Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(130)

Once I’m dressed I give the bell a sharp tug. I feel it pull against something somewhere in the castle, and a heavy bell bong-bongs far overhead.

Wow, really.

About five minutes later the prince arrives, dressed in a plain black outfit like he wore yesterday, without the boots. He offers me his arm but I walk past him into the hall and wait. I fall in beside him and walk in silence to the courtyard, and pointedly ignore him on the car ride from the castle.

The hospital doesn’t really stand out. The only thing marking it off is the red cross painted on the side, the helicopter pad, and the fleet of ambulances parked outside in a long garage.

The car takes us right up to the front entrance under an overhang, and I brace myself. There will be other people here. I’m getting my request. I’m going to see the peasants in action.

The prince personally offers me a hand to step down from the car. I take it, still feeling a little wobbly on my ankle. All that walking yesterday made me sore, and now I’m starting to regret the boots.

I walk slowly, head up, shoulders back. As I walk into the hospital I get more than a handful of stares. I’m suddenly the center of attention. There must be two dozen people right here in the immediate area. Patients waiting to be seen, receptionists behind the front desk, doctors in scrubs.

Everything is new and clean, well lit. I wouldn’t know I wasn’t in America without the hushed speech in Kosztylan making my ears burn.

When they realize I’m with their prince, everything changes. It’s like the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Everyone looks away from me, or at most, at my feet. The receptionists go stone still, staring at their hands, hovering at their keyboards, as if they’re afraid of appearing to slack off.

They are. They’re all terrified. I can feel it, like a chilly fog swirling around my shoulders. The normal background noise that was there a minute ago is gone, the way the woods go silent and the bugs and birds cease all sound as a predator passes by.

“We’re here to see the American girl,” the prince says in clipped Kosztylan.

The two receptionists look at each other like they’re willing the other one to take the task, until the one on the left finally stands up, smooths her clean white uniform, and steps out from around the desk.

“If your grace would follow me.”

The prince nods and we follow. I stay a step behind his right shoulder, almost instinctively. There is no shortage of people here, and as we move by they incline their heads and stand still, waiting for us to pass before they move.

“They’re all terrified of you.”

“It’s respect.”

“It’s terror. People look at other people they respect. Can’t you feel it?”

“No.”

I feel horrible for the poor girl as we step into an elevator. She stands in the corner, as though she would sink into it and disappear if she could, and jabs the elevator button.

The prince doesn’t even acknowledge her existence. His expression is clouded, his eyes distant. He glances at me and then looks away until the doors open and he motions for the girl to lead us. She looks down and scurries ahead, as if she’s afraid of what will happen if he gets too close to her, like a prey animal scared a predator is going to take her scent.

His heels click loudly on the floor. The nurses in the hallway stop, turn, and bow their heads. Orderlies pushing carts stop and back up to stay well clear of their leader. It’s like the whole world opens for him, like parting the Red Sea. I find myself wondering if he knows what it’s like to have something in his way.

After two turns down a corridor, the receptionist stops. The guards standing on either side of the door clasp their hands to their chests in some kind of salute. The prince doesn’t deign to return it. He starts toward the door.

“Your grace,” the receptionist says.

He stops and looks at her as if he’s seeing her for the first time.

“B-b-begging your pardon, but the doctors have left a special instruction. The patient does not react well to the presence of men.”

“Why did you not tell me before?”

“I d-did not want to offend your grace.”

His lips press into a thin frown.

I step forward, in front of him, and rest my hands on her arms. She stares at me and blinks.

“It’s alright. Thank you for telling us. I’ll go in alone.”

I hope she understood that. She blinks at me a few times, and then the prince repeats what I said, properly.

She smiles and nods and scurries away, taking a glance at us as if she’s trying to figure me out, only to pick up her pace when she realizes she forgot herself and presumed to look at the prince’s royal ass.

“You presume again,” he says to me when she’s gone.

“What’s more important to you, my friend’s well-being or getting your way?”

“I’ll wait,” he says.

He paces to the far side of the hall and sits down on a white wooden bench, showing perfect posture as his hands rest on his thighs.

I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

The door swings open and I quickly close it behind me. I’m not sure what I was expecting. The room is bright and airy, warm light pouring in through tall windows. Melissa sits on a comfy-looking bed with the back raised, reading a Bible.

I take a step into the room then rap my knuckles onto the wall.