Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(137)

“Does he like you?”

Every kid, and their teacher, looks at the little girl who just asked me. She clamps her hand over her mouth and sinks down.

I glance over at the prince. “He says he does. He wants to show me how beautiful your country is.”

“Do you like it here?”

“It’s different from my home,” I say quickly.

I’m not going to do that to them, tell them the truth. I shift from side to side a little and eat a few broccoli florets. They’re fresh, at least.

“She has enjoyed it so far,” the prince says. “You may speak to me, children.”

They all look around, as if trying to confirm from each other what they just heard.

The little girl who asked me if he likes me is almost jumping up and down, she’s fidgeting so hard in her spot.

“Are you going to marry the prince? Is there going to be a wedding? You’re pretty. You look like a princess.”

I glance over at the prince. I can’t help it.

He’s turning red. At first my stomach sinks and I start to feel a little pang of nausea, wondering what he’ll do to these little children for offending him… But he’s not red with fury, he’s blushing. He looks over at me and then looks away, his expression very deliberately and forcefully neutral.

“That depends on him,” I say.

“Children,” the teacher finally says, “that is a rude question to ask. Ask her something else.”

As the lunches disappear into their little stomachs, the questioning turns back to food. They want to know what a cheeseburger is like, what Kentucky Fried Chicken means, why people eat hot dogs when they don’t know what’s in them. I answer all of their questions, until the teacher starts to look agitated. I turn to her.

“The lunch hour is over.”

“You have my leave to continue until Penny wishes to depart.”

The teacher goes quiet again, listening.

“You look like you want to ask me something,” I say to her.

She goes even paler. “No, I was…” She looks nervously at the prince. “Forgive me if I…”

“Just ask me.”

She sighs. “Perhaps later if I am given leave. It is not an appropriate question to ask in front of the children.”

I turn back to the kids. Now they want to hear about music and television. They seem fascinated by the idea of media that isn’t state run. One of them asks me if I know Lady Gaga. One little boy turns beet red after he blurts out, “Can people in the America look at girls with no shirts on their computers?”

I smirk and tell him, “People in America don’t usually put shirts on their computers.”

He blinks a few times then laughs awkwardly and tries to hide behind one of his classmates. The prince glares at him.

I put my hand on the prince’s arm.

Everyone else in the room gasps loudly. It’s like all the air just sucked out through the windows.

Oops.

The prince very lightly rests his hand on mine, and squeezes. The kids all stare at it like he just kissed me full-on in the face.

I pull my hand back.

I sigh.

“Children aren’t allowed to.” They’re not supposed to be allowed to, but I don’t clarify that. “Adults can, but we don’t need to talk about that. Everyone can use the Internet, though.”

A little girl seems confused by that. “What do they use it for? Research?”

“Yes, there’s a free encyclopedia that anyone can edit. People use it for many, many things. Buying things, selling things, talking with their friends, sharing pictures, talking about their favorite shows and books.”

“People can edit the encyclopedia? Can they make websites of their own?”

“Of course, anyone can. It costs money but there are free ways to do it, too. There are lots of ways to tell the whole world how you feel and what you think about any subject you want.”

“You come from a magic place,” one of them says reverently. “My momma is right about red hair. You are a witch!”

The prince tenses, but I laugh it off. “I can’t do magic, honey. Magic isn’t real. It’s just a different country with different rules.”

“It sounds bett—”

She cuts herself off sharply. Her eyes snap to the prince and she sinks down, tears welling in her eyes.

I set my lunch aside and jump to my feet, drop down next to her, and hug her to my side.

“I didn’t mean it,” she chirps in rapid Kosztylan, her clipped English forgotten. “I didn’t mean to be bad. Don’t take me away.”

The prince rises to his feet. He turns to the teacher.

“Escort all the other students out.”

“Your grace—”

His voice is even but hard like stone. “Anywhere but here. Go. Now.”

“Children, follow,” she says nervously.

It takes her a moment to gather them all and rush them out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her. That leaves me sitting on the floor with a sobbing little girl in my lap, clutching me like she expects her dear leader to snatch her away with his own two hands.

I hold her tighter.

“I’m not going to let you hurt her.”

“Is that what you think of me? Child, what is your name?”