“No,” Maxence said to the man. “As I have repeatedly told everyone on the Crown Council and anyone who will listen, I have been given Holy Orders as a transitional deacon. I will be ordained as a priest as soon as possible, which I believe will be directly after the election of a new prince. I’m not allowed to marry. I am not eligible to be the sovereign. I’m only here to facilitate the election and coronation.”
Dree wasn’t sure what to write, but her heart seized upon hearing him say it so plainly.
“But the Sea Change Gala is scheduled for a few weeks from now,” the pudgy man said. “Surely, we’ll have a new sovereign by then.”
Dree wroteSea Change Galain bright letters on her screen.Few weeks from now.
Maxence shrugged. “It’s several weeks away, and it seems like an artificial deadline. There’s no reason to elect or crown a new sovereign prince Prince of Monaco before a particular charitable fundraiser.”
Dree scratched outfewand wrotemore than three weeksaway.
“But the sovereign prince always hosts the gala and opens the dancing.”
Maxence’s slight frown was just the merest, dignified wrinkle between his eyes. “Anyone can be tapped to host the gala. There’s no reason to rush the election.”
The guy’s jolly face condensed into a frown. “Anyone named as the official host will be seen as the front runner to the Council and the press.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s true. It would probably marginally change the odds in Vegas and with the London bookies for who will be crowned, but that doesn’t matter to us.”
“Appearancesdomatter. Someone will have to host the ball.”
Maxence raised his head and looked at where the paparazzi were splayed against the chain-link fence, frantically snapping photos. “Conflicting speculation might be good publicity. We do derive an obscene amount of revenue from tourism.”
“If there is no one else, I could do it,” Head Elf said.
Maxence tipped his head slightly to the side. “Are you angling for front-runner status, Prince Jules?”
Dree had been thumb-tapping notes while the two men spoke, writinggalahost will be seen as frontrunner, when Maxence called the man that she thought of as Santa’s Head Elf, “Prince Jules.”
Prince Jules?
She’d been exhausted in Nepal, but Maxence had told her a story about how his unclePrince Juleswas utterly corrupt and had been removed from a government ministry position. He’d abused his authority and demanded bribes, or else he threatened to revoke people’s citizenship. The wealthy paid him from their yachts with wire transfers. Middle-class citizens couldn’t begin to afford to pay up, and he’d been throwing Monegasque citizens out of the country on fake, trumped-up charges.
This jolly little guy was the evilPrince Jules?
Jules Grimaldi laughed his good-natured chortle. “Me? I don’t want the throne. I’m set in my ways, and I’m rubbish at maintaining my temper through interminable public appearances. I just want to make sure there is a monarch on the throne because, otherwise, France will have the legal right to re-absorb Monaco. I don’t want to end up paying French income taxes or their wealth tax. I have far more to lose ifno oneis on the throne.”
Max’s disinterested smile never wavered at his uncle’s words. “Of course.”
“Although, as you and Alexandre have stated you will not accept the crown, I am next in the line of succession after his sister, Christine.”
“Yes, Prince Jules.”
“And the Crown Councilmustoffer the throne to each successorin order.”
“That is the tradition,” Maxence said.
The tone in Max’s voice prickled the back of Dree’s neck, a grind that resonated like the adamant denials of a drug addict.
“And it’s in the constitution.”
“As you said.”
“Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. You must’ve had a tiring trip, with your flight and having been in the wilds of Nepal for a month. I wanted to be the first to greet you, Prince Maxence, upon your return to Monaco.”
“Thank you for greeting me upon my return to Monaco, Your Highness, Prince Jules. I look forward to working with you and the Council as we elect and crown a new Prince of Monaco.” Maxence bowed slightly from his waist, a sharp movement that Dree was surprised wasn’t preceded by Maxence tapping his heels together like a graduate of an old German university.
Maxence turned and walked away from his uncle.
