Page 16 of The Prince and the Puck
And finally, when I couldn’t procrastinate it any longer, I picked up the phone to make my report to the palace.
“Lizzy, hello darling,” came the Queen’s tired voice when the private line picked up.
“Your Majesty. Is everything all right?”
“No. Erik’s had a spell.”
The king.
“Oh dear, will he be all right?”
“He’s fine for now, but I want my husband to live his final days secure in the knowledge that Declan will pick up where he left off. We really need you to hurry, Lizzy. Bring my son home.”
“I will do my best,” I said. I dropped my eyes shut, suddenly exhausted. I paused, knowing I needed to tell the palace about the attempt on Declan’s life, but just as I was about to speak, the Queen sighed again. The sound carried so much sadness, so much exhaustion… I considered whether she could bear this additional load right now.
No, it was my duty. I might be an empathetic human being, but this was my job.
I cleared my throat, but the Queen spoke before I could get the words out.
“I imagine we don’t have long,” the Queen said, and the sadness and misery in her voice pulled at something inside me. For all of their formality, and sheer regality, the king and queen had always been clearly in love. I envied them that, and I could only imagine how difficult it was for the Queen to watch her husband suffer.
CHAPTER 13
DECK
YOU WANT ME TO SIGN… WHAT?
As soon asthe suggestion was out, I’d known it was a mistake of gigantic proportions. I couldn’t date Lizzy—there was the obvious no fraternization policy I’d have to deal with now. The coach would not be understanding…
I did feel somewhat smug knowing that no one else on the team would bother now, thanks to my little plan, but there was another thing I wasn’t as eager to admit.
I liked her.
I barely knew her, but I liked her. She reminded me of someone—of home in some way. Not in the “do your duty” kind of way I’d run away from, but of the really amazing things I’d loved about my home country. Or at least the things I’d loved as a kid—the warm salt-washed days on the beach, the crystal blue water of the ocean, the sweeping grandeur of the sky above us… I’d had my brother and my best friend Eliza back in those days.
But those days were long gone. Lizzy was her own person. And she was a person I was having trouble not thinking about.
I found myself distracted even when she wasn’t around, pondering the way her strong legs created incredible curves in the pencil skirts she sometimes favored, the way her calf muscles popped when she wore those high heels. I thought about howshe’d looked at me across the table that first night, like she knew something, like she could see something I’d kept hidden from the world.
It was impossible, of course. She couldn’t know me any better than anyone else had since I was a kid. Part of the agreement I’d made in coming to play hockey involved hiding my real identity. Sure, there were plenty of psychobabble gurus who would probably point out that stuffing down an entire part of your identity and refusing to acknowledge it was unhealthy for the psyche… But if that was what it took to earn my freedom, it was okay.
Mostly.
I missed my family. The monthly calls I had with Mom and Dad were full of small talk and false politeness. I barely knew them anymore. And Dad had sounded odd last time we’d spoken. Tired.
My brother was a whole other story. Lambert had pushed the limits of his position for years. Since the time I’d left, really. He’d begun toying with drugs—not a great option for anyone, let alone an eighteen-year-old. He’d been to rehab several times since then, and my parents were exhausted by his reputation as the Playboy Prince. I had always figured he would settle down once he was king.
I sighed. In a weird way, I missed Lambert. My big brother had been my best friend. He’d understood why I wanted to leave, though. He’d encouraged me to go. But then he’d… well, I didn’t like to think about it. The timing could lead one to feel guilty about everything. He’d been fine until I’d fled to America.
But we were individuals. His choices were just that. His own. Not that he had the option to walk away. I guess that was the real difference. And there was a certain amount of guilt inherent in my understanding of that fact. A whole buttload of guilt, really.
And my choice to let the team think that Lizzy and I were dating?
Mine.
I guessed both princes were poor decision makers sometimes.
At four-thirty the next day, I pulled on my nicest board shorts and my favorite T-shirt, grabbed a Wilcox Wombats ball cap and put on my sunglasses. I had a date to pick up.
