53. DANTE

“I’m not sure how the Crown Council building can be considered neutral ground,” I gripe.

Carlo leans in close. “Remember, sir,” he whispers. “There are cameras everywhere here, and you’re not exactly anyone’s favorite person right now.”

He’s right, of course, I’m just letting off steam. The foyer of the council building is large and open, perfect for the debate that’s about to happen. And I need to make sure I don’t come off as an asshole, the way I did with Lorenzo Ricci. Maria showed me the social media numbers after that – they weren’t pretty.

There are dozens of people milling around the foyer as the media set up to broadcast the debate live. Huber and I will spar, then we each get a closing statement. After that, the people of Morova go to the polls and decide my future.

“I hate giving speeches,” I say to Carlo.

“Then learn to like it,” he says. “And learn it very quickly. I have no desire to begin working for your aunt, in the unlikely event she would allow me to keep my job.”

Speaking of Isabella, she’s sucking up to a gang of council members on Huber’s side of the stage. She refuses to look in my direction. I have no idea where Emilio is.

In the distance, I see Amanda come through the main entrance, Maria and Ike by her side. She’s dressed in a dark dress with a suit jacket, her hair pulled up in a conservative style. She looks every bit the prim and proper lady. All she’s missing is a hat and she could be one of the British royals.

It’s a strategy, of course – make her appear dignified and serious, a perfect, proper princess of Morova. But it’s jarring how different she looks. Nothing like the wide-eyed young woman in the tight, soaking wet blouse who captured my heart that day outside my office.

Was it only a couple of months ago? God, it seems like forever.

She greets me with a chaste peck on the cheek.

“I think we may just pull this off,” Maria says, nodding her approval of the kiss. “Amanda in her finest, you in your uniform, sword by your side.”

“I figured it was the beginning of this whole thing,” I say. “Might as well have it beside me at the end.”

“Keep your pecker up,” Ike says, shaking my hand. He’s dressed in his typical mash-up of cowboy chic and Italian style. “We ain’t licked yet.”

I take Amanda’s arm and lead her to an alcove so we can speak away from prying eyes.

“How do I look?” she asks.

“Like someone else,” I say.

“That’s what we wanted, though, isn’t it?”

We did when the team discussed this, but now that I’ve seen her, I don’t know anymore.

“Amanda, I need you to know something before I step in front of that microphone.”

“What?”

I take her by the arms and look deep into her eyes.

“No matter what happens today, your future is up to you. Your contract is over – it was a stupid idea to begin with, I see that now. The payments will continue to your father, but you don’t owe me anything.”

“Dante – ”

“Please, hear me out. I don’t have much time. Amanda, I never expected you. You came into my life like a desert rain – I didn’t even know I needed you until you were there. But I didn’t have the brains to realize how important you were, or the courage to tell you.

“It’s been said that if you love something, you must set it free. I’m setting you free, Amanda. Your life is your own. I pray that it will be with me, but that’s not my decision to make. It’s yours.”

Before she can say anything, I pull her to me and kiss her. Not the chaste kiss for the cameras this time; this is the real thing, deep and long and passionate. Everything I am, summed up in a single expression of love.

I can’t read her the way I’ve been able to in the past. All I see is her heart-stopping eyes, wide open and blinking at me, as our lips part.

“I have to go,” I say, turning to head to the stage. “Wish me luck.”

As I stride away, every step echoing against the marble floors, I think I hear her whisper “good luck,” but I can’t be sure.

* * *

“People of Morova,” Lorenzo Ricci intones gravely to the camera. “Welcome to the future of your country.”

Of course Ricci is the moderator. Why not just blatantly stuff the ballot boxes and be done with it?

Shake it off. Focus.

“Today, we will decide the fate of the monarchy that has been part and parcel of Morova since its inception. The choice you face today is simple, yet profound: keep Prince Dante Trentini as your monarch, or choose a new future, and appoint his older cousin Emilio as the custodian of the Trentini fortune.”

It’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes.

“Before you make this most crucial of choices, 4Roma presents this debate between Prince Dante and Crown Council Chancellor Julian Huber. We are being broadcast live via television across Western Europe, and streaming live around the world via the Internet.”

As he drones on, I gather my thoughts. We went over the strategy last night: keep on point, hold my temper, appeal to the traditional morals of the Morovan people. Above all else, remain dignified and serious.

“Our opening remarks will begin with His Highness, Prince Dante Trentini.”

Ricci waves a hand at me and I see a red light flash on top of the camera facing me.

“My fellow Morovans,” I begin from my podium. My speech is measured and formal. It’s imperative that the audience sees me as someone who wants the job and understands the grave responsibility.

Yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s all the words they want to hear, not the ones I want to say.

The red light goes out as I wrap up, and Ricci points to Huber.

“Chancellor Huber will now bring his remarks on behalf of the National and Crown Councils.”

He clears his throat, sparking feedback from his lapel microphone, and sets his piggy little eyes on the camera. His speech is simply an expanded version of what he said on Ricci’s show, and what he’s been saying to every camera for over a month now: reputation, tradition, respect. How I’m an embarrassment to the monarchy.

He gets to the part about Emilio and his eyes light up. My cousin is made of the right stuff, a man of honor and breeding, who graduated from Oxford with honors and didn’t coast through on his name.

And a man who disappears on his cousin as soon as his mother starts scheming. I haven’t talked to Emilio since before the photos leaked. For that matter, even Huber and I have never spoken face-to face.

I think of Ike’s “face-to-fist” and have to bite back a laugh.

Huber finishes his remarks and Ricci tells the audience the format of the debate: Ricci himself will ask the questions, Huber and I will have a minute each to answer. As if a minute can sum up the fate of a nation.

Ricci takes his place at the table as the cameras move into position on myself and Huber. A minute later, the red lights come on.

I take a deep breath. It’s show time.