“Because it’s the job that never ends. It’s a thousand years of history and a thousand years of the future resting on my shoulders.”
“Ourshoulders,” Dree said.“Ourshoulders, notyours.”
His face softened as he smiled at her, light from the chandelier glinting in the blue of her eyes.“Ourshoulders, yes.”
Casimir and Arthur strolled back over to the dais, returning their phones to their pockets. Arthur sat beside Maxence, while Casimir sat on the other side of Dree.
Arthur leaned back on his arms. “From the moment Marie-Therese marched in here with mercenaries, I thought a massacre was inevitable. I thought there was no pathway to any of us walking out of this room alive.”
Maxence nodded. “I was just trying to delay the inevitable. I was hoping Dree or some other people might escape or hide.”
Casimir nodded. “Your cousin reminds me of my brother. I’ll tell Anastasia the Nefarious to raise the salary of her bodyguards and to double her security. We don’t want Willem taking tips from Marie-Therese about how to stage a coup.”
Dree shook her head. “You royal people are all crazy.”
Arthur leaned back to rest on his elbows, surveying the room casually. “Her primary mistake waswalking inwith them. Most dictators whip their supporters into a frenzy at an off-site location and then set them loose to do their dirty work. They don’t care what happens to the poor slobs who support them after they’ve used them. Dictators despise their followers and milk them for the power and money they can suck out of the masses.”
Maxence nodded. “Marie-Therese would’ve been a good Instagram princess, but she wasn’t a good dictator. She cared too much about the likes.”
Arthur chuckled. “Yes, none of the dictators I’ve installed cared about whether anyone liked their social media posts or not. None of the successful ones, anyway.”
Dree leaned around Maxence to stare at Arthur. “What did you say?”
Arthur didn’t even look back over at her. “Nothing, I’m sure.”
Maxence sighed again. “I suppose I should make a speech humbly accepting my ascendancy to being a God-King.”
Casimir chuckled. “Anastasia never has.”
“But she’s merely the crown princess,” Maxence observed. “She hasn’t ascended to being the queen and sovereign yet.”
Casimir shrugged. “Po-TAY-toes, po-TAH-toes. I prefer my taters mashed.”
The rustic American colloquialism spoken with Casimir’s arch British accent jolted Maxence, forcing him to feel himself in the present, and he laughed.
Dree asked Casimir, “Where’re y’all from again?”
Arthur leaned over Maxence. “His wife is a Georgia peach.”
“That explains it.”
Maxence asked the three of them, “I’d better get up there. What should I say?”
Casimir told him, “That you humbly accept the results of the election and will pray that God grants you His grace to be a good sovereign.”
Dree snuggled up to his side again. “That Monaco is your family and your home, and you will serve the people of Monaco to the best of your ability.”
Arthur muttered. “That you’re taking control of the media and military, effective immediately.”
Maxence laughed as Casimir grumbled about Arthur knowing a little too much about military coups.
In the end, Maxence said a few words that incorporated Casimir’s and Dree’s suggestions but left out Arthur’s more pragmatic advice. “And as we move forward, may this day remind us that power should not be sought, and a sovereign is meant toservethe people of Monaco.”
Chapter Six
And They Say Monarchies Have Antiquated Habits
Maxence
