The Prince and the Player

“I’d be honored, Madame.” He gives me a wink and extends an elbow to our mother, who takes his arm and slowly follows him out to the evening’s festivities.

I almost laugh at the irony. The Carabiniers are a small division of soldiers charged with defending my person against attack. How appropriate he should lead my chief attacker away.

For a moment, I consider my fate. I’ve lost my father, I’ve lost one of my most trusted senior advisors in Reggie, I’ve lost my racing, and now it appears these old women are attempting to force me to marry.

My mind travels to when the king was still alive. What would he tell me to do in a situation like this? How can I best serve my country? It only takes a moment for me to know the answer. Be the king.

Straightening my shoulders, I tamp down my anger and find the control switch. Stepping out into the dark hallway I walk to the ballroom. The entire place is filled with ladies and gentleman in formal attire.

Blue and red lights alternate in the tall windows around the room, illuminating crystal chandeliers. A DJ is in the far left corner, and white-clothed tables of hors d’oeuvres line the walls. I’m surrounded by the glittering eyes of scores of young ladies breathless at the thought of being the future Queen of Monagasco.

My eyes roam the various couples when a young lady in an olive-green silk dress approaches. “Hello, there,” she says with a smile.

I smile in return. “How do you do.”

“My name’s Felicity,” she says bluntly. “I’m the Baron of Rothingham’s daughter.”

“How do you do, Miss Rothingham?”

“You can call me Felicity, and I’m all right, I guess. Mum says we’re supposed to be here putting on a show for you or something. It se

ems rather stupid to me.”

“Seems rather stupid to me as well,” I agree in a low voice.

Felicity doesn’t miss a beat. “When I was sixteen, my parents didn’t think I was showing enough interest in boys, so they threw me a grand ball.” She leans back and gives me a squint. “When I walked in, I expect my face looked exactly like yours does now.”

Her manner causes my insides to relax slightly. “How is that?”

“Irritated…” she pauses to think. “And quite a bit embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I’m the crown prince.” I sound more defensive than I feel, and we’re quiet a moment.

“I’m also Lara Westingroot’s cousin,” she continues, “and possibly one of three people who know whose mouth your royal wank was in in all those Internet pics.”

Explaining myself to a near stranger is not something I intend to do. We’re standing at the edge of the dance floor, and all eyes are fixed upon us.

“Shall we dance?” I say, motioning to the floor.

“I suppose we have to now.”

The music starts, and we turn to face each other. My hand is on her waist and hers is on my shoulder. Our other hands clasp at the side, and I study Felicity’s light brown hair styled down to the side in a ponytail. Her makeup is simple powder on her nose as far as I can tell and her lips are glossy nude. Still, her appearance is pleasant. Her eyes are the same olive drab as her dress, but I feel oddly at ease with her.

“What’s your game, Felicity?”

“I suppose I’m trying to figure out yours. You didn’t tell who the girl in the photo was, which makes me want to like you.”

“You’re one of the few,” I say, looking around at the scowling old bitties watching us.

“At the same time, you haven’t spoken to her since, which makes me think you’re a dick.”

My jaw tightens, and I don’t smile. Lara and I had been having a pleasant time that night. However I felt for her at fifteen, my feelings didn’t stand the test of time, and I found our connection dwindled no matter how much we drank. Dropping to her knees felt more like a last-ditch effort to forge some kind of bond.

“Why’d you do it?” Felicity’s eyes move around my face. “I’ve watched you since you nearly won the Grand Prix seven years ago. You’re very handsome, and you’re the most controlled royal I know. I admired you.”

The dance ends, and her hand is in the crook of my arm. We walk a few paces from the floor as I think about her question. No one’s asked it that way, and I consider it would be more accurate to ask why I let it happen. I didn’t do much of anything besides lean back and enjoy the release.

“I was tired,” I confess. “It’s been a long six years, and I wanted…” I can’t say I wanted to feel free. That sounds pathetic. “I needed a break. It felt good to let go.”