Adriana's Adriatic Triumph
Last year, thanks to the bumper crop of 1860, we had plenty of stockpiles, so Adriana was fine. But as those reserves started running low and it became clear the war wouldn't end anytime soon, panic gripped the markets. Unlike our protectionist policies, Britain took an even harder hit—the Lancashire Famine shut down countless textile mills and sent workers pouring into the streets. Free trade isn't always the answer; external shocks crash in like unfiltered waves. With British and French looms standing idle, this is our chance to monopolize Europe's cloth supply. That's why I chose Bohemia. Their textile industry is second to none on the continent—hence the nickname "Austria's Manchester."
"Release it gradually, just to Bohemia for now."
The key is selling cotton cloth at the same price as before, unlike elsewhere. It makes the subjects believe the emperor has the crisis under control. That's why fascism and communism surged during the Great Depression—people craved strong leadership to feed them. While Britain's starving workers flood the streets, we need Bohemia’s well-fed weavers praising the emperor. Stability in an unshakable empire is worth more than a few extra coins. Still, it stings a bit. If I weren't empress, I'd have sold it high on the international market...! Ouch, heartburn.
"Call the colonel. Time to head to the Procuratie Nuove."
No more lounging on a full stomach—it was time to move.
*
Day 40. The end of my tedious confinement and the official day to present my daughter to the world. Venice had been in festival mode since I announced the birth here.
"Your Majesty, the crowds are gathering in St. Mark's Square."
I checked the hair Panni had styled and gazed down at the baby in my arms.
"And His Majesty the Emperor?"
"He'll arrive in about five minutes."
Once Joseph arrived, the official ceremony would begin.
"Sissi."
I turned at the familiar voice. There stood Joseph.
"Yosha. I heard it would take another five minutes."
He'd come early?
"I missed you, so I hurried."
We had been apart a while. This kind of talk usually came after three months or more.
"Shall we rehearse?"
"No need. We’ll nail it on the first try."
Confident, huh? Joseph wasn’t one for empty boasts.
Our plan was simple.
"We’re recreating exactly what Queen Maria Theresa did in Hungary."
There were no precedents for showing newborns to the public beyond baptisms. At most, portraits circulated empire-wide after three months. I’d pored through countless historical records to drag this bone-deep conservative into the event.
"Let’s go."
I scooped up my youngest and headed slowly to the balcony. As the attendants opened the doors, cheers erupted.
"Waaaaah—!"
Beaming, I approached the railing. St. Mark's Square was a sea of people—hanging from windows, roofs, everywhere. Austrian flags waved alongside Venice's lion banners.
"Viva la mamma!"
"Viva l'imperatrice!"
Pure fervor for the woman who’d birthed their city’s child.
"Looks like next time, we should try Tyrol."
Joseph murmured a playful jab. Like Bohemia—his own turf.
Now, the highlight. I gently pulled back the swaddling around the baby in my arms.
"The noble fifth child of His Majesty the Emperor and Her Majesty the Empress! The Archduchess has received her baptismal name!"
As Grüne began reading the proclamation, silence fell over St. Mark's Square. Everyone wondered: Maria? Elisabeth? Or Theresa? Even a clichéd Habsburg name would thrill them.
"Archduchess Maria Adriana von Österreich—long live!"
The subjects blinked in disbelief, turning to each other.
"Maria Adriana?"
"Adriana! Child of the Adriatic!"
"Viva Maria Adriana!"
In the exploding cheers, Joseph stared at the Italians with utter bafflement. Joseph, what’s up? I nudged his arm, and he turned.
"What? Take Adriana."
They want to see the emperor embracing their sea, remember?
"Should I keep holding her?"
Against my expectation that he’d take her, he said the opposite.
"Better to stay the knight today."
He replied curtly, slowly placing his hand on the sword hilt at his waist.
Yeah, that suited him—the strong emperor he craved. Probably why he’d done the Hungarian coronation too. I waved to the Venetians, lost in silly thoughts.
"It’s not just Venice—feels like all Veneto’s here."
Joseph gazed bitterly at the roaring crowd, gripping his sword tighter.
"…Max will be jealous if he hears."
…Typical Wittelsbach blood.
"Wine!"
A shout drew eyes to a sculpture in the square’s corner.
The Habsburg double-headed eagle. Red wine spurted from its beak.
Venetians rushed with cups—or bare hands—to catch it.
"When did you set that up?"
"A royal celebration—you can’t send them away empty-handed."
I averted my eyes from Joseph’s sharp glare. He’s still miffed I skip banquets…
"Let’s head in."
The crowd sighed in regret, but we couldn’t stand all day. Escorted by Joseph, I left the cheering masses behind and entered the palace.
"Oh, seagull!"
Only one person called me that.
"Ludwig."
"Won’t you call me eagle?"
I greeted him warmly.
"Forgot who owns the real eagle standing here?"
Then Joseph’s arm around my waist tightened.
"I’m curious why the Crown Prince of Bavaria is here."
"Yosha, Ludwig’s just a cousin. My nephew, technically."
I’m his great-aunt, after all. Joseph scoffed in disbelief.
"You were my cousin too."
Oh, right.
"Not a political marriage—cousin weddings aren’t normal otherwise."
So stop the jealousy!
"Besides, eight-year gap. When I was galloping free on horseback, he was still with his nursemaid."
"You and I are seven years apart."
Ugh, no escape. I raised both hands in surrender.
"Fine, quit glaring. You’ll scare Ludwig off."
I swatted Joseph’s arm and turned to Ludwig.
"So, what brings Bavaria’s Crown Prince to Venice instead of Vienna? Not sent by Uncle Max, I hope."
Maximilian II was the strict scholar type—he hated his son wandering so freely.
"To see my muse."
Joseph. Joseph. Chill. It’s kid stuff. Relax your arm.
"Crown Prince of Bavaria."
Joseph’s voice dropped low. Is it summer or winter here?
"Your muse is the mother of my children. Choose your words carefully."
A chilling warning. Any noble would grovel, but Ludwig just widened his eyes and tilted his head.
"Your Majesty doesn’t understand art."
"…What?"
"A muse isn’t possessed—she’s worshipped. Your Majesty’s monopoly won’t dim her light."
Aigoo, Ludwig. Joseph, cut him slack—he’s the Mad King in waiting. I cut in to defuse.
"Okay, worship later. You didn’t come empty-handed, right?"
He’d brought a board game as a gift.
"The one you asked for from London."
…What to do with these royals. This looks brand new.
"The original?"
"Prince of Wales has it… He’s off traveling to broaden his horizons, as you know."
Nice excuse. Victoria blamed Bertie entirely for Albert’s death. Still… he always seemed frail. Sending the heir to the Middle East for training during the London Expo?
"You paid respects?"
But I couldn’t say it aloud. No gossiping family woes between royals.
"Dunno, she wouldn’t see me."
"Max is doing well there?"
Ludwig shrugged.
"Not sure if His Majesty wants to hear this, but yeah, he’s fine."
Joseph’s face softened briefly—then soured.
"Thick as thieves with that upstart Napoleon. Thought he was the French ambassador, not Austria’s rep."
This… if it reaches Mother-in-law’s ears, it’ll be beyond fury. He’d excused the dance with the Duchess of Brabant at the last ball as youthful folly and summoned him to Vienna for a scolding. And now meeting Napoleon? Only one topic on the table.
"Ludwig, you here for the wine fountain anyway, right?"
"…Can I go?"
Why’s he more scared of me than his dad?
"Go. I need a word with His Majesty."
Ludwig glanced at Joseph and headed to the square. Alone at last, I broached Max.
France meddling in Mexico’s civil war was already buzzing across Europe.
"Napoleon’s offering Max the Mexican throne."
Joseph looked baffled.
"Who’d go there sane?"
Right? I don’t want him to either… Marching in on borrowed troops to a country with a living president and armed rebels?
"So if he says yes, talk him out of it."
You don’t want your brother dead either.