As the next two people in the line of succession, Alexandre and Albert were presented with a dark red pillow holding the Collar of the Order of Saint Charles.
The livery collar wasn’t a chain for Max to wrap tightly around his neck. Rather, it was a carcanet, a long, flat chain of enameled medals consisting of red and white diamond checkerboards interspersed with red ovals bearing two stylized Cs, the monogram of the chivalric order of St. Charles.
They picked up the long chain from the pillow and held it suspended between them. Maxence bent slightly from his waist as they lifted it over his head and draped the yoke on his shoulders, the center object swinging down to tap his chest lightly.
Maxence straightened, having bent as an heir but rising as a sovereign.
The tidal wave of white light rushed from every camera and phone in the courtyard, documenting his first moment as the Sovereign Prince of Monaco.
He stepped backward, feeling for the throne with the back of his leg, and lowered himself, literally taking the throne. He rested his hands on the cool metal arms.
The camera flashes intensified, a wall of white light flaring within the courtyard of the palace.
The applause and cheering were cut short by a shriek, followed by a concerned mutter that turned to shouts on the left side of the box seats for the nobles of Monaco.
Maxence stood, trying to figure out what was going on.
Rogue Security commandos and Monegasque military troops converged on him, but he shoved them aside and ran toward where Dree was clambering across chairs and knocking velvet ropes out of her way.
He set a course through the gawking crowd to intercept her, and they arrived at the roped-off box seats assigned to Lady Valentina Martini, who was lying on the ground and clutching her chest. A look of sheer terror contorted her face.
Behind Maxence, his Holiness Pope Vincent asked the crowd over his microphone if there was a doctor in the house in Italian and then Spanish.
Dree was already on her knees, pressing her ear against Lady Valentina’s chest with her eyes squeezed closed.
Medics raced from the first aid station Dree had insisted on behind the staircase, lugging boxes of various kinds. When they arrived, she tore into the boxes, finding first a small box with many wires, which she peeled stickers off of and then flung leads onto Lady Valentina’s skin. Luckily, white tie formalwear for ladies usually specifies a low neckline, and Lady Valentina had chosen a white gown that allowed Dree to apply the EKG leads quickly.
Lady Valentina closed her eyes and went limp.
After a glance at the readout, Dree glanced up at Maxence, who was holding back the crowd with his long arms. The grim determination in her blue eyes froze him. She yelled again for a doctor.
Maxence looked over the crowd to see if anyone was fighting their way to the forefront, but no one was. Dammit, none of his useless cousins had gone to medical school.
Dree grabbed another box out of the crate that the medics had brought and prepped the defibrillator by squeezing green electrode gel onto the paddles, mashing them together, and then shouting,“Clear!”
The other EMTs that had been assessing Lady Valentina’s condition sprang back, their hands up and visible, as Dree applied the paddles to the noblewoman’s chest and shot the electricity into her body.
Lady Valentina’s chest rose with the jolt of electricity.
Dree dropped the paddles and reached for the EKG, assessing the waves on the small screen. Her shoulders dropped with relief as Lady Valentina’s eyes fluttered open.
Maxence grabbed Dree as the crowd rushed forward and Rogue Security pushed them back, hugging her and telling her how magnificent she was.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dial M
Dree
Dree tried very hard to behave like a professional nurse practitioner.
Her hands were shaking as the EMT crew wheeled the stretcher to the ambulance to transport Lady Valentina Martini to the Princess Grace Hospital. Her Ladyship was strapped down and arguing with them that she didn’t want to miss the rest of the enthronement.
Maxence stood with his arms out, catching Dree, and he enfolded her in his arms when her choices had seemed to be going with the ambulance or collapsing into a puddle of tears in the courtyard. He made sure she was okay, gently smoothing her hair back into the chignon that the stylists had so carefully crafted. After a few minutes, Dree was steadier, and Georgie led her back to the box seats from where they’d been watching the ceremony.
Casimir and Arthur leaned forward from their seats behind the two women, clapping her on her shoulder and congratulating her on a job well done.
Georgie held her hand during the rest of the ceremony.
