Origin

The king pressed on as if he had waited a lifetime to speak these words.

“Most importantly,” he said, “this museum must celebrate the other lesson history has taught us—that tyranny and oppression are no match for compassion … that the fanatical shouts of the bullies of the world are invariably silenced by the unified voices of decency that rise up to meet them. It is these voices—these choirs of empathy, tolerance, and compassion—that I pray one day will sing from this mountaintop.”

Now, as the echoes of his father’s dying request reverberated in Julián’s mind, he glanced across the moonlit hospital room and watched his father sleeping silently. Julián believed the man had never looked so content.

Raising his eyes to Bishop Valdespino, Julián motioned to the chair beside his father’s bed. “Sit with the king. He would like that. I’ll tell the nurses not to bother you. I’ll check back in an hour.”

Valdespino smiled at him, and for the first time since Julián’s childhood confirmation, the bishop stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the prince, warmly embracing him. As he did so, Julián was startled to feel the frail skeleton shrouded beneath his robes. The aging bishop seemed weaker even than the king, and Julián couldn’t help but wonder if these two dear friends would be united in heaven sooner than they imagined.

“I’m very proud of you,” the bishop said as their embrace ended. “And I know you will be a compassionate leader. Your father raised you well.”

“Thank you,” Julián said with a smile. “I believe he had some help.”

Julián left his father and the bishop alone and walked down the hospital hallways, pausing to gaze out a picture window at the magnificently illuminated monastery on the hill.

El Escorial.

Sacred burial place of Spanish royalty.

Julián flashed on his childhood visit to the Royal Crypt with his father. He recalled gazing up at all the gilded coffins and having a strange premonition—I will never be buried in this room.

The moment of intuition felt as clear as anything Julián had ever experienced, and while the memory had never faded from his mind, he had always told himself the premonition was meaningless … the gut reaction of a fearful child in the face of death. Tonight, however, confronted by his imminent ascension to the Spanish throne, he was struck by a startling thought.

Maybe I knew my true destiny as a child.

Maybe I’ve always known my purpose as king.

Profound change was sweeping his country and the world. The ancient ways were dying, and the new ways were being born. Perhaps it was time to abolish the ancient monarchy once and for all. For a moment, Julián pictured himself reading an unprecedented royal proclamation.

I am the last king of Spain.

The idea shook him.

Mercifully, the reverie was shattered by the vibration of a cell phone he had borrowed from the Guardia. The prince’s pulse quickened to see the incoming prefix was 93.

Barcelona.

“This is Julián,” he blurted eagerly.

The voice on the line was soft and tired. “Julián, it’s me …”

With a rush of emotion, the prince sat down in a chair and closed his eyes. “My love,” he whispered. “How can I ever begin to tell you I’m sorry?”

CHAPTER 100

OUTSIDE THE STONE chapel, in the predawn mist, Ambra Vidal pressed the phone anxiously to her ear. Julián is sorry! She felt a rising dread, fearing what he might be about to confess regarding the terrible events of tonight.

Two Guardia agents lingered nearby, just out of earshot.

“Ambra,” the prince began quietly. “My marriage proposal to you … I’m so sorry.”

Ambra was confused. The prince’s televised proposal was the last thing on her mind tonight.

“I was trying to be romantic,” he said, “and I ended up putting you in an impossible situation. Then, when you told me you couldn’t have children … I pulled away. But that wasn’t the reason! It was because I couldn’t believe you hadn’t told me sooner. I moved too quickly, I know, but I fell for you so fast. I wanted to start our lives together. Maybe it was because my father was dying—”

“Julián, stop!” she interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize. And tonight, there are many more important things than—”

“No, there’s nothing more important. Not to me. I just need you to know how deeply sorry I am about how everything happened.”

The voice she was hearing was that of the earnest and vulnerable man with whom she had fallen in love months ago. “Thank you, Julián,” she whispered. “That means a lot.”

As an awkward silence grew between them, Ambra finally mustered the courage to ask the hard question she needed to ask.

“Julián,” she whispered, “I need to know if you were involved tonight in any way with the murder of Edmond Kirsch.”