Far above the aristocrats’ heads, past the chandeliers suspended from velvet-wrapped chains, the artist Orazio de Ferrari had painted Zodiac symbols and Alexander the Great’s surrender on the ceiling of the throne room centuries ago.
Maxence had seen it all his life, from the time he was presented to his grandparents as a week-old infant in his mother’s arms, looking up at the blur far above, to all the times as a small child when he’d lain on the floor and stared up at it, to the many times his attention had wandered during ceremonies in the grand space.
His life always came back to this room, to this castle, to Monaco.
His cousin Alexandre, still standing behind him, stepped forward to the edge of the dais. “I, Lord Alexandre Grimaldi, Duc de Valentinois of Monaco, nominate His Serene Highness Prince Maxence Grimaldi to rule Monaco as the sovereign prince.”
A woman’s voice from the crowd shouted, “Seconded!” Alexandre’s sister Christine Grimaldi pushed her way forward through the crowd. “I, Lady Christine Grimaldi of Monaco, second the motion to nominate Prince Maxence as Sovereign Prince of Monaco.”
That was all very wordy. Maxence wasn’t sure it was necessary.
As a child, Maxence had been kidnapped from a sailboat in Monaco’s waters, and assassins had hunted him every moment he’d been on its soil. His body was prepared to fight every moment he was there.
And yet, Maxence was drawn to Monaco with the obsession of the sea turtle returning to the beach where it was born.
The possibility that he might be able to live in Monaco without a jealous psychopath snarling at him every time he stepped over its borders was almost more than his heart could bear. That Dree might be here with him was his personal vision of Heaven. He felt like he could float through the air of the throne room and trail his fingers through the crystals dripping from the chandeliers far above.
Max’s uncle, Prince Jules Grimaldi, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and a black tie, his white beard gleaming like silver, stepped out of the crowd and closer to the dais. “Prince Maxence, before we resume, what are yourpolitics?”
This wasn’t a casual interrogation. Jules was triple-crossing his daughter and launching a last-ditch effort to take the throne, and he would fight like a wildcat because if he didn’t win, he was going to prison for murder.
Maxence said, carefully, “Pro-Monaco.”
Jules’s eyes narrowed. “When I talked to Pope Celestine this morning, he said you had not been ordained as a Jesuit because you espoused Liberation Theology.”
Ex-Pope Celestine had been busy today, giving the Monegasque aristocrats several types of ammunition to use against Max.
One of Max’s cousins asked Jules, loudly enough that everyone in the room could hear, “Who cares what his theology is?”
Jules told him, again loudly enough for his words to be an announcement and an indictment, “It’s a radicalsocialistreligious belief that the Church considers heresy. It says that thenationsof the Earth are responsible for the poor, rather than charity being a personal responsibility. Isn’t that why you were never ordained, Prince Maxence?” Jules asked him. “Because you are a heretic who believes that governments should takeourwealth we’ve accumulated and give it to the poor who haven’t earned it? Are you asocialist?”
The nobles’ expressions here and there turned dubious, and they looked at Maxence to answer the question.
Maxence didn’t have time to formulate a response that would equivocate his beliefs. “The Church’s position on Liberation Theology is that it is heresy. The Church’s doctrine is that it is everyone’spersonalresponsibility to do good works and emulate Christ in the world. Previously, when I thought I had a vocation to be a Jesuit, I would have promised to obey the church and the pope in all things. I would have taught personal responsibility, not Liberation Theology.”
Prince Jules’s blue eyes sharpened at the corners. “You didn’t answer the question.”
Maxence raised one finger, signaling that he wasn’t done talking yet.“Look at me.I was raised as a billionaire among billionaires, a position of privilege almost impossible for ninety-nine percent of people to conceive of. Last night, I wore a Kiton tuxedo worth more than most luxury cars, and this morning, I ripped it to shreds. This watch”—he lifted his arm and displayed the Patek Philippe watch Arthur had given him for Christmas as both a lark and, evidently, a tracking device—”is worth more than a decent house in three-quarters of the world. I am the heir to a literal country, albeit a small one. I don’t think anyone who was raised as I was couldever,even with the best of intentions,everbe called asocialist.”
Max took a breath, and he poured his heart out to the aristocrats in that room. “I give a damn about other people. I believe every one of our citizens deserves a fair chance in life to do their work or grow their business, own their property with dignity, and be treated fairly. Too many of our citizens do not get that chance. I believe educating our children benefits everyone as a society. I believe companies and countries should focus on good work, and demanding every last fraction of a cent of profit to the exclusion of all else is to everyone’s detriment.”
Persuasion filled Maxence’s voice. “When I was running my charities, I didn’tcollaboratewith idle billionaires. They dropped off their checks and mingled at the galas and left. They had nothing substantial to offer because they don’t care. Most billionaires don’t evenliveanywhere. They don’t have connections to a town or a community because they travel by private jet from their apartment with a private entrance in New York to their country estate outside London to their walled compound in Los Angeles. They don’t talk to their neighbors because their neighbors are usually at one oftheirother houses. They have no friends. Their family is at war for their money. No wonder they don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves.”
His heart and his soul and hisvoicefilled the room, surrounding and permeating the people standing in front of him. “I worked with CEOs of Fortune 100 corporations. One of the most important things I saw was that CEOs who focus on every last percentage of a percent of profit to the exclusion of everything else in their company,lose profits.Their people burn out and leave. They have constant turnover, and the best people won’t work for them. They eventually destroy the company by gambling on short-term projects to turn a quick buck for that quarter’s earnings, instead of investing in long-term, sustainable growth and a decent lifestyle for their employees.”
Maxence continued, “But CEOs who have a mission to change the world—whether it’s to give everyone access to a computer so they can start companies, or puttingpatients firstin a pharmaceutical company—their profitsexplode.They become best in their industry. The best people want to work with them, and their people stay for years because they’re glad to be part of the mission.”
When Maxence drew a breath to speak, he was drawing in life and delivering truth. Hissoulspoke. “People want to be a part of something larger than themselves. They want awhy.Monaco can be something larger than a micro-nation, one of the smallest city-state countries on the planet, just a beach and a casino. We can bemore.We can lead the world if we work toward something larger than ourselves. We can be at the forefront of making the world better foreveryone.”
As he let the words go and reverberate in the air, taking his thoughts and his spirit with them, persuading anyone within the sound of his voice, Maxence’s gaze returned to the crowd of nobles standing in the throne room.
Everyone was watching him. Some of them were reaching, their hands outstretched, as they listened to him. Gasps popped as people remembered to breathe.
Maxence hadn’t realized he’d been doingthat. He hadn’t meant topersuadethem, but his heart had overflowed.
Most people in the room were affected. A few staggered. Many shook their heads as they came back to themselves.
Alexandre was staring at him. He whispered,“Jesus,Max. It’s too bad you can’t sing.”
