Chapter 1
LEPALAISPRINCIER
MONACO
HRH Prince Lucien Arthur Beauregard Mathieu Greiner
I couldn’t recall a time when my brother had summoned me to dinner at the palace with good news. I was doubtful that tonight would be any different.
The fact that he wanted to meet me in the York Room was enough to make my blood run cold. I think I could count the number of times I’d been in that room—allduring official functions as a Prince of Monaco—photo ops mostly, when firstmon Pèreand then my brother signed important legislation. The fact that my own brother, the Sovereign Prince, was treating me so formally did not bode well for my evening.
I searched my brain for anything I might’ve done lately that His Royal Highness the Sovereign Prince of Monaco would’ve considered scandalous, butI couldn’t think of a thing. I’d been a good little prince for a change. Although if I was being called to the carpet, I would rather have done something worthwhile to earn it.
As I passed through the Mirror Gallery, I remembered all the times I played in here with my twin brother, Julien, when we were little. The dramatic aesthetic effect of the succeeding mirrors made the room look like a longseries of rooms, and at the time each had a pair of identical little boys running around. Mum would pretend to get confused by all the boys in the “fake rooms” and we’d all giggle until we were gasping for air.
Of course that was after our older brother, Bastien, had been sent to boarding school at Institut Le Rosey in Switzerland. Until then he’d been the leader of our motley crew. Older bytwo years, Bastien had been the one to instigate most of our hijinks—which was probably whymon Pèrehad shipped him off so young. The person who came back on holiday breaks was not my brother. Bastien had become a pod-person replica of our father, all perfect posture and diction, no longer interested in roughhousing with me and Julien. Childhood over at the age of ten.
Fucking depressing.
Not that mine was much better, but at least Julien and I got to escape to Eton College in Great Britain together, and at the ripe old age of thirteen. I don’t think I would’ve survived those years away from home without Julien.
I had no choice but to survive without him now. My eyes burned at the reminder.
I left the Mirror Gallery, quickly passed through the Red Room, then nodded to the silentservant who pulled open the door to the York Room. Empty. Leave it to His Royal Highness the Sovereign Prince to keep me waiting.
My eyes immediately went to the marble table in the center of the room, where important documents were signed. I wasn’t sure how to feel when I saw it empty. At least if there were papers there I’d have a clue about what this evening would hold. On the other hand,nothing involving me and papers on that hideous table would be a good thing. Knowing Bastien, he’d probably found a way to suck even more joy out of my existence as the spare.
I glanced over to the place where, for my entire life up until six months ago, the portrait ofmonPèrehad hung. Now, instead, a plaque bearing the name and title of HRH the Sovereign Prince of Monaco Sébastien LaurentPierre Hadrien Greiner was fixed under a painting of Bastien in his officer’s formal dress, staring serenely off into the distance. It mocked what my life had become a year ago when the plane carryingmon Pèreand the other half of my soul, my twin brother Julien, went down over the Atlantic Ocean.
I wasn’t supposed to be the spare. It should be Julien here doing what middle brothers did best—placatingour bossy older brother and covering for me while I did whatever I wanted at a safe distance away from the palace and royal life. I’d taken my cushy life on the Continent for granted and now was paying the price. Or at least that was how it felt.
Shit, Julien wasdeadand here I was whining about having to play the dutiful spare.
I was an ass.
Just then the door opened and HRH the SovereignPrince entered. “I hope you weren’t kept waiting too long.”
“Non, monsieur.”I bowed slightly as I replied to my brother in the same formal manner as I wouldmon Père. Out of habit, my eyes darted again to the place where his portrait had hung. My jaw clenched at the reminder of all that had changed.
Bastien’s eyes followed mine, and he tilted his head when he saw what had drawn my attention.Shared grief hovered between us for a moment before Bastien was back to his uptight self. “Shall we have a drink before we dine?”
I inclined my head in answer and followed Bastien to the tray on a gilded side table against the wall. Without asking he poured me my usual Macallan whisky and himself a Cognac Prunier.
Bastien waited for me to take my drink, then raised his own in a toast.“Santé.”
I lifted my glass in reply and took a drink. It seemed tactless to toast to our health in the same room where the Duke of York had died, not to mention in the shadow of our father’s portrait, which had been relegated to this corner, but Bastien was the Sovereign Prince. And onenevercountermanded the Sovereign Prince.
“I’ve been thinking of starting a charity in honor ofnotre Père. Somethingto do with his love of racing, perhaps?” Bastien murmured over the rim of his cognac. “What do you think?”
I think he was a selfish bastard who marked a lot of lives, and I doubt anyone who’d met him will ever forgive—I mean, forget him. Not that I could say as much. Especially whenmon Pèreglared down at me from his perch on his painted throne. Instead I murmured, “Interesting. What about Julien?We should do something for him as well.”
“We named that section in the royal garden for him—the place where he always ran to escape diction lessons with Monsieur Roux.”
I waited a beat for him to say something more, but he didn’t. “And?”
“And what?”
“We’re just going to stop there?Notre Pèrehad that library named for him just after the accident. And the damned racing horse that’s alwaysin the news lately. What about Julien’s memory? What are we going to do forhim?”
