Life as I know it—my jet-setting, Bugatti-racing, royally good life—is over.
The sunset clause.
Theo did sound uncharacteristically emotional on the phone, but knowing that his state had been caused by our worst fear coming true must’ve been so unpleasant I just blocked it out.
Mother and I head down the carpeted hallway to the Grand Hall.
I throw her a sidelong look. “Did you…? Did you receive the revelation?”
She gazes into my eyes for a moment without saying a word.
According to a medieval prophecy that my crazy family and my nutty little nation treat as fact, an oracle would be born into the Evorian nobility at the end of the second millennium AD. This child would have three distinctive eagle-shaped birthmarks—one on each shoulder and one on the back.
Mother was born fifty-odd years ago with those three birthmarks exactly as foretold. They proclaimed her theoracle at once. Since that day, the Principality of Mount Evor has been holding its collective breath for her to deliver us from evil by melding with the divine.
So far, Mother only melded with the next best thing—the House of Valois-Montevor—by marrying the second-born prince, Benjamin, aka my late father. Up until today, she hadn’t received the revelation, had the slightest vision, or heard the faintest voice in her head. She once told me she’d smoked weed and eaten magic mushrooms in her youth, hoping to induce hallucinations, but even that had failed.
“Yes,” she finally speaks. “The revelation came to me last night. I took the morning to process it, to write down the specifics, and to discuss it with your grandmother, your uncle Richard, and the prime minister. Now I will relay it to the rest of the family.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “All right. Great. Let’s go, then.”
“They can wait a moment longer,” she says. “I wanted to give you a heads-up, Max. You’re soon to follow in the footsteps of our formidable ancestor Prince Isidore I.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ve been chosen, my boy, to carry out a historic mission.”
“Me? Why me?” I draw back in resentment. “Shouldn’t Theo—the crown prince, the older and more responsible of us—blaze the trail? He’ll be chewing at the bit to prove his worth.”
“The revelation pointed to you, darling. And you know what? I think it’s a good thing.”
“I respectfully disagree.”
She smiles a sphinxlike, knowing smile. Must be an oracle thing.
Suddenly, it hits me. “Is the woman in the video somehow related to the mission?”
Mother inclines her head, hooks her arm through mine and points her chin toward the end of the hallway. We start walking again.
4
MAX
The footmen open the massive doors to let us into the Grand Hall. It’s been rearranged. The central banquet table, as old as these walls, has been pushed out of the way. The chairs have been arranged in rows and a platform has been improvised by the blind wall with a table facing the room and a lectern.
Every single member of Valois-Montevor above eighteen is present, either in the audience or up on the podium. They all turn to look at us. Mother sails past the onlookers and climbs onto the platform where she takes the vacant seat next to Grandmother. Uncle Rich, the prime minister, the home secretary, and the head of the MESS are on the stage. I find a spot in the back and plonk myself down.
The prime minister stands up with a thin folder under his arm and heads to the lectern. While he spreads his notes on the lectern in front of him, I study the tall, vaulted ceilings and the elegant stone columns of the hall. Aside from their structural function, they create an atmosphere of peace and tranquility in this space.
Not today, though.
Doing my best to ignore the tightness in my chest, I study the Valois-Montevor coats of arms embedded in the walls. There is no serenity in them, either. My gaze travels to the double-arched windows overlooking the main courtyard and lingers on the mountaintops in the background.
The prime minister clears his throat. “Your Most Serene Highness, Reigning Prince Richard. Your Highnesses. Ladies and Gentlemen. This is a critical time.”
All whispers cease as we listen.
“The day we have been preparing for has come,” he continues. “The danger that’s always been there in the background, has turned into the proverbial sword of Damocles hanging right over our heads.”
