by Leah Rooper
My eyes flicker back to the picture of my father and me. It’s the last picture I have of the two of us. He died later that summer, after I was back in Chicago.
I hike my hockey bag up on my shoulder and look through the open doors to the ice.
“What’s the grin for?” Madison asks.
“My dad made this place for me,” I say, “and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let Lyle beat me in my own home.”
I’ve never been more ready to play hockey in my life.
…
I’ve been angry plenty of times when I’ve played hockey. I always feel it when we’re faced up against our rivals, the Ice Wolves. But sometimes, other parts of my life leak into my game, and I feel it while I skate—that rage lurking inside me like a monster in a cave. It’s like when Ma and I get into a fight, or my grades are slipping, or Coach Z decides to butt his nose into my weekend activities. And when that happens, the rage consumes me, making me shoot too fast, too hard. Play with my body and lose sight of my mind.
But not today. I watch as Lyle and three of his goons skate onto the ice. It’s not that the rage isn’t there—oh, it is, burning hotter than I’ve felt in a long time—but it’s that I know what I have to do with it. Channel this rage like a flamethrower and destroy Lyle Worthington.
I take a deep breath and look up to Madison. She looks pretty comfy on those shiny metal bleachers, a wool blanket wrapped around her arms. There’s no way I’m going to let her watch me lose, not in my own rink.
“Well, well, well, Sacachelli shows his face.” Lyle skates toward me. It’s obvious he’s comfortable on blades, but he’s no hockey player. I mean, he’s wearing slacks and a belt. “Or have you decided to go by Prince Harwell now?”
“You can just call him what he is.” Bell skates up and slices to a stop in front of Lyle and his goons, showering them in ice. “The winner.”
Goon One—I think his name is Laughy—wipes the ice from his face and gapes at her. “Wait, you’re playing with a GIRL?”
Tremblay skates up and crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
Laughy, in all his beefiness, looks down at her and sneers. “Seriously, girl, you’re going to get hurt playing with us.”
“Yeah.” Goon Two, a tall gangly guy named Alderson, pipes in. “Don’t expect us to go easy on you, either.”
“You really shouldn’t have said that!” Madison screams down from the bleachers.
Bell spits her mouthguard half out and skates to center ice. Tremblay and I both know she doesn’t need us to defend her. She’s about to show these guys just how wrong they are. “May I?” She hands the puck to Eldredge, who has graciously volunteered to be the ref. Hopefully Eva won’t mind that I stole their butler for the morning.
“Be my guest, star player.” I get in position on her left side. Tremblay takes the right wing. I look behind us to see our goalie is in position. We were short one player and obviously couldn’t ask Madison to take the net. But thankfully Dwayne Boulder stepped up. He may not be able to skate, but he’s big enough to fill the whole net.
Alderson meets Bell at center ice for the faceoff. Bell gives him her cockiest grin.
Lyle holds his stick tighter, and I swear I see a flash of fear in his eyes.
“Three periods,” I say. “Ten minutes each. May the best team win.”
Eldredge, who seems far too excited about his new position as referee, blows his whistle loudly.
Then the puck drops and the game begins.
Bell swipes it up, darts around Alderson, skates right past Lyle and Laughy with zero resistance, and scores on their goalie before a single one of them move.
Granted, Tremblay and I haven’t moved either, but we knew we didn’t have too. Madison goes absolutely berserk in the stands, screaming and chanting Bell’s name. Definitely not the most gracious fan, but I can’t help but smile.
Bell skates over, one leg behind her in that figure skating move she likes to show off. “Come on, don’t go that easy on me.”
It takes two more goals from us for Lyle’s crew to realize this isn’t recreational hockey. By the time the score is 5 - 0 for us, I finally see the creaky wheels in Lyle’s head begin to turn.
Yes, this is something I am good at.
Yes, I am going to humiliate him.
Yes, he is going to lose.
Tremblay and Bell are in sync and incredible as always, but I think this is the best I’ve ever skated. And not just because I’m playing against some posh idiots who don’t know a stick blade from a skate blade.
But it’s this rink. This place. I’m connected to it—and I’m sure as hell going to make these intruders pay.
If they were just some random guys wanting to play, I’d go easier on them. I’d point out that the way they’re gripping their sticks is throwing their shots off, and there’s no way they’re gonna get enough momentum skating with their heads down to ever catch Tremblay or me, let alone Bell.
But they’re not my friends. They’re my enemies. And for now, I’m content to cream their asses and watch Lyle’s cocky grin droop further and further with each goal we score.
With five minutes left to go in the third, and the score 8 – 0, I can tell Lyle and his snobs want to give up. But thank God that mile high pride of theirs won’t allow it. I could do this for a million years.
Lyle and I meet at center ice for the faceoff. His face is red and blotchy, drenched in sweat. He opens his mouth but I cut him off. “Still glad you wanted to hash this out like gentlemen, old sport?”
His frustrated expression changes to one of pure rage…and then cools and goes blank. And then, it reveals the hint of a smarmy leer. “You’re right. I guess I’ll need to practice scoring.” His gaze holds mine. “I’ll start with your sister.”
Eldy blows the whistle and drops the puck, but I’m still reeling from that comment. Lyle manages to get the puck on his stick.
There’s no way in hell he’s taking the puck from me. The anger I thought I’d channeled explodes within me. I race after him, each breath like the growl of a great animal, then shoulder check him as hard as I can. He stumbles and crashes face-first into the ice.
No one talks about my sister that way.
What would have been a fair check in a regular game sends his goons into a panic. They stop playing and all his cronies, even the goalie, skate over to Lyle.
He spits a glob of blood on the ice and glares at me. “What do you think this is, Daniel? Some sort of gang fight? We don’t all live in America.” He glances at his friends. “The boys and I were enjoying this game, but after this savagery, I think we’ll have to call it a draw and head out early. I don’t want my future mother-in-law to be thrown into a tizzy when she sees my broken nose.”
“This is SO not a draw.” Bell skates up, but Lyle already has an arm around one of his goons.
“It doesn’t matter, Al.” Tremblay places a hand on her shoulder. “We know who won.”
Lyle’s face twists, becoming even more rat-like. “I see you have no regret for your brutish actions. It’s a good thing I have so many contacts within the Eldonian press. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to write a story on how the bastard prince brutally attacked his competition when he realized he was about to lose.”
My body tightens. “What? That’s a lie!”
“Alderson! Laughy!” Lyle says, turning to either side of him and addressing his minions. “Would you be willing to give a quote to the press?”
“Of course,” Alderson sneers. “I saw the whole thing with my own two eyes.”
“You guys are liars and sore losers,” Bell snarls, stepping forward.
Tremblay throws his gloves to the ice. “You guys want a story? I’ll give you a story.”
Shit. I can’t have Bell and Tremblay lose it on Lyle and his goons. That will only make his story more credible. What would Madison do?
I flick my eyes to her in the stands. She’s shaking her head, eyes wide.
De-escalate. She would de-escalate the situation.
“Come on, Lyle,” I say, “it was just a game. You want to be the winner? Fine, you’re the winner.”
“Sacs!” Bell whines.
I ignore her. “It doesn’t matter. It was just a friendly game. There’s no need to go to the press.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” He scowls and dabs at his bloody nose.
“Because!” Bell says. “We’ll just tell the truth. And you’ll look like an idiot.”
I flick my eyes to Madison again, and this time, I see Lyle look with me.
Suddenly, Lyle’s scowl turns into a smile. He’s got a funny look on his face that I can’t quite place. “Fine, I won’t go to the press. But you owe me a drink. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“A…a drink?”
“Have you got ice in your ears?” he says. “A drink. The boys and I are going to go to one of Eldonia’s famous pubs tonight. I think you owe me a beverage.”
Going for drinks with Lyle? This is obviously a set-up to humiliate me somehow. I shift from skate to skate, weighing my options, when he says, “Unless you don’t want to come out and see that part of your country? Hmm, I know so many of the royals just like to sit in their castles. They never get to understand their country outside the palace walls. But to each their own.” Lyle turns back to the bench. “Alderson, get the press on the phone for me—”
“I’ll come,” I say.
“Perfect, I’ll have a car sent for you tonight. You can bring your…” He looks Tremblay up and down, the way one might inspect a slice of meat from the butcher. “Friend. It’ll be a regular old chaps’ night.”
He disappears into the locker room, and I can’t help but think that there won’t be anything regular about the heir to the throne and Duke Worthington going out to a pub.
I know he’s got something planned, but I can’t have him go to the press and lie about me smashing his face in. Besides, Lyle’s soon going to realize who he’s facing off against.
No one messes with my family. And if Lyle wants to come into my kingdom, then he’s going to learn the hard way. I’ve got the home team advantage and he’s going to lose. Every time.
Chapter Ten
Daniel
I’m riding in a horse-drawn carriage…and if that’s not bad enough, it’s not even a normal carriage. It’s the fanciest goddamn carriage I’ve ever seen, in either the real world or the cartoon one. With gold-plated rims, intricate ivy carvings along the side, and even lavish bridles for the horses, I bet this thing is worth more than a Lambo. According to my sister, when the Prince of Eldonia wants to tour his kingdom, he can’t simply ride in any old carriage. No, it has to be the ROYAL carriage, where even the damned horses are dressed up.
As usual, this is all Madison’s fault. After the game, I guess I was complaining about Lyle an awful lot, about him having the nerve to say I don’t know my kingdom. I mean…I don’t. But I damned well don’t want Lyle to know I’ve spent every summer at the rink instead of exploring my own country.
So somehow, all that complaining about Lyle ended up with Madison suggesting we actually go out and explore. At least when I’m sipping on a local craft beer tonight at the pub, I’ll have real stories about Eldonia to shove down Lyle’s pompous throat while he’s blackmailing me.
The main town near the castle is only a five-minute drive, but it’s a bumpy twenty minutes in the carriage. Even the plush velvet seats don’t do much to soften the ride.
The only thing that makes this whole thing bearable is Madison’s face. She seems to glow in Eldonia’s soft afternoon sunshine, and the breeze keeps her hair out of her pretty dark eyes. She lights up every time we pass something she deems interesting. Like a farmhouse, cows grazing in a field, the endless rows of tomato plants, or some old crumbling stone structure that must have been important at some point.
“Oh my God!” Madison grabs my arm and pulls me to her side of the carriage. “Is that a windmill? They actually still use those?”
I watch the calm rotation of the red blades. “Being in Eldonia is sort of like going back in time.”
“It’s so peaceful,” she says wistfully. “I feel like I’m in a fairytale.”
A fairytale is exactly what she deserves. I wish I could give it to her—a storybook ending, happily ever after. But instead, she got stuck with me. A second-rate prince with a kingdom that doesn’t trust him.
She catches me staring at her and the bridge of her nose turns bright pink. “What are you thinking?” she asks.
I’m thinking I want to kiss you. The way she’s looking at me, her mouth slightly parted…it almost makes me think she wouldn’t mind if I tried. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline from kicking Lyle’s ass this morning, or if I’m just so tired of pretending that I don’t want this, but I lean toward her. She doesn’t pull away.
The carriage jerks over a bump in the road, and we’re thrown apart. She leans back in the seat and laughs.
I whistle through my teeth. It’s probably for the best. I would have gotten a slap in the face or worse.
We pass the rest of the ride in silence, which is fine by me, but I can see the tension in Madison. She buzzes in her seat, as if she needs to say something, only I don’t know the right question to ask.
But as soon as we pull into town, Madison’s eyes light up again. I have to admit, it does look like something from a postcard. With the brightly colored rooftops, paper lanterns strung from shop to shop, and window boxes bursting with flowers on every window sill, I’m tempted to ask our driver if he accidentally dropped us off at Disneyland. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to town, and it doesn’t seem as cold as I remember.
Maybe that’s because Madison’s light makes me warm.
There’s a small well in the middle of the town square. It doesn’t work anymore, but I know it’s a tradition to throw a coin in and make a wish. One year, I threw a coin in and wished for the Chicago Blackhawks to win the Stanley Cup.
That year, they actually did.
There are shops all around the square, with awnings of pink and blue and lavender and turquoise. Our carriage driver pulls off to the side and says he’ll be back to pick us up in a few hours. Cabs aren’t really a thing here, let alone Uber.
As soon as we step out of the carriage, Madison grabs my hand. My heart jumps a little, but then I notice everyone in the square has turned to look at us. The Girlfriend Act is on.
Every step I take, every facial expression I have, every word out of my mouth could be used to make or break my reputation. I try to adjust my smile into something natural.
“How do I look?” I ask Madison.
“Like Jack Nicholson in ‘The Shining’.” She leans into me. “Just relax.”
I follow her lead and we start to make our way around the square. It’s a sunny day and most of the merchants have set up stalls in front of the shops to display their goods. Madison stops in front of the bakery, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.
I mimic her. The smell is amazing. Damn, I could carb-load on these cinnamon rolls and croissants all day long. But Madison pulls me along to a lady who sells silk scarfs, then a cheese vendor, a used bookseller, and three tomato farmers who all claim their tomatoes are the best.
“Try one of mine, Your Highness,” one of the vendors says. She’s an old woman, with deep lines carved into her face. “Fresh picked from the vine this morning.”
Your Highness? My stomach rolls over. I guess I can’t expect to blend in. I definitely stand out in Eldonia, with my black hair and tanned skin. But maybe everyone’s just staring because I’m so devastatingly handsome.
The old woman pushes the big bag of tomatoes closer to me.
Madison grabs the bag. “Thank you, that’s very kind.” As she pulls back, she jabs her elbow into my gut.
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Thank you.”
“Sire?” Suddenly, a fluffy brown head pops out from behind the old woman’s skirt. It’s a k
id, no older than six. “Is it true what they say? Are you’s gonna be our new king?”
“Jace!” The old woman swats at the child. “You can’t talk to royalty like that!”
But all I say is, “Who says that?”
The kid grabs a jumble of paper off the floor behind him. “Everyone!”
I snatch the paper. There it is, right smack dab in the middle of the Eldonian Gazette. My face.
And not even my good side. The headline reads:
Prince Daniel Returns Home. Will This Bastard Be Our New King?
I drop the paper and my body feels numb. Sure, I knew this would happen. I knew there’d be some backlash. But seeing it…in print. Bastard. That’s all I’ll ever be to these people.
Madison’s talking to the old woman, and then her arm is in mine, and she’s leading me away, past the colorful shops, past the waving vendors, and down an alleyway.
“See, they’re excited for you,” she says once we’re alone.
The stone walls on either side of me seem to close in. “Excited?” I stammer. “Did you hear that kid’s voice? Pure. Terror.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
I slide down the wall. “Why am I doing this?”
She bends down in front of me, moving her head until it’s in my sightline. “You’re doing this for your sister. And for all of Eldonia. So what if they call you a ‘bastard’? They don’t know you. And you don’t know them. We have work to do, Hockey Prince.”
Begrudgingly, I admit she’s right and let her pull me to my feet.
At first, I think every market vendor we stop at is thinking the same thing. Bastard. Unworthy. But then Madison starts chatting them up in that perky way she has, and they all smile at her, as if they can’t believe she’s asking them questions about their lives. And then, they ask me about Chicago and how long I’ll be in Eldonia. They offer condolences on my father, and tell me what a wonderful man he was. And with every street we walk down, I seem to get a little bit further away from that gnawing in my gut.
And Madison’s flowery sundress is certainly a nice distraction.
We eat lunch at a small restaurant, sitting on the patio in the sunshine. The chair is warm against my back. I have a pasta dish, made with Eldonia’s famous tomato sauce.