Page 128 of A King's Oath

“Whenever you come for a game you do this. Do it, Ava.”

“I didn’t do it for that last game I came to in Paris.”

“That was a miserable game.”

“You won,” she pointed.

“Still miserable,” he pushed the helmet into her hand. She glanced around, took it and hastily set it atop his head, trying to pull her arms down as if burned. His hands came over hers, catching them in place and settling his helmet, his eyes rising to her even from a bent head. He was so close. Not indecently close. But still intimate.

“Is it set?” He asked.

“Yes!” She hissed, running her fingers down his strap, snapping the buckle and righting it quickly to avoid any bite. “Happy?”

“Yes,” he smirked, standing back. “Now you hide here somewhere. I’ll go meet Hukum and Maan bhai in the pavilion.”

“They are here?!” She panicked, looking for a place to hide. The stables! She began to scuttle away when he held her elbow, laughing — “I didn’t mean literally hide, Ava.”

“I am tohliterallyhiding. Are you mad? Leave my arm.”

“Don’t worry. Once I go and meet them now, they won’t come back here after the match.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm…”

“Alright. Go and find a seat in my tent or any tent you like. No need to hide.”

He left her arm and strode down the field, across the breadth of it, towards the spectator stands in the distance. They were so far away that all she could see were dots of people milling around. Still, she turned and ran into the stables. Horses were safe. They didn’t tattle.

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“Last sixty seconds of this unforgettable match at the heritage Villa a Sesta… The scoreboard is deadlocked. 3-3. The sun’s moved overhead — and the Gir Zephyrs are pushing hard, one final play, one last charge!” The commentary ran in thick, Italian-accented English, as fast as the horses hoofing across the field. Avantika stepped forward with the rest of the team, ensconced in baited breaths.

“Number 3, Raj, sends it wide — a booming backhander! Oh, but it’s stolen mid-air by the Montebello Mustangs' Number 4! The Zephyrs' hopes teetering — wait, wait, here he comes — HH Sam! Number 1! He's flown!”

The crowd surged to their feet in the distance. The wind was so strong and the horses galloping so loud that even their cheers were lost. Avantika held her clasped hands close to her chest, eyes fixed on the man with I printed across his back. On his white horse. Mallet swinging round and round and in the third round he had the ball! In the air! He was tossing it in the air like it was table tennis!

“My word — look at that move! Thirty yards... twenty... the Mustang defender lunges in — but Sam swerves! A flawless neck shot!”

Thwack!

“The ball slicing the air! Slicing, slicing, slicing. It’s poetry in motion! AND IT’S IN!!”

Collective gasps turned into wild cheers and the field echoed in applause. Avantika grinned, clapping with them all, her body that had gone cold in anticipation now extra hot as Samarth’s horse swerved around the goalpost at full speed and began thundering down half-tilted. It wasn’t how he usually rode, and she realised why when the horse’s front limb stuttered and Samarth went flying.

Everything came to a standstill.

Her feet began to run but the team in front of her was faster. She saw them go and stopped short, her body frozen.

“Is he ok?” She hollered.Please be ok, please be ok, please be ok…

Samarth be ok, please be ok. Be ok…

Her clasped hands were still clasped, now shivering. He was on the ground but she couldn’t see what was happening anymorewith so many people surrounding him.Samarth, please, please, please. Krishna bhagwan please please please…

There was commotion. Doctors went running from their tents. She didn’t know anyone enough to demand answers. She couldn't run there and find them out for herself. Her body fell cold. Nothing was visible, nothing was happening except the crowd surrounding him milling around. A stretcher was carried out and Avantika felt her knees begin to buckle.Fuck fuck no…

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