Prince Jules frowned, mostly unaffected by Maxence’s charisma. “And just who are you going totaxto give things to other people?”
There was a small subset of people in the world whom Max couldn’t influence. Most of them were diagnosable as sociopaths. Maxence’s brother, Pierre, had been practically immune to his influence.
His uncle Jules was the same, if not worse.
Maxence shrugged. “Monaco has never had an income tax.”
“Again, you didn’t answer the question.”
Losing his temper in this situation would only be useful to Jules. “Monaco hasneverhad an income tax, and I believe it is impossible for Monaco ever to collect an income tax. We’ve structured our treasury differently. We don’t need one.”
Jules scowled. “Then how would you pay for these grand schemes of yours? How would you make everyone equal andgiveeveryoneeverythingwithout someoneelsepaying for it?”
Prince Jules had been educated at home with tutors. He hadn’t attended Le Rosey like Casimir, Arthur, and himself, so he hadn’t had the benefit of a world-class education in economics and finance. Le Rosey prepared its billionaire-offspring students to balance portfolios, not checkbooks. It was the difference between addition and calculus.
Max explained gently, “Politics and global responsibility are not zero-sum games. Just because someone else has something, it doesn’t mean they took it away from you.”
Jules stopped smiling, and his face contorted into a snarl. His lips retracted and bared his teeth back to his incisors. “You have no concept of protecting what isours.You have to let thepoorpeople fend for themselves. You would feed a hundred people becauseoneof themmightbe hungry!”
The people standing around Jules were inching away from him, perhaps because they didn’t like his politics, perhaps because they didn’t want to get hit with flecks of flying spittle.
Maxence leaned toward Jules. “And you would refuse to feed a hundred hungry people becauseoneof them might not bedeservingor really need it.”
Jules’s face contorted with anger. “Those people aren’tmyproblem. I didn’t force them to live that way and spend all their money on rent and food. This whole idea of a ‘fair share’ is a bullshit concept. It’s just a way of attacking wealthy people.”
Maxence smiled, keeping his countenance entirely serene. This argument had gone too far. “Uncle Jules, I don’t know how to explain to you that you’re supposed to care about your fellow human beings, and there’s something profoundly wrong with you if you don’t. Next question?”
Prince Jules stomped out of the throne room.
Maxence smiled at the crowd who were pondering what to ask.
He didn’t think he’d won, not by a long shot. He might have just lost the election spectacularly, but he didn’t care. He would win, or he would walk away.
Throughout Max’s life as the second heir to the throne, his parents and other adults had impressed upon him the importance of remaining calm. If he did not ascend the throne, his place was to not draw attention to himself. In the unlikely event that he was tapped to ascend the throne, a recent scandal or tragedy would have occurred, and he would need to be a steadying influence on the country.
There had been a tragedy and now there would be a scandal, and Max was well-trained to remain steadfast in the face of both.
“Any other questions?” he asked the Crown Council again.
Lady Valentina Martini stepped forward again, a prim smile creasing her lips. “Prince Maxence, before the roll call vote for the election, there’s just one more thing preying on all our minds.”
Her tone was so light that it sounded playful, but Maxence had been in politics too long to ever drop his guard when dealing with a courtier like Lady Valentina. “How may I put your mind to rest, my lady?”
“A nomination and election will establish a sovereign for one generation. Our treaties with France specify that a Grimaldi must sit on the throne of Monaco or else we will be reabsorbed into France.”
The woman standing beside Lady Valentina squeaked and again threw her hands out to her sides.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with being French. I was just going to say that,Lola.There’s nothing wrong with being French,okay?”
Maxence tilted his head. “You know that we would probably prevail in the World Court if there were no one with the Grimaldi surname available to sit on the throne, right? It doesn’t matter if we have a Grimaldi prince, some other sovereign, or none at all. We’re not going to cease to exist based on one family’s genetics.”
Lady Valentina said to Maxence, her tone a little more frantic, “At this point, if there were not a Grimaldi to plant his butt on that golden chair, everyone around here is superstitious enough to worry that Neptune would take offense and drown us in the sea.”
What the hell was she getting at? “I can’t help you with divine intervention with Neptune. I wasn’t going to be that kind of priest. I was studying to be the Catholic kind. And I was never ordained as a presbyter, anyway. I was only ordained as a deacon.”
“Yes.Yes, that’s the problem,” Lady Valentina said, pointing at him like she was tapping him on the nose from afar. “You were ordained as a deacon, which means that you’ve taken vows of—of—”Lady Valentina glanced around herself with trepidation as if she were about to utter a filthy word.“Of celibacy.”
She—the dowager countess Lady Valentina Martini, a woman whose poise and gravitas were legendary—was—was—
