Prince: Royal Romantic Suspense (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5) by Blair Babylon (best ereader for comics .TXT) 📗

end up with crazy-communism tax brackets or the freaking Inquisition. You know Pope Celestine the Sixth had weird ideas about a new Holy Roman Empire.”

“He’s the pope emeritus now, for that and other reasons.”

“Yeah, but a fanatic from either end of the spectrum on the throne could be the end of Monaco.”

Maxence nodded. “And if it’s a battle royale for the throne, we could end up with an extreme candidate, just because moderates may fragment the vote.”

“I’m not saying you have to be the prince, Max, but if it’s going to be a free-for-all, it has to be our free-for-all. We need to make sure that the right person ends up on the throne.”

“Is your father meeting with people to drum up votes?”

“Max, he’s been negotiating votes since Uncle Rainier had his stroke.”

Shock smacked him like a glass shattering in his hand. “He was going to fight Pierre for it?”

“Pierre was an asshole to a lot of people, and the scandals with Flicka were gaining traction. It wouldn’t have been hard.”

“And then?”

“And then you ran away a decade ago to be a frickin’ priest, Max, and Alexandre is a psycho serial killer. Everyone knew Christine wouldn’t want it, and she’s a girl, so, that. My dad would have been next.”

Max’s cousin Alexandre wasn’t a serial killer nor psycho, but rumors can be impossible to fight. “We’ll have to consider that. Thank you for the information, Marie-Therese.”

They hung up.

If the meetings of the Council of Nobles turned into a rugby scrum, anything could happen. Jules had positioned himself as the conservative alternative months ago. He was leagues ahead in the race for the crown.

Max glanced down the aisle of the plane.

Toward the rear, near the galley, Dree was curled up in one of the oversized seats and covered by a plush blanket that matched the caramel leather upholstery. A mug stood on the small table beside her, and she stared out the porthole window.

Sunlight shone on her creamy skin and sparkled on her gold hair. Her expression was the smooth blankness of repressed heartache.

Yeah, Maxence was an asshole, but Dree Clark was going to stay alive and not be used as leverage against him.

When the election turned ugly, anyone would be fair game for use in bribery or threats.

He stared at the texts that were scrolling down his phone with a new and furious velocity.

People are saying Alexandre and Marie-Therese have heard from you. Are you all right?

Alex posted on the private loop that you’re alive.

Cousin, I extend my sincerest condolences and most heartfelt congratulations.

Your Serene Highness, may I introduce myself. I am the Monegasque Under-Secretary for—

MAX MAX WHERE ARE YOU ARE YOU OKAY?!?!?!?

If ever there were an inconvenient time to make your acquaintance—

Dude. S’up.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Maxence, you need to get back to Le Rocher. Monaco is falling apart.

That last text was from Max’s second cousin Nicostrato Grimaldi, a minor nobleman whose father held a landed title, but he did have a voting seat on the Council of Nobles, or Crown Council, or whatever people were calling it this week. The name of the sovereign’s advisory committee had gone back and forth so many times that they had become synonymous.

Nico was astute when it came to people and politics.

Maybe he would have information.

Max tapped Nico’s text to call him.

After one ring, a crackle and fumbling thump issued from the phone pressed to Max’s ear.

Nico yelled, “Max, Max! Is it you? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here. Are you all right?” he asked.

Nico said, “I dropped the phone. Jesus, Max! Where are you? Are you hurt? Say a number between one and five if you need help.”

“Ten. I’m fine, Nico.” They went through the dance of assurances. Nico was a few years younger than Max, but they’d been friendly at boarding school and hung out often enough to know quite a bit about each other. “I’ll be back in Monaco later today.”

“Oh, thank God!”

“But I would like some reconnaissance. Could we meet?”

“Of course, cousin. Where?”

“I’ll be staying at my apartment in the palace and taking over the business office.”

“In the palace? Are you insane?”

“Pierre is dead, or so I’ve been told.”

Nico’s voice grated with sarcasm. “Yeah, and there’s certainly no one else who might see you as a threat or an impediment, so staying in the most obvious place in the middle of a bunch of soldiers who may or may not have some extra money in their pockets and some extra bullets in their guns is a completely reasonable decision.”

“Right. How about ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”

“Sure, if you’re still alive by then.”

Chapter Two

Sea Breeze

Dree

Cramps spiked through Dree Clark’s fingers and up both her wrists.

Knives of pain sliced through her shoulders, which hovered near her ears.

Under her feet and butt, the helicopter jittered as it banked, nearly rolling over on its side and slanting so hard that she was falling sideways.

A wispy seatbelt held her in the velvet-upholstered, cushiony seat.

Dree could see far too much ocean out of the side window that looked straight down into deep blue, glittering terror.

She squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked, “Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.”

The hour of Dree’s death was right now and she was going to die and oh God oh Mary please get her out of this helicopter.

She screamed silently into the darkness of her closed eyes.

Seven minutes later, the helicopter landed on a helipad in Monaco.

Her jaw clenched so tightly that she was sure her teeth had fused together.

Somewhere outside of the darkness of her clamped-shut eyelids, a man’s gravelly voice said, “Ms. Clark, you can open your eyes now. We’ve landed.”

The howling throb of the helicopter rotors did seem to be slowing.

The floor of the helicopter was more stable under her feet, not tilting anymore.

She lifted