Miramare's Call and Naval Reckoning
Franz Joseph returned to Vienna with Antonia and Elisabeth, but without telling me, he'd sold off the Brenner Pass railway concession to Milan's bourgeoisie.
"Joseph, don't you have something to say?"
"...No."
I was already rubbing my swollen belly as I scolded him. Be careful, he said. He was confident. Just trust him.
"You said you'd send me to London."
"I don't think I ever said I'd send you to London."
Is he making excuses now?
"I'm going to London."
"You're joking, right? You think you can go to England in that condition?"
Denial.
"Don't you know how rough the Dover Strait waves are? You've been there before."
Anger.
"I'll summon the entire imperial medical staff. Hear what they have to say for yourself! What if you get puerperal fever?"
Bargaining.
"Please, just listen to me. I can't joke when your health is at stake."
Depression.
Even as he pleaded, I stayed silent, and he hung his head for a long while. Finally, after a heavy silence, he muttered abruptly,
"...Let's have the baby at Miramare Castle instead."
Acceptance.
After three months of separate bedrooms, Franz Joseph had come up with a completely different solution.
"Isn't that where Max lives?"
"He left for London."
"Why?"
"Maximilian's been dismissed as of today. Besides, you like places with a sea view. It's warmer than Vienna."
I'd said I wanted to go to London...
Franz Joseph took my hand and stroked it gently.
"It's for you and the children. Okay?"
I pouted my lips and nodded.
"Then pass a letter to Count Buol for me."
"What letter?"
"Tell him to visit Rugby School."
"Not Eton?"
Eton's too conservative. It'd be no different from Habsburg court etiquette.
"I heard they're turning rugby into a sport in England these days."
I waved the letter I'd received from Bertie.
"Rugby?"
Franz Joseph looked utterly baffled. Fair enough—Rugby School doesn't have the famous alumni Eton does. At least not yet. Peace in our time?
"Yes. You know what football is?"
"Feet and a ball, so kicking it?"
"Rugby lets you use your hands too. It's football where you roll in the mud, slam into each other, and fight for the ball. They say it's how you raise tough leaders."
A healthy body for a healthy mind. Words he'd like.
"Rudolf is a bit timid."
"Send Count Buol to report back on their curriculum in detail. Especially the emphasis on physical education."
"I know you're interested in Rudolf's education."
I tried to stand, but my heavier body made me wobble.
"Careful."
Franz Joseph rushed to support me.
"Thanks. Still, if we're going to Miramare, I need to pack."
"I've already instructed the servants. You just need to bring yourself."
"Write me letters if you miss me."
Sports are culture, so it's fine for an empress to meddle, right? Upper-class riding, fencing, hunting aren't just exercise—they're essential accomplishments. Raising him as a leader who enjoys the latest British aristocratic trends is a solid justification.
With my rationalization complete, we set off for Trieste right away.
With my belly full term, I stood on Miramare Palace's terrace, peering through a telescope at Trieste harbor. Maximilian's beloved warships lay silently at anchor. Flags drooping like abandoned dogs.
I hummed a tune as I reviewed the naval roster one by one. Who to pick?
Reports abounded of fleet commanders spending more time at balls than on ships. I get that Maximilian loved the navy, but he spoiled them rotten.
Too bad Austria didn't survive to World War II. I'd know from Battleship Girl what these ships could do. They're Tegetthoff-class dreadnoughts from World War I anyway—SMS Viribus Unitis or...
"Königseck, summon Tegetthoff for me."
Königseck looked puzzled but obeyed. No wonder.
"Your Majesty, Lieutenant Commander Tegetthoff has arrived."
"Send him in."
A mere lieutenant commander rarely meets the empress face-to-face.
He seemed about Franz Joseph's age. He marched four steps, then halted sharply. This rigid protocol tires even me every time.
I admired his stiff salute for a moment, then flicked my fingers lightly—permission to approach. He moved again. Now came the tedious three-step rule: three steps, a bow. Three more, another bow. It made me dizzy just watching.
When he finally reached me, I extended my right hand. Tegetthoff dropped to one knee, pausing before his lips could touch it.
"Most gracious Majesty."
I waited until he'd completed the full courtesy.
"Rise, Lieutenant Commander."
Now I see why the Shadow Monarch yelled about this so often. I'd thought of changing it, but other countries' audiences are similar.
I stared at him silently. His uniform bore only rank insignia—no fame-chasing medals, no family crests. Typical for his seniority among noble officers.
Definitely apolitical. No flattery, no factions. Maximilian might have liked him, but his circle would have sidelined Tegetthoff to the corners.
"Lieutenant Commander Tegetthoff."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Do you like this palace?"
He glanced briefly at the ornate decorations and curtains, then gave a flat reply.
"The sea view is nice."
So, in this gaudy palace, the only thing he valued was the ocean beyond the windows. Perfect.
Unfortunately, I had no power to promote him—that was Franz Joseph's domain.
As I rose, he flinched and stepped back. Our marriage is that solid.
"The army guards me on land, but they can't when I'm out on my yacht. So you'll be responsible for my safety."
"I'm aware a guard fleet is already formed."
"If I were satisfied, they'd be here instead of you, wouldn't they?"
Outwardly liberal, how's that?
"I shall obey, Your Majesty."
Clean response. I like it.
"Good. You were on coastal patrol—dismissed."
A few days later, he delivered promptly. Not uninterested in politics, just no good at playing it. Extra points.
"Esterházy."
I handed her Tegetthoff's roster.
"Deliver this to His Majesty."
Personnel is Franz Joseph's prerogative. I want to purge Maximilian's influence and restructure the navy, but I need justification. My safety—his top concern—is the perfect excuse. No balls, no protocol waste; not some admiral strutting on Maximilian's trust alone. A practical soldier type Franz Joseph would approve.
Nailed it.
With the navy somewhat sorted, time to rest easy.
"Gisela, something on your mind?"
I called to Gisela peeking from the door. Her head-shaking was pure Franz Joseph stoicism. Sophie or Rudolf would speak up regardless of my pregnancy.
"Königseck, take Gisela riding."
This is why parents love kids. Mini-mes sharing our hobbies. Seeing your partner through them is fun.
"Come to think of it, no one shares Franz Joseph's hobbies like this."
"Doesn't His Majesty share yours, Ma'am?"
Ida answered, but...?
What does he even like? Hunting, work, and me?
"When I first showed him that play, I thought we matched."
Just his ploy to woo me. Imagining that gruff emperor memorizing a plot he didn't care about, just to chat more...
"Ida, fetch stationery. His Majesty must be bored—time to send homework."
Post-recovery, Bart Ischl's weather is prime for hunting. Riding out together would be fun.
Such thoughts, when—
"...Ma'am."
I dismissed the other children with a glance and met Esterházy privately.
"What is it?"
She looked uncharacteristically cautious.
"I'm afraid you'll walk the same path as that lady who met a tragic end in France."
Esterházy feared I'd face a witch hunt like Marie Antoinette. Chief ladies-in-waiting always worry like that. Foreign-born queen, meddling suspicions, extravagance. Mother-in-law was an exception—emperors barely handled affairs then.
"Esterházy. Do I frequent society often?"
"No, Ma'am."
"Only official occasions."
And Vienna's inner circle doesn't count. Citizens don't see me. Newspapers harp on "mysterious" for a reason.
"Esterházy, maybe you're over-worried seeing Joseph caught between me and his mother."
Frankly, Joseph between us looks more indecisive than Louis XVI.
Esterházy seemed to realize her concern was unfounded, stepping back with a curtsy.
"Rise. Ask any noble—they'd call him the most stubborn principled man alive. Grüne too."
Still awkward using banmal with grandma-age. But occasional luxuries like this are fine.
"Don't worry—sell the Bohemia cotton reserves at good prices."
Cotton prices are skyrocketing from the American Civil War. Keep factories running till Egyptian supply hits. Meanwhile, update Franz Joseph.
Thrilling Kaiser Maker v7.11