Coup D'etat (The Alpha Prince) Book 3 (4 page)

“The man who approached you. What did he look like?”

“He was tall. And older gentleman, about fifty years old.”

“Any distinguishing features about this man?”

“I’m sorry, Prince Julian. Nothing comes to mind. He just seemed like a well-dressed older man.”

“It’s no matter. I will find out who sent him. He was merely a messenger boy.”

Our meals appear on a sterling silver trolley with gold inset. It is the kind of opulence that continues to shock me. I mean, the freaking trolley looks like it’s worth more than my car. The Prince is presented with his steak. He insists on pouring himself his own glass of wine. The Prince then pours a glass for me. I grab the glass and we toast. “To loyalty,” the royal leader says as he looks deep into my eyes.

I return the direct stare. “To loyalty,” I repeat. We drink. And in that moment, I no longer fear the Prince’s stark and direct demeanor. For the first time, I feel like we are equals. Powerful forces are plotting against us. We must be strong for each other.

We enjoy our meal with little small talk. After the steak, the Prince’s mood lightens a bit. He doesn’t crack a smile. He does, however, offer me some advice. “People will look at you and see a young girl. Let them think that. There is nothing more cunning than allowing people to underestimate you.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

As we finish our meal, the Prince’s Chief of Staff approaches the balcony. “Your Highness, the Intelligence Minister has arrived and awaits the honor of your presence.”



The Prince stands up. He looks down at me. “Come on, Amy.”

“Prince Julian?”

“You are my confidant and my advisor,” the Prince says in an official tone. Those words send chills down my spine. Prince Julian wants me to attend his meeting with the Intelligence Minister?!

I nervously stand up and escort the Prince to the main parlor. The Intelligence Minister snaps to attention. He is a bald, burly man who would look at home in a motorcycle gang if he were not wearing a tailored suit.

“Good to see you, Lucien.”

“Your Highness,” the Intelligence Minister says in a thick, masculine tone.

“Amy is my advisor. Whatever passes through my ears, passes through her ears as well.”

“Understood, Prince Julian.”

We move to a round table where the meeting takes on a very official and serious tone. Several other members of the Mondorra government sit at the table.

The Intelligence Minister is handed a leather portfolio. He opens the portfolio and pulls out several pieces of paper. “We have been monitoring various people who have been openly critical of your relationship. So far, we have not found any overt plans for regime change,” the Intelligence Minister explains.



“Amy. Tell him what happened to you,” the Prince says to me.



“A man approached me and offered twenty-five million dollars to leave Prince Julian.”

“That’s interesting,” the Intelligence Minister says as he sifts through the papers. He looks at his men and asks for a specific financial report. “Last week, we detected twenty-five million dollars, in gold bullion, being transferred out of Mondorra by courier. Since our Principality has strict privacy laws, we did not have the owner of the bullion traced.”

“Of course, the bullion could be privately deposited into Geneva and a cashier’s check could be drawn against that amount,” the Prince says.

“Does that mean we are at a dead end?” I ask.


“Not necessarily,” the Intelligence Minister tells me. “While there are many wealthy citizens in Mondorra, I know of only ten wealthy citizens or family estates that privately own over twenty million dollars in gold bullion. It must be one of them.”

“So we have our suspects,” the Prince says.

The Intelligence Minister looks over his paperwork. “According to our reports, Your Highness, three of those ten citizens, in question, have publicly spoken out against your relationship with Miss Rousseau.”

Prince Julian ponders the information given to him. He closes his eyes. He thinks. Everyone in the room dares not make a sound. I could hear the air vibrate around me. I know the Prince is contemplating his actions. His next move could easily determine the future of his life, my life and the future of the Principality itself. Prince Julian opens his eyes. He looks at the Intelligence Minister, at the other men in the room and then at me. “Invite the ten individuals to my Palace tomorrow evening.”

“What if they refuse, Your Highness?”

“They will not. No one refuses an invitation to my palace. Doing so would be a great insult. And in this case, it would be highly suspicious. They will all come.”

“And what then?” the Intelligence Minister asks.

“We will dine together like one big happy family,” the Prince declares.

The Intelligence Minister looks at the Prince as though he is expecting something more to be said. Even I begin to look at the Prince as though there is something wrong.

“And then what, Your Highness?” the Intelligence Minister asks with a tinge of trepidation in his voice.

Prince Julian smiles. “And then, there will be a surprise.”

***

We travel back to Mondorra. The Prince is relaxed yet focused. I am obsessed over the surprise waiting for the attendees of tomorrow’s dinner. I would love nothing more than to be in on the trap set by the Prince. However, I know that my master wishes to keep his secret away from everyone but himself. As the jet makes its final approach, the Prince looks at me and asks, “So what would you like to have for dinner tomorrow evening?”

The question jolts me out of my seat. It’s such a casual thing to ask for such a critical occasion. But I try my best to stay on top of the game and give Prince Julian the best answer I could conjure. “I would like to have whatever you would most enjoy, Your Highness.”

The Prince playfully pulls me into his seat. “Oh, you know just the right thing to say. I will tell you this, you will not want what I am having for dinner. Therefore, I want to make sure the chefs can prepare something that will suit your taste.”

“I really like fajitas,” I say. And then I slap myself on the head. Yes, I love fajitas. It’s the one food I love to splurge on when I get my paycheck. But that is certainly not the cuisine fit for a Prince at his dinner.

“You like fajitas?! Ha, I will make sure the kitchen prepares you the best fajitas you have ever had in your life.”

The jet lands in France. We travel by motorcade back to Mondorra. I notice that the drivers are extremely aggressive on the road. My guess is that the Intelligence Minister wants to make sure the Prince makes it to his secured Palace without delay. As we travel up the road to Prince Julian’s residence, I notice more armed security around the Palace. That makes me feel more safe. It also makes me nervous. This is the first time I have ever felt that my life could be in danger.

***

The evening passes by rather uneventfully. I believe the Prince is saving up his energies for tomorrow’s meeting. As the night winds down, the Prince turns on the news. We watch riots in Madrid as Spain deals with their budget crisis. During the news report, we hear that the leading candidate for Prime Minister is vowing to raise the tax rate to 90% on all those earning over one million dollars a year.


“It looks like I will be getting an influx of rich Spaniards into my Principality soon.”

“Is that a problem, Your Highness?”

“Not at all. The wealthy people who seek to become subjects in my Principality do so to protect their assets, since we do not tax income. These wealthy financial refugees are usually the most humble and desperate people you can come across. And to gain citizenship in Mondorra, one must have at least three million Euros in liquid assets. If one does not have the assets, one can become a citizen of Mondorra by my decree.”

We watch as the angry citizens burn police cars and break store windows. It is certainly not the kind of image one wants to see before they go to bed. The Prince turns off the TV. He gets up and walks to the balcony and opens the windows. I follow him. As we look out into the sea, I detect several boats crisscrossing in front of the Palace.

“I wonder what those boats are doing?” I say out loud.

“They are members of my Naval security team. It appears I am being protected by land and by sea.” Just as the Prince finishes his statements we hear the propellers of a military helicopter hovering above the Palace. “It looks like we have the sky covered as well,” the Prince adds as he walks back into his bedroom.

I walk up behind the Prince and get on my tippy-toes. I rub his shoulders in an attempt to relax him before he goes to bed. Prince Julian lies on his back and allows me to give him a massage. I lean in and whisper into his ear, “Are you scared, Your Highness?”

“I never allow myself to be scared.”

***

I get up in the middle of the night. Nothing in particular awakens me. Just a sense of unease and yes, a little bit of excitement about tomorrow. Prince Julian has left me with so many unanswered questions as to what he will do. Heck, I don’t even know what he is going to eat. I roll around in the massive bed of the Prince and notice something strange. The Prince isn’t there. I turn on the lamp next to my side of the bed. He is gone. The first thing that comes to mind is that something is wrong. I hold the covers over my naked body. I look around the room for signs of a struggle. I want to call out but I’m too afraid of attracting the wrong kind of attention. I just lie in the bed and pull my feet up into the fetal position.

I listen to the dead silence of the room. I meekly call out, “Your Highness?” No answer. I look over the side of the bed and see my slippers. I put them on. Then I walk, with the covers wrapped around my body and look for a robe. I put on the robe. Then I begin to walk to the door. My hands shake as I turn the knob. As soon as I open the door, I see a large man standing out in the hallway, I scream and close the door shut. The door is suddenly pushed open. I see a man with a submachine gun drawn. “Is everything okay, Miss Rousseau?”

“Who are you?!” I scream out.

“I am a security officer. Are you okay, Miss Rousseau?”



“Where is the Prince?” I ask with tears in my eyes.

The security guard puts his weapon down and calmly says, “His Highness went for a walk around the Palace. He is currently in his Drawing Room.”

I exhale deeply. Of course, he is probably a little restless as well.


“I would like to see him if that is okay?” I say as I clutch the robe around my body.

“Of course, Miss Rousseau. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“No problem,” I say as I walk out of the bedroom.

I walk down the long hallway where I see several other security officers. As I pass them, they whisper code words into their walkie-talkies. I descend a large staircase and then proceed to make my way down a series of hallways. Then it occurs to me - I have no idea where the hell the Drawing Room is located. As I make a turn to another set of staircases, I see another one of the Palace Guards. I ask him if he could show me where the Drawing Room is located. He is kind enough to escort me to the room in question.

I walk up to the massive drawing room. Inside, I see Prince Julian standing before a large ten foot painting of man who looks much like the Prince himself. It doesn’t take me long to realize that he is looking at a painting of a past ruler - an ancestor. I approach the Prince slowly. He doesn’t seem to notice that I am even in the room. The Prince has not moved since I have entered his Drawing Room. I stand next to him and look up at the painting.

“That is Prince Louis the Sixth. He ruled Mondorra in the 15th Century. He was the only Mondorra Prince to ever be captured and killed by enemy forces. He came to me in my dreams tonight.”

I don’t want to say anything. But I have to ask, “We did he say, Your Highness?”