, and I hope that moving forward, any persons interested in pursuing such an arrangement may contact us for interview. Any applicants not filtered out will receive a personal invitation from myself.
I have time for a couple of questions..."
Now that he is gone, and I have come to terms with the hole in my heart carved by his loss, I believe it is now time to move forward in life, as he would have wanted. It is time for me to fill that hole.
What I wish is to find a match for a strong, political union. This match may be one that can grow to a partnership of love and respect, and I hope that moving forward, any persons interested in pursuing such an arrangement may contact us for interview. Any applicants not filtered out will receive a personal invitation from myself.
I have time for a couple of questions..."
