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