Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)

by Abigail Graham

  When the knock came from the door at 5:46 in the morning, I knew. By then my parents were sitting in the room, waiting with me. They both reacted differently. Mom was staring and shaking, Dad sitting there like a statue, eyes fixed on nothing, like if he remained just still enough, it would all slide past him and go away.

  It was he who did the talking when the police came. He opened the door and walked out onto the porch with them and talked, and after ten minutes he came in and they didn’t.

  “Honey,” he said.

  “They’re dead,” I said softly.

  I don’t remember much more than that. He never said it out loud, he never said his son is dead. He just left it hanging in the air, confirmation by omission.

  I felt so cold, like I’d been thrown into a pool of water on a hot day, but the water was oily, black, and thick and pulled me under with a savage icy grip, and invaded my lungs. I drowned in my own sobs. Somehow I ended up on the floor. I wept into my mother’s lap for hours, maybe days.

  The funerals came two days later for David, my fiancé, and Perry, my brother.

  My parents named him Perseus.

  I was the only member of my family to attend David’s funeral. It was horrible. I was an outsider, like I wandered up to the wrong funeral and was too uncouth to leave. Everyone glared at me, his mother most of all. I’ve never seen someone look so devastated, and the hate that burned in her eyes seared my skin like a hot poker. I wanted to talk to her, to say something, but I couldn’t. I ran away before they finished, and cursed myself for making a spectacle. I couldn’t watch them put the casket in the ground, I couldn’t.

  I never really stopped running. I googled ways to get out of the country on my phone, steeled myself, and talked to a representative from the church in a cold, flat voice. My mother begged me not to go, and my father said nothing but that it was my choice and to make sure I call them. I left the following week.

  Laughter bubbles out of my throat as I suddenly realize that this is exactly what I was looking for.

  I’m too cowardly to do the job myself, so I’ve been looking for someone to do it for me. Fleeing to a war-torn country, following Melissa out of the tent, it was all for one purpose. I was looking for an end I’m too weak to give myself.

  The knock I’ve been waiting for finally comes.

  “Go away,” I croak out, clutching my blankets.

  When the door opens and he walks in, I can’t say I’m surprised.

  He’s dressed in pajamas, I think. Loose black silk and a robe, and slippers.

  Fuzzy slippers. Very worn.

  “What do you want?”

  “I could not sleep.”

  “Why?”

  “I should apologize for startling and upsetting you. I…acted out of turn. A strange fancy gripped me.”

  I snort. “So you’re here to say sorry.”

  “No.”

  “You just said you came to apologize.”

  He sighs as he sits on the edge of the bed. I scoot away from him, drawing my legs up as I curl into a ball.

  “I did, and I offer my apology, but, ‘I am sorry I kissed you,’ is not a thing I can say. It would be a lie. I am not sorry. I liked it. I would do it again if you let me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He glances at me but doesn’t answer.

  “Your accusation has some weight,” he sighs, scrubbing his fingers through his dark hair, all shaggy now. “I took an interest in you when we first met.”

  “You mean at that camp?”

  “Yes. I saw you naked and filthy and hurt, clutching thin blankets to cover your shame…”

  “I’m not ashamed of my body.”

  “Or of interrupting me. It’s a figure of speech, woman. You remained defiant where others would break. You kept your head where others would not. You cared for others weaker than yourself. You acted a princess…or a queen.”

  I snort. “Get to the point.”

  “I run a perfect country.”

  “Debatable, but go on.”

  “This is all on my shoulders.” He rolls them and stretches his neck, as if to ease the invisible burden. “When I am gone all of this goes with me, unless I provide an heir to rule after me.”

  I blink a few times.

  “You’re fucking joking, right?”

  He turns to me. “No. Marry me.”

  My jaw drops. “You are joking. That’s absurd. We just met, and I don’t like you. In fact, I think I hate you.”

  “Why?”

  “Should I make a list? Okay, let’s start with the head chopping, and then taking me and my friend prisoner, that’s two items, then there’s all the oppression and violence of your totalitarian regime, that’ll be three. Oh, and you feed defenseless bunny rabbits to a trained mutilation bird. You’re a creep. Is that good enough?”

  “You’re not a prisoner here.”

  “Oh? So I can go back to America and return to my family now?”

  “No, but not because of me. If I let you go, it will be a death sentence.”

  I blink a few times.

  “What?”

  He looks away from me and squeezes his fists together. “The CIA man. His backers will allow no loose ends. You heard too much, saw too much. You will not be allowed to live. Something would happen. A car accident. Your plane would go down over the ocean. You would fall strangely ill and doctors would be helpless to save your life.”

  “That…”

  That makes a lot of sense, actually.

  “What if no one knows about me?”

  “It is too late. I spoke to ‘Brad,’” his mouth twists in disgust, “at length on this matter. He explained to me in detail how he told his superiors about you. He had you marked out to lead into my territory even before you followed your tent mate to rendezvous with the truck. After she disappeared he would have found you and asked you to go looking for her, with him.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I started with his feet.”

  A choked sound squeezes out of my throat.

  “I’m going to be sick. You tortured him?”

  “I questioned him. Sharply. He’s alive. Though not well.”

  I swallow. It feels like my throat is packed with wet dirt.

  “I had hoped you would see things my way.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your courage drew my attention, and you are quite lovely. Even then, more so now.”

  I feel myself start to blush. Damn it.

  “If you tell me I have birthing hips, I will kick you in the face.”

  “What do I have to do before you speak to me with respect?”

  “Earn it,” I say sharply.

  He leans toward me, resting his hand on the bed next to my hip. “There it is. That is why. You are not afraid, are you?”

  I swallow. “Yes. I am. You scare the hell out of me. You could kill me at any moment and no one will stop you. Nobody will even know I’m gone.”

  “Even more, then. Fear is not the end of bravery, it is the beginning. It is easy to be defiant against the powerless. You’re right. I have total sovereignty over my lands. I’m the last absolute monarch in the world. I can do whatever I want. Have whatever I want.”

  “You can’t have me,” I say firmly. “You can drag me to the altar, put a ring on my finger, hold me down and use me, but you’ll never have me. I’ll never love you.”

  “Persephone…”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “You who have so much concern for my people. Think of what will happen if I am gone with no one to take my place. Anarchy. All of this will fall apart and the technology I’ve shown you will spread beyond my borders, to men who will use it not as I have, but to do the very things you accuse me of doing.”

  “Very eloquent, but I’m not going to be a monster’s little pet.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to go home.”

  “You’d be executed by your own government. I will not
allow that. You are too precious.”

  “Then let me see my friend.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Let me see some people. I don’t care about your fancy robotic garbage trucks, I want to see some other human beings besides the ones who bring you your shoes in the morning. I want to go out there. You keep telling me how beautiful your country is, so show me.”

  “Very well. Sleep now. Pull on that rope when you wake, and I will come for you and give you what you want.”

  “You can’t buy my affection with kindness.”

  “I know. That is why I want it.”

  “This is dumb. There’s no such thing as love at first sight. You might be a prince, but I’m no princess and this is no fairy tale.”

  “It could be, if you want. Anything you want, I can give you.”

  “I want a choice,” I say, sitting up.

  I realize the blankets fell away from my chest and snatch them back up, my blush deepening.

  “You could almost fool me,” I tell him. “You’re beautiful on the outside but there’s a cold, twisted thing in there.” I point at his chest. “Without an ounce of feeling or compassion.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “You don’t know me, so asking me to marry you is just a touch presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. That is what princes do, they presume.”

  I snort and fall back into the pillows.

  “I want to go home. Please.”

  “After doing anything you could to get away from it?”

  I roll my eyes. “What are you, my therapist now?”

  He shrugs. “It strikes me that wherever you are, you seek an escape from it.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” He’s cutting a little too close. I feel my lip tremble.

  That balcony is out there and it’s quite a drop. All I’d have to do is sit on that ledge, swing my legs over, and…

  I pinch my eyes shut.

  “I know what it’s like for the whole world to feel like a prison. For every wall to lock you out.”

  “You told me you’d tell me what happened to the girl you were supposed to marry.”

  He flinches, as if something about the way I said it sets him off.

  “My brother killed her. Then I killed him. He was insane.”

  “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry.”

  “None of this was supposed to be mine,” he says very softly, and stands. “I will take you to see your friend when you wake up. Sleep now if you like. I can have something brought from the library, if it pleases you. Anything you require, pull the rope to send for a servant.”

  I roll over on my side, away from him. “You can’t bribe me into liking you.”

  “My father had an arranged marriage, as did his father and his father before him.”

  “Yadda yadda five hundred years,” I cut in.

  “Your insolence is not amusing.”

  I smirk a little, where he can’t see.

  “My mother did not love my father when they married. You would not have known it from seeing her when he died.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She died, too.”

  “So you’re alone.”

  “Yes. Yes I am.”

  I turn over, but the door has already banged shut, leaving me in the dark. I felt a little pang of sympathy for him there, I admit it. It’s a terrible thing to be alone, and creature comforts don’t make up for the touch of another human being.

  “Magua’s heart is twisted. He would make himself into what twisted him,” I say aloud.

  I wonder if the prince has read that book, too.

  I don’t usually sleep on my back, but I’m fairly exhausted. My eyes close eventually and I fall asleep before I realize what’s happened. Waking almost startles me. The same as yesterday, it takes me a moment to adjust to my surroundings.

  I keep expecting my eyes to really open, to wake up in camp like some crazy Twilight Zone episode, but no, I’m actually here. I kick out from under the covers and reach for the rope.

  No, I should dress first.

  I bathe quickly, brush my hair and pull it into a ponytail, and choose a dress almost at random, one of the plainest ones on the rack. I wish I had some actual pants to put on.I’m getting sick of the dresses. It’s a pale yellow and covers me up a bit more than the green one I had on yesterday.

  Once I’m dressed I give the bell a sharp tug. I feel it pull against something somewhere in the castle, and a heavy bell bong-bongs far overhead.

  Wow, really.

  About five minutes later the prince arrives, dressed in a plain black outfit like he wore yesterday, without the boots. He offers me his arm but I walk past him into the hall and wait. I fall in beside him and walk in silence to the courtyard, and pointedly ignore him on the car ride from the castle.

  The hospital doesn’t really stand out. The only thing marking it off is the red cross painted on the side, the helicopter pad, and the fleet of ambulances parked outside in a long garage.

  The car takes us right up to the front entrance under an overhang, and I brace myself. There will be other people here. I’m getting my request. I’m going to see the peasants in action.

  The prince personally offers me a hand to step down from the car. I take it, still feeling a little wobbly on my ankle. All that walking yesterday made me sore, and now I’m starting to regret the boots.

  I walk slowly, head up, shoulders back. As I walk into the hospital I get more than a handful of stares. I’m suddenly the center of attention. There must be two dozen people right here in the immediate area. Patients waiting to be seen, receptionists behind the front desk, doctors in scrubs.

  Everything is new and clean, well lit. I wouldn’t know I wasn’t in America without the hushed speech in Kosztylan making my ears burn.

  When they realize I’m with their prince, everything changes. It’s like the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Everyone looks away from me, or at most, at my feet. The receptionists go stone still, staring at their hands, hovering at their keyboards, as if they’re afraid of appearing to slack off.

  They are. They’re all terrified. I can feel it, like a chilly fog swirling around my shoulders. The normal background noise that was there a minute ago is gone, the way the woods go silent and the bugs and birds cease all sound as a predator passes by.

  “We’re here to see the American girl,” the prince says in clipped Kosztylan.

  The two receptionists look at each other like they’re willing the other one to take the task, until the one on the left finally stands up, smooths her clean white uniform, and steps out from around the desk.

  “If your grace would follow me.”

  The prince nods and we follow. I stay a step behind his right shoulder, almost instinctively. There is no shortage of people here, and as we move by they incline their heads and stand still, waiting for us to pass before they move.

  “They’re all terrified of you.”

  “It’s respect.”

  “It’s terror. People look at other people they respect. Can’t you feel it?”

  “No.”

  I feel horrible for the poor girl as we step into an elevator. She stands in the corner, as though she would sink into it and disappear if she could, and jabs the elevator button.

  The prince doesn’t even acknowledge her existence. His expression is clouded, his eyes distant. He glances at me and then looks away until the doors open and he motions for the girl to lead us. She looks down and scurries ahead, as if she’s afraid of what will happen if he gets too close to her, like a prey animal scared a predator is going to take her scent.

  His heels click loudly on the floor. The nurses in the hallway stop, turn, and bow their heads. Orderlies pushing carts stop and back up to stay well clear of their leader. It’s like the whole world opens for him, like parting the Red Sea. I find myself wondering if he knows what it’s like to have something in his way.

  After two turns down a corridor,
the receptionist stops. The guards standing on either side of the door clasp their hands to their chests in some kind of salute. The prince doesn’t deign to return it. He starts toward the door.

  “Your grace,” the receptionist says.

  He stops and looks at her as if he’s seeing her for the first time.

  “B-b-begging your pardon, but the doctors have left a special instruction. The patient does not react well to the presence of men.”

  “Why did you not tell me before?”

  “I d-did not want to offend your grace.”

  His lips press into a thin frown.

  I step forward, in front of him, and rest my hands on her arms. She stares at me and blinks.

  “It’s alright. Thank you for telling us. I’ll go in alone.”

  I hope she understood that. She blinks at me a few times, and then the prince repeats what I said, properly.

  She smiles and nods and scurries away, taking a glance at us as if she’s trying to figure me out, only to pick up her pace when she realizes she forgot herself and presumed to look at the prince’s royal ass.

  “You presume again,” he says to me when she’s gone.

  “What’s more important to you, my friend’s well-being or getting your way?”

  “I’ll wait,” he says.

  He paces to the far side of the hall and sits down on a white wooden bench, showing perfect posture as his hands rest on his thighs.

  I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

  The door swings open and I quickly close it behind me. I’m not sure what I was expecting. The room is bright and airy, warm light pouring in through tall windows. Melissa sits on a comfy-looking bed with the back raised, reading a Bible.

  I take a step into the room then rap my knuckles onto the wall.

  “Melissa?”

  She looks up and stops mouthing the words and freezes, doe-eyed and pale as a ghost. She’s been cleaned up and wears her hair in a loose ponytail, and she has dressed in a set of white scrubs. She wiggles her toes under the sheets as I approach.

  “Penny?” she says, as if she can’t believe it’s me.

  She touches my arm and tugs lightly on the sleeve of my dress, testing to make sure I’m really real.

  Her voice is tiny and thin. “I asked if you were okay, but they wouldn’t tell me where you were.”