Max hesitated, but he nodded. He wasn’t under any obligation to lie to protect his dead brother’s reputation. He didn’t need to elaborate, however. “Uncle Rainier had been sharing power with Pierre for ten years or more, slowly bringing him into the business of running the country. Pierre controlled the Secret Service the whole time. Coming home to Monaco was dangerous for me.”
Casimir stepped up on Max’s other side.
Oh, God. What now?
Casimir announced to the crowd, “All of this concern about how much Maxence has lived in Monaco or how many times he’s been back here seems like you’re questioning whether or not Maxence thinks of Monaco as his home, or if he’s just another tourist who traipses in and out of Monte Carlo when it’s convenient for him.” Casimir whispered to Max, “Roll up your sleeve, just a few inches.”
“What?No!” Maxence said, leaning away from Casimir because obviously, the man had gone mad.
“Show them your tattoo, dammit. The one on your wrist.”
“Fine.” Maxence had put his black tee shirt and jacket from rescuing Dree that morning back on, and he began rolling up the jacket sleeve of his right arm. He knew what Casimir was going to do, but it seemed more like a magic trick, a surprise reveal, than a closely reasoned argument.
Then again, Caz was an entertainment lawyer in Hollywood. Many of his court appearances probably were more flourish than logical litigation.
Casimir turned back to the crowd. “Do you want to seewhoMax is in his soul? Arthur, that other guy back there, designed these tattoos for us when we were at university to represent our true selves.”
Arthur waved a single flick of his aristocratic fingers from behind them.
Out of the corner of his eye, Maxence saw Dree look up from her notes and glare at Arthur.
Casimir continued, “Thisis who Maxence truly is.”
He grabbed Maxence’s wrist and lifted his arm in the air, displaying the shield filled with the red and white diamond pattern, echoed behind them above the throne on the Grimaldi coat of arms.
A mutter went through the crowd.
It still seemed like a cheap trick to Maxence, displaying a tattoo that had begun to fade with age as if the ink in his skin was a better qualification than his years of service to humanity, but it was a symbol that would sway some people. He slapped his sleeve down over his wrist.
Casimir said, “Maxence has always lovedMonaco. He always came back toMonacoeven though he knew it was dangerous for him. He sat by his uncle’s bedside for a month even though he was dodging assassins the whole time. He stayed in the hotel at the casino because he would be marginally safer than in the palace, where he’d be under Pierre’s thumb. He rolled the dice every single time he came back,but he camebecause he missed it so much, even though he was gambling with his life. No one loves Monaco more than Maxence Grimaldi.”
Marie-Therese, her smile as sharp as a stiletto, was still positioned by the steps leading up to the throne. She spoke to the room. “That’s utter bullshit. Maxence never wanted to be the sovereign prince. He still doesn’t. He’s only doing this to keep anyone else from getting the throne.”
“I’ve always wanted to take care of Monaco, to protect her,” Maxence said, and his breath seemed to emerge from the very base of his soul. “But Pierre was the oldest, and I would never have knocked my own brother out of the way.”
The accusation rang in the room.
About half the people turned to look at Jules Grimaldi, who should have been ahead of his daughter, Marie-Therese, in the line of succession. Most of them must still be shocked that Jules hadn’t been nominated.
The words rose from the depths of his soul and rang in the air. “My brother, Pierre, was expected to become the Sovereign Prince of Monaco. I watched my uncle and my grandfather train him, explaining to him all the ways his power could make Monaco better. I was never jealous that he wouldruleMonaco. I was jealous he couldstayin Monaco. From the time I was sent off to boarding school when I was five years old, I was acutely aware that my future layelsewherein the world. Pierre would come back and be welcomed home. I needed to leave, though I never wanted to.”
Maxence continued, “The citizens’ picnic in September was my favorite time when I was a child. I mean, the costumes weren’t.” The other nobles chuckled, doubtlessly remembering being stuffed into the heavily embroidered, itchy traditional costumes that looked oddly Nordic for a Mediterranean nation as children. “My grandfather and then my uncle held court, as it were, on a blanket in the middle of the park. Anyone and everyone walked over, sat on the blanket, and discussed the state of our nation with them. It was idyllic. Can you imagine such a thing anywhere else? The country’s leader, reclining on a blanket and eating figs and cheese, and citizens walking up, being offered snacks, and sitting down to tell the Prince about their shop and discuss their problems and the direction of the country? That’s Monaco. That’sus.Monaco is my home, and our citizens are my family.”
Marie-Therese said to him, “But it doesn’t change the fact that you were disqualified in this election, andIhave been elected. You’re standing in front ofmythrone.”
Maxence smiled at Marie-Therese because decorum was as important as facts in this situation. “Not until we finish the roll call vote.”
“I think we’ve heard quite enough. The voice vote was overwhelming.”
“We will counteveryvote, even the ones you don’t want to. You aren’t allowed to end a soccer game at halftime because your team is in the lead. We don’t stop counting in the middle.”
Maxence had expected the room to erupt at that pronouncement, as some electors who’d been passionate about their vote for Marie-Therese would insist on stopping the vote while she was ahead.
However, only three shouts echoed in the chamber, and the voices quickly died down when they realized they were in the vast minority.
Lady Valentina Martini had also been watching the room, and her sharp gaze had not missed who had shouted. She stepped up on the dais, turned her back to the room, and whispered to Maxence, “Louis Grimaldi, back surgery. Lady Clémentine Gastaud, fibromyalgia. Lady Henri Giordano, a herniated disc in her neck.”
Maxence glanced down at her. “And?”
