Private The Cleanest of Crimes

[Tessa D'Asterra]

Virellis Highport was an art piece in itself. Nothing about it read utilitarian, with its gentle, sloping curves, its subtle architecture, its premium construction material. The ugly, blocky municipal architecture of some other spaceports would have been complete anathema to the sensibilities of the powers that be -- or rather, were -- in Port Virellis. The large complex sported a different terminal, further removed, for cargo, which freed up the beautiful lagoon view for passenger travel, with the best pads reserved for private transports. In a private lounge near one such pad stood Tessa Drayven D'Asterra, dressed well but simply, her dress a blue so demure it was nearly gunmetal, a single brooch at her chest, a simple navy patterned scarf at her throat.

Tessa was not an uncommon sight at the Highport. Her role as Principal Consort made her a sort of official hostess for her late husband, and it was a role that she had continued in her widowhood because, at first, her son Evran had been unmarried. Now, his wife -- dear Sabina -- was neither inclined nor equipped for it. She would grow into it. Eventually. These thoughts occupied her as she stood in the private lounge, monitoring the ticker from the Synod on her datapad.

"My Lady," a voice came from behind her, and Tessa turned wordlessly. An aid stood in the doorway. "You asked to be made aware when the Stalwart was on final approach. It will be landing momentarily. Pad number three."

"Thank you," Tessa said. "I'll be along presently." She waited a moment until she heard the door whisk shut, then tucked her datapad into her small patent handbag and started for the door. She hated the idea of being escorted. The Highport was secure, and Tessa was sure that anyone who wanted to see her harmed would rather do it on the floor of the Synod -- politically -- than to see her bleeding out on the marble of the promenade. Besides, the notion that she couldn't find her own way was as insulting as it was ludicrous.

Outside the lounge the Highport was its usual quiet efficiency, passengers heading to their gates, staff quietly weaving through the corridors. By the time she arrived at pad 3, the Stalwart -- a small, military-grade corvette -- was settling onto its landing struts, the hydraulics whining quietly as they wound down, thruster smoke and mist curling like laurels around the ship. Tessa waited patiently until the ramp lowered, exposing the singular and familiar cut of Duke Orestyn Carda. She had met the man before, during the negotiations over Clémence half a year ago. She respected him for the success he had built, but whether she liked him remained to be seen.

Not that it mattered, especially. This wasn't a game of happy families, after all; it was business.

She stepped forward to meet him at the base of the entry ramp, offering a slight bow of her head. Their titles didn't mesh, exactly -- Virel had no Dukes, and Naboo had no Charter-Seats or Lords Primary or any of the other absurd little historical quirks that made Virel what it was -- so there was no clear order of precedence, so Tessa decided that mutual respect was the order of the day. "Your Grace," Tessa said. "You had a pleasant journey, I hope."

Orestyn Carda​

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[Orestyn Carda]

Tessa D'Asterra

House Carda ruled their own world, yet, their patriarch was named Duke.

The history of which was amusing, but would take too long to get into now.

All of which was to say that the alliance proposal between House D'Asterra and House Carda felt natural. Both needed something from the other. House Carda was a relative newcomer into the region. Furthermore, their imperial past made them suspect, even while the High Republic could profit from their militarized nature.

Not to speak of D'Asterra's ties to the mining concerns that could benefit Carda's military-industrial capacity.

Duke Carda came out himself, alone, with no honor guard or security forces. He did not need one. It was well-known that the Duke was a Force Master and formidable in battle by his lonesome. The way he carried himself, strict, rigid as if an iron bar was rammed through his spine, only confirmed that. Even as he walked towards her, his eyes were taking everything in, including her.

Assessing, but for what? Danger? Profit? Opportunity? It was hard to say.

"My Lady," Offering his own head inclination. "-the journey was fast and efficient. I hope having to meet me here was not an inconvenience to you." Then he offered his elbow.

"I have brought gifts for your household. I trust your staff will arrange the transfer with mine?"

 

[Tessa D'Asterra]

Tessa's eyebrows lifted a little. "Not at all," she assured him as her hand settled in the crook of his elbow. "It does one good to get out of the city every so often. Even a city as beautiful as Port Virellis. Then again now I recall you joined us at my husband's country seat last time, and never got to see the capital. An oversight we can rectify now."

At the mention of gifts, the dowager smiled tightly. The protocol of these things was quite absurd, she knew, but it had to be observed. The D'Asterra gifts were waiting to be presented at the Lord Principal's Palazzo, where the family were also waiting to greet their guest -- and probable new family member. All were under strict orders to be on their best behavior, of course. "Certainly. That is very thoughtful, Your Grace, thank you. Once we get aboard the barge I will signal ahead and they'll arrange everything. And your luggage, of course. Shall we?" She gestured toward the door and they set off.

The walk through the Highport was uneventful. Other than the beautified surroundings, it was much like any other spaceport, with announcers occasionally chiming in with alerts about flight statuses, safety announcements, etc. Things got slightly more interesting when they emerged onto a rather busy stone quay. "I thought you might like to see the city was it was meant to be seen: from the water, first. It won't take long, I assure you. Oh -- " She paused a beat, hesitating at the gently-bobbing gangway of the Lord Principal's barge, its nigh-monarchical banners fluttering ever so slightly in the gentle breeze.

"You don't get motion sickness, do you, Your Grace?"

There was a speeder in reserve, of course, but she thought it would be good for them to have a few minutes to catch up alone before Evran, who -- bless him -- fancied himself the head of the household now that his father was died, decided to try to involve himself.

Orestyn Carda​

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