Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)

by Abigail Graham

  "I wanted to do the thing."

  "Bro," Akele says.

  "Tomorrow, Friday, Saturday. The game start at three in the afternoon. That's the moment of truth."

  "It's going to be a hard-fought contest," Akele says. "We will need all our skill and spirit."

  "If she's not there, I don't think I care anymore," I say softly.

  "You saw the two paths," Akele says.

  "What?" Aheahe says.

  "Be quiet," Akele tells him, gently. "Jason, you have received a vision."

  "Uh, yeah, I guess."

  "Your true self has spoken to you. You can't deny the truth of your soul."

  "The truth of my soul isn't going to pay my bills. I need my scholarship, my career, my…."

  The words die in my throat.

  I know what I need.

  "We have undertaken a holy quest," Aheahe says gravely.

  "Right, there you go," Akele agrees. "Nothing to do now but wait."

  "The wait is the hardest part."

  They both nod.

  "This is truth,” they both say.

  I have most of that day off. I know better than to text Anastasia again. I let her be. It's her choice, and I have to prepare myself. I've been studying her history and family, learning about her island. It took me some work, but I tracked down a few dusty books about the place in the library.

  It's there I go, hoping maybe she'll seek me out early. I take the study nook we shared with a stack of books about Jyvaslka. Weird name for a country. It's about five hundred miles off the coast of Scandinavia, a volcanic rock about the size and roughly the shape of South Jersey. The now-dormant volcano provides geothermal power to the main and only town, Vrieshal, named for the castle that dominates it, perched on the slopes of the volcano.

  Anastasia is the heir to the throne. Her mother became queen at the age of twenty-seven, when Ana's grandparents were lost at sea. Ana's great-grandpa fought in World War II.

  The island was poor until the sixties, when oil was found in its territorial waters. The family's main source of income was oil until very recently. Under her mother the island has become a technology haven and the town is turning into a city.

  The only problem is getting there. It's rocky on three sides, with a narrow strip of stony, cold beach to the west. The ocean currents are difficult, and Ana's ancestors were basically Vikings who got stuck there when they couldn't get back to the mainland by longship and had to scratch out a living on fish and sea mammals.

  They're a tough people. The Germans bombed them in World War II and threatened to invade during the Great War.

  By evening I'm lying on the couch in the study nook, falling asleep reading about a country I'll probably never see. I've worked my way backward to the Jyvaslkaic Saga, a translated poem of ponderous intensity. It's all dead kings and their exploits.

  Fish stories, I guess you could say.

  The last book is mostly pictures. It's more like a tour guide than anything.

  Ana's mom was hot when she was younger, though Ana is prettier by far. The castle looks interesting, and the interior of the island looks pastoral. Lots of greenery. Also sheep.

  I'm obsessing. I'll never set foot on this place.

  What do you think they're going to do, Jason? Make you their king?

  No, not king. I'd be prince consort. Anastasia would be queen regnant, and her kid, male or female, would come after her.

  I sit up when that hits me. That must be a hell of a thing, being told from a young age all the things you have to do when your parents die. No wonder she's so… her.

  I drag myself back to the house. I should have been studying. I have a lot coming up. Thanks to Anastasia's help, I'm ahead of the math again. The way she described the process just made it click in my head, like magic.

  The brothers are in the front room, playing some car-racing game on the TV. I watch them for a while, remembering what it was like to have a brother.

  Friday is a blur. Practice takes up most of the day. I have to drop my assignments off and spend most of the first half of the day on the field before I'm let go. I couldn't have gone to Grandolf's class anyway, not after what happened. I'm going to have to ask to switch classes, maybe see about getting a new advisor. All I really need her for now is to sign my schedules, but even that would be awkward.

  Ugh, that woman has to sign off before I can graduate. What the hell have I done to myself?

  As I walk through campus on Friday afternoon, I feel a weird kind of pride. Sleeping with her didn't even cross my mind.

  When I get back to the house, the brothers clap me on both shoulders and march me to the living room. Pizza has been ordered, Izzy and Twitch and the rest of the offensive line are on their way, and it's time to hang out before we go get on the bus tomorrow morning.

  Ours is the strangest football team ever. Akele draws the short straw and chooses the movie, and they end up watching the first of those Hobbit movies. I've already seen it. Repeatedly.

  While they share pizza, soda, and snacks, I head out to the back porch and sit there, staring up at the stars. Somewhere Anastasia looks up at the same stars.

  Actually, about three blocks away. She's not on Mars, Jason. Calm down.

  When I see her vault the fence and stride into the backyard, I think I must be dreaming. She's dressed simply, in black leggings and a long, threadbare, gray sweatshirt. It takes me a moment to realize it's mine.

  "Hi," she says.

  "Hi. Are you coming tomorrow?"

  "I haven't decided yet. I want to talk."

  "Talk, I'm listening."

  She sighs. God, she's so beautiful. In the moonlight she looks like some kind of nymph, like she walked out of her glade and I'm the first man to lay eyes on her. If I was just seeing her for the first time now, I'd fall instantly in love.

  "I don't want to hurt you. I think if we… dated, you would fall for me."

  "I've already fallen for you."

  "I mean for real. I do not know what I'm doing, Jason. I have never done this before, felt this way before. No one has ever spoken to me like you have spoken to me, touched me like you have touched me. I have been royalty all my life, but only you have ever made me feel like a princess."

  "Then come to the game tomorrow."

  "I don't know if I can. I can't keep you."

  "What does it matter who you marry? Can't you change the law? What the hell good does it do you to be a princess if you can't do what you want?"

  "I have asked myself that question all my life," she says sadly.

  She walks closer, and I know I shouldn't stand. I stay on the stoop and wait for her. She draws something out of her pocket and holds it out. A strip of cloth.

  "I made this for you. I embroidered it."

  I take it gently, my fingers brushing hers. I hold the fabric out and let it unfold, moving lightly in the breeze. Embroidered in the center is a knight in blue armor, against the yellow of the cloth itself.

  "What is this? It's very, uh, nice. You did a great job."

  "It's a favor," she says, then turns.

  She climbs up over the fence and disappears.

  "Okay," I ask no one in particular, "what the hell is a favor?"

  I walk back into the house, still holding the gift and staring at it.

  Akele looks up and sees me, then mutes the television.

  "Why don't they just throw the ring in the ocean?" Izzy says.

  "Not now," Akele booms, rising. "Do you see what he has?"

  I look at it. "What do I have? She said it was a favor."

  The others all look at me, then at Akele. He walks around the couches and stands in front of me, gazing reverently at the piece of cloth I hold spread between my hands.

  "When knights of old would enter the lists in deadly contest, they would ask their ladies for a favor to wear into battle as a token of their esteem, and for good luck. Tomorrow we ride into battle, and our captain has been granted a favor. This is an auspicious sign for o
ur victory."

  The others continue to stare at him.

  "Dude, are you high?" Izzy asks.

  The ride is too damn long. We leave at six in the morning to arrive in time and get suited up before the game. Before I put on my pads, I tightly tie the cloth Anastasia embroidered around my arm, to make sure she can see it. I don't know if she's here or not. I didn't dare ask. I haven't even talked to Dee, who will almost certainly be with her.

  If she's here.

  I've never been so nervous in my life. After much fanfare as the Honey Badgers emerge onto their home field, my team runs out to boos and jeers. I let them bounce off my helmet like rain.

  "The hour is at hand," Akele booms behind me.

  As we run out, I sweep the bleachers with my eyes, looking hard for Anastasia. She won't be easy to spot. Most likely she'll have her hood up and sunglasses on, to hide her uniquely recognizable eyes.

  I think it'll be hard to spot her, but it isn't. One sweep of the bleachers and there she is. She's taken up a spot up near the announcer's box, and as she sees me she throws her hood back and sits up. The wind catchers her golden hair like a flag flapping in the breeze. She has it in a loose braid, and thick strands of it crowd around her face, as if her own hair can't resist the chance to touch her.

  "She's here," Akele says. He sounds hopeful.

  As I am not technically the captain, the coin toss does not fall to me. Izzy calls it, and observes the coin toss. He called it, and we have our choice. Coach already went over this, and Izzy announces we'll start by receiving the kickoff.

  I shake my shoulders under my pads. They feel heavier today, but it's a weight I bear more easily. They could be gleaming steel, enameled white. With Anastasia watching, I feel like I could move the moon. I can do anything.

  Then it starts to rain.

  Chapter Nine

  Anastasia

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. My stomach is quivering, my nerves as tight as a violin string that's out of tune. Amid all these people, I wonder if Jason will even see me.

  There he is. He strides onto the field, his face hidden in his helmet.

  "I can't believe we're doing this," Dee says, her voice swallowed by the cheers.

  Fidgeting nervously, I tug on my hood and fold my sunglasses to hang on my collar. If he can see my eyes, he'll know me. Anyone would know my eyes. I stare down into the field, willing him to look up.

  Somehow, even with his helmet, I manage to spot his eyes. He has the handkerchief I embroidered tied around his upper arm, tucked halfway under the sleeve of his jersey. My heart lifts, joy swelling in my chest until Dee puts a hand lightly on my shoulder and pushes me back down into my seat.

  With a sigh, she plucks the sunglasses from my chest.

  "Cover up those baby-blue-and-greens, Your Majesty."

  I tuck them back in place and watch. The Knights will play offense first. I feel like I'm going to float out of my seat as the ball soars across the field, driven far by the Honey Badgers' kickoff.

  "It went too far," I whimper.

  A Knight catches it at the ten yard line. It's all too fast for me to see who it was. They run hard and fast, crashing into the opposing players with such force that I can feel it through my seat and the soles of my feet. I look for Jason, trying to see if he's hurt.

  There he is; he's fine, he's on his feet.

  He has to play now though. When the teams take position again, Jason sets up with the others, and my chest tightens, my hear climbing a little higher in my throat with every beat.

  "He's going to be okay," Dee promises me, sensing my agitation.

  I nod.

  The first play is a pass. Jason throws the ball and avoids a tackle from the opposing player. His friend Izzy makes the catch and runs with it.

  "He made it," Dee explains. "First down."

  "Why is the man in the striped shirt gesturing?"

  "Penalty. The Honey Badgers lost another five yards."

  "Oh."

  She sounds nervous.

  By chance, I happen to look down. One of the opposing players is looking our way. Tall, with long, dark hair, imposing in his pads and cleats. I remember him from the bar fight.

  Dee grabs my arm. "Don't look at him. He'll know your face."

  I look away abruptly, turning back to the field itself.

  "That's Ransom Kaye. The Honey Badger quarterback. We can't let him see you. He has a thing with Jason."

  "A thing?"

  "Yeah, a thing, Princess."

  "What is 'a thing'?"

  "I can't really talk about it. You'd need to ask Jason."

  "I will."

  She grabs my arm again. "Princess. It's not a light conversation topic, know what I mean?"

  "I'm not sure I understand."

  "There's something really bad between them. You need to ask at the right time. Maybe it's better if he decides to tell you when he's ready. I mean if he is. I shouldn't have said anything. Just stay away from Ransom. He's bad news."

  "I will," I assure her.

  Jason

  The last person I need to see is Ransom Kaye.

  The arrogant fuck takes the field, carrying his helmet like a crown. Here he gets cheers and not jeers, and he plays it up to the hilt, mugging for his home crowd. The cheers shake the turf under my feet as I watch our defense line up.

  Football teams like to shit-talk each other, but the truth is, Ransom is one of the better quarterbacks in our division and he'll probably go pro someday. The thought of it just grinds on me, like two big hands twisting my spine together.

  Before the snap, I catch his gaze as he stares into the crowd. It's hard to make anyone out in the rain. Ana shines like a light, a beacon to a safe harbor. I spot her with only a glance, and she looks right at me. The world folds up, the distance closing between us until I feel like I could reach out and scoop her up in my arms.

  Ransom is looking her way, the son of a bitch.

  Wait, he's not looking at her.

  Ana must not have seen her, but Professor Grandolf is in the stands, two rows back and six or eight seats away from Ana. She has the hood of her poncho thrown back, and her dark hair clings to her head. She looks at someone on the field and licks her lips.

  Then she makes a little motion with her hand, sticking her finger through her thumb and forefinger. I know that gesture. What the hell?

  Ransom laughs, the sound punching through the rapidly increasing rain. Coach and his assistants are all in ponchos, and the rest of the offensive line is huddled under blankets.

  I just stand there and let the water soak my hair and run down my face, watching. Every time a play starts, I pray to hear a scream and see Ransom lying on the turf with his leg folded the wrong way or clutching a broken arm. Something that would take him out permanently. The scouts are already here, watching him.

  The son of a bitch is going to go pro. He's going to rake in tens of millions of dollars, marry a supermodel, live the life. I don't want any of that, but knowing he'll get it leaves a horrid taste in my mouth.

  Ransom walks between the raindrops. He should be in prison for what he did, but he got out of it because of who his dad is. It was a night a lot like this. Rainy and humid, the kind of night where the water falls but it doesn't want to stay put and rises from the ground as a mist. A day that should be cold, but isn't. I'm soaked with frigid rain, but I'm sweating under my pads because the air is turning unseasonably warm. It's either a second wind for summer or a farewell, depending on how you look at it.

  Ransom and his offensive line execute a long pass perfectly. No slipping on wet grass or dropping a slick ball for them. It carries them ten yards down the field and closer to the goal. Every second or third play, they make a first down and keep the ball moving.

  Our boys make it a hard-won fight, but it's still a won fight. Ransom carries the ball into the end zone himself, and the home crowd roars with glee.

  I spot Grandolf clapping and cheering, the only person in a whol
e section of what must be De La Warr students, while Ana and Dee look mournful. As she huddles under a hood in the rain, Ana's sadness gives her an unearthly beauty. Something in her calls out to me to give her comfort, hold her and tell her it will be okay.

  When I take the field, I can feel her watching me. I spot her a few times, craning forward in her seat, talking to Dee with worry etched on her face every time I take a hit and get knocked down.

  That happens a lot. It feels like my offensive line is made of Swiss cheese and the Badgers are trying to kill me. Ransom watches from the sidelines under the hood of a poncho, grinning as I take beating after beating. It was bad last week, but here it's even worse.

  It's only by luck that I don't end up with a broken rib or ankle. One of the Badger tackles rams his helmet right into my side, but the ref doesn't call a penalty on them.

  By the time we start counting down to the end of the game, my team is beaten in spirit as well as in body. The point where we could have clawed our way to victory is over. The cheerleaders have given up, and the mascots have abandoned the field.

  It's marking time now. We can't just forfeit or we probably would. Coach looks sullen and disappointed as he paces the sideline, refusing to make eye contact with me except when he's calling plays.

  We end up in overtime with a tie.

  Ana

  The Knights enter striking range of the end zone, but their passes are intercepted and their runners tackled. Jason tries to run the ball in himself, and doesn't make it by less than one yard.

  When the ball is punted back to the Honey Badgers, Jason retires sullenly to his bench, gulping a sports drink from a huge squeeze bottle. I want to run down to him. Dee touches my arm, somehow knowing my thoughts. I look at her.

  "He's a big boy, and the Badgers haven't even scored yet. They can still pull it out."

  The back-and-forth grows more intense with each play. It becomes brutal, the players roughing each up other so much that penalties are called on both sides. Dee patiently explains what they mean and what's going on as we watch, and I take notes with a small pad and pencil I brought with me to help better understand his game.