Page 52 of The Prince and the Puck
My father looked as if he had long ago accepted this news—the impending arrival of his death. I was having more difficulty with it.
“Dad...”
“We’re all gonna go sometime, son. Now my job is just to make sure that I take care of the people I love—and those I’m sworn to protect. And that’s why you’re here.”
I shook my head. I had known this was coming—kind of. But it was still hard to take in. It was hard to go from lacing up my skates and slamming other people into the boards to considering my father’s demise. And my possible ascension to the throne.
Just then, the front door of the apartment burst open, and my brother stepped in, every bit as tall, tan, and handsome as I had always thought of him.
“Deckkie,” Lambert called, striding confidently toward me and opening his arms. I stepped into them and hugged my brother tightly. He didn’t smell of alcohol, and he didn’t seem like he was on anything. Both good signs.
He sat next to me on the couch and shook his head lightly as he said, “So, you’re getting the full rundown?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Did they get to the part yet where I’m not fit to rule?” I looked between him and my parents, waiting for more. Lambert had had his problems, that was true. But I wasn’t sure what exactly made him unfit to rule. He looked more fit, healthy, and happy than I’d ever seen him. Plus, he was the one who had been groomed for this his entire life.
I was the one who had left. If anyone was unfit, it had to be me.
“Lamb, we just think it might be best,” my mother said.
“For the kingdom?” Lambert asked. I got the sense they’d had this talk many times already.
“For you,” my mother said. “For everyone.”
Dad sighed heavily and sank back into the cushions of the couch.
“Maybe we can talk about this later?” Mom suggested, rising and taking my father’s hand. “Erik, honey, you need to rest.”
She turned to us. “You boys catch up. This has been a lot of excitement for your father. We’ll see you at dinner.”
Lambert stood and gestured toward the hallway. “Wanna see what they’ve done with your rooms since you moved out? I made your bed chambers into a naked room.”
“No, you didn’t. That’s from a movie.”
We walked down the hall, and Lambert grinned. “Doesn’t make it less funny.” He pushed open the door to my old rooms and ushered me inside like I was a guest. And the second I stepped through, it was like stepping back in time. As we steppedinto the bedroom, the only room I’d been allowed to decorate myself, the first thing I saw was the giant poster of Stephano Mizzoni, geared up in his goalie pads, hovering in front of the net at the Wombat Arena—like a demon and a hero all in one.
There were other posters too, all of them hockey players. My childhood idols. But there were also the things I had not chosen—the ceremonial garments hanging on the wall, the typical young royal kit I’d been made to don whenever we were out on official business. I’d hated it then, and even now, something inside me revolted at the sight of those medals gleaming under the soft bedroom light.
I sank onto the small bed in the corner, running my fingers over the unfamiliar duvet. They had changed a few things, but mostly, it was the same room I’d lived in until I was ten.
“Lambert, you’ve got to explain everything to me,” I said finally. “I really don’t know why I’m here. I just know that Dad’s sick, the kingdom is in trouble, and someone blew up my truck—which, by the way, I really liked.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot more to the story,” Lambert said. “But I don’t think this is where we should talk about it.”
“My childhood bedroom isn’t the right setting for this information?” I felt my face tug up into a half-smile.
“Not by a long shot.” Lambert looked around once more, like he was giving me a moment to absorb it all, then nodded toward the door. I followed him as he led me out of the royal residence and into another wing—one I had explored as a child but barely remembered.
He pushed open yet another door, revealing a well-appointed apartment, which I assumed belonged to him. Lambert gestured to a low, comfortable-looking couch against one wall, facing a very large television mounted above a sleek console.
“It wasn’t easy, but I get all the Wombats games on that thing,” he said, already digging through the fridge. He came upwith two beers and walked back across the room, handing one to me.
I raised it toward him hesitantly. “I thought you were in recovery?”
Lambert grinned. “I’m good with alcohol. Just nothing stronger.”
“So, you’re probably wondering why you’ve been summoned here.”
