Page 6 of The Prince and the Puck
“He will accept that the sovereign prince of Murdan was urgently required to return to his born duty. He will accept that an American hockey coach does not stand in the way of royal destiny.” King Erik had a way of phrasing things that made them sound already decided.
“Right. Sure.”
“Are you using sarcasm with your king?” The Queen asked.
“Just a tiny bit. Sorry.”
The king sighed. “I know this is a complex task, Lizzy. That’s why we chose you. Your record of service is outstanding, and your loyalty to our nation is unparalleled. If anyone can convince my son to realize that his real purpose is at home, and that he has little choice in the matter, I believe it is you.”
“Sir, is there any chance we are potentially conflating my performance in special operations with the need for someone who can act and persuade? My persuasion techniques generally involve weapons or torture.”
“Do not torture the prince.” The Queen was definitely sounding annoyed now.
“Of course not, I’m just suggesting?—”
“You are the person for the job. Convince him.” King Erik directed.
“Of course.”
“Check in tomorrow,” he said.
“Yes, Your Majesties.” I shoved my phone into my pocket and rolled my eyes. This was not exactly the cherry position I’d hoped would be mine coming out of the commendations I’d received on the tail of my last assignment. If a low-paid acting job surrounded by men who considered playing a game to be a respectable profession was my due, maybe I should have allowed that terrorist dictator to stay where he was… But no, I didn’t regret my past. Even though there was a good chance I was going to regret my future.
I deleted the interview I’d done with the prince. Not only did it not move me closer to my mission objective, it was useless in general. Somehow, I needed to put together a scintillating public relations campaign about this ice hockey team. Maybe I should start with why they’d been named after an animal that didn’t even exist on the North American continent.
Ah yes, Lizzy. Your instincts for compelling entertainment will serve you well. Who doesn’t want to learn more about wombats?
I was so screwed.
CHAPTER 5
DECK
LUXURY = A LONG SHOWER
The practice roomshad mostly cleared out by the time I ended the world’s longest hot shower. The trainers were clearing things up, and there wasn’t another player around.
I liked the place this way. Quiet and empty. It made me feel like I could do anything I liked and no one would be bothered. Of course the only thing I generally did was take stupidly long showers. Not that I couldn’t do that at home, but there was something about the locker room shower—the reality of being here, on this team, in this place.
It was what I’d always dreamed about. Once I knew what hockey was, of course. Before that, I’d simply dreamed of America. The space, the freedom. The anonymity.
It wasn’t that my life at home was bad. Far from it. Most kids would probably say they’d kill to be awoken by three butlers carrying trays of food and picking up after them as they moved through their four-room apartment on the way to say hello to Mom and Dad. But those kids hadn’t thought that dream through. They didn’t know about the weight of responsibility that came with being the spare heir, about the expectations on everything from whether you used your finger bowl correctly to if you addressed the right duke in the right way in the right orderwhen a bunch of frilly dudes showed up at court to chat up your dad. The king.
It felt like I’d been seeking an escape since the day I realized my position. I knew I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of what my dad did all day—worrying about international relations, mitigating in-country battles between factions, and monitoring public sentiment around taxes and housing costs. No thanks.
I had spent my days bribing attendants to get me old DVDs of American sports matches. Baseball, football, and of course—ice hockey. It was all I wanted to think about, to learn about, to do.
Lucky for me, I was number two. Lambert was born first, like it or not, and so he didn’t have the same kind of freedom I did. Did I ever feel bad for him? Sure, but there were probably benefits to being the future king. I just couldn’t imagine what they might be. He could have them.
Mom and Dad were happy enough to let me go (taking my athletics obsession and constant begging for a palace hockey rink with me.) Dad had a distant cousin in Colorado, and while I’d never been there, the place sounded a lot like heaven to me. A private school with other boys? A suburban home with my own bedroom and no valets or butlers in sight? The chance to join sports teams? I was in.
I was sent to Colorado to meet Uncle Jericho, who wasn’t my uncle at all.
That was when my life began.
I might not have been the most athletically inclined kid by genetics, but what I lacked in natural ability I made up for in sheer grit. I wanted it more than anyone else.
And after a lot of help from Uncle Jericho, lots and lots of practices and camps, and lots of years of working my ass off, I got it.
