Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(121)

“I understand.”

He dabs at his lips with a napkin. “Let’s make a deal.”

“I want to hear it before I agree to anything.”

“I’ll give you freedom of the castle. You will not go beyond the grounds without my leave, but you will be allowed to move freely within the walls. With certain restrictions, of course. The armory and the lower levels are closed to you.”

“Trust me, I’m not interested in the armory.”

“As you say. It is agreed, then.”

“Whoa. Wait up. You offered me something. What do you want in return? I know there’s something?”

“Join me for dinner.”

“That’s all? Just dinner?”

“Just dinner, and something else.”

I sip my wine and eye him. “What else?”

“It’s a surprise. I won’t hurt you.”

“This morning you threatened to chop my hand off.”

He grits his teeth. “I only meant to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll take freedom to move around in exchange for eating dinner with you, and…something else, but if you think I’m going to do anything with you, you’re delusional.”

“Do anything with me?”

He looks genuinely confused.

“Netflix and chill,” I mutter.

“I wasn’t planning on showing you a movie.”

“You know what? Never mind. Are they going to take me back now?”

“Yes. I will call upon you at seven. Wear a different dress. Something lighter. The cream one, I think.”

I nod, deciding at that moment that I will wear anything but the cream one.





Chapter Five





I’m not allowed out of the vehicle until we reach the castle again, and when we get there, my freedom of movement does not begin, apparently, until I’ve gone back to the room first. I refuse to call it my room, which implies I have some connection to the place.

I didn’t sleep very well last night, so the first thing I do is put on a nightgown and crawl into the bed to lie down for a while. Seven o’clock is late, hours from now, so I have some time to doze, and doze I do.

I wake fitfully, every hour or so, and by the time I’ve tossed and turned for four or five hours, I feel rested, if it a little cotton-mouthed. I’m still stuffed from all this food the prince has been feeding me. No wonder he’s so strong, if he eats like this every day.

I find the plainest dress I can. There are no shorts or pants in the wardrobe and the uniform I was wearing last night was removed by whoever made the bed and tidied up the room while I was gone.

I pick out a pair of sturdier shoes, too. I didn’t realize that riding boots were an option. They feel a little clunky, and I look ridiculous in a dark-blue dress and big boots, but it beats padding around freezing stone floors in slippers.

True to the prince’s word, the door is unbarred. In fact, the big oak bar is gone completely. A servant passes me as I step out into the hall, stops to look at me like I’m a curious animal in the royal menagerie, and hustles about his business. I go the opposite way, for good measure.

This place is so complex that I can’t even begin to guess at the layout. I just want to get some air, get out from under the roof. The high stone ceilings feel like they’re hovering over my head, ready to come crashing down at any moment. For such a huge place, it is decidedly claustrophobic.

So, I walk.

After maybe ten minutes I find an open door that leads outside, but not to the courtyard where I came in, or where I first landed in the helicopter. It opens onto a wall that curves around into another tower. The top of the wall is ten feet across, the stones worn smooth by time. To my left, a smooth, waist-high stone wall overlooks the courtyard below.

To my right, the wall is full of little slits, as if to shoot a bow and arrow through. When I peer through them I have an unobstructed view of the valley below, brilliant green in the daylight. It’s a beautiful country, it really is. The fields are lush and the distant mountains are cloaked in mystery and mist.

Glancing back at the castle itself, I wonder about this mountain. It’s weird that it stands up alone in the middle of this huge basin. Maybe it’s volcanic?

I follow the wall around and duck inside the tower. It’s a junction point. I can keep following the wall, or walk over a stone bridge that crosses the courtyard below and head back inside.

The wind snaps at my skirts and I decide that’s enough fresh air for now. I race across the bridge, ducking instinctively even though the arched top of the doorway is ten feet over my head.

It leads into another corridor. Motes of dust dance in big sun rays from the high windows, throwing my shadow on the wall in bursts as I walk. As I go I try to make a mental map, but this place is so complicated, doubling back on itself. Somewhere I should be able to go outside again and make my way into those central towers.

A corridor leads off to my right, into a round room. No, it’s a tower of its own. The path slopes up a bit as I walk inside, lifting my skirt to keep from tripping over it. My pace slows, and my breath catches. Something about this room feels ancient and sepulchral, the air heavy and chillier than it should be.

As I turn slowly around the room, my sense of awe builds until I smile involuntarily. It’s a library, a real castle library. The roof is fifty feet over my head, a dome of painted tiles. A wooden walkway spirals up around the inner wall of the tower, and it’s completely lined with books. A long library table stands in the center, with huge old chairs covered in pillows scattered around the room, each taller than I am by half my height or more.