Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(139)

“I saw the initials carved into the wood in the library. K for Kristoff and C for, what?”

“Cassandra… It’s not your business. Don’t say her name in my presence.”

“You’re nuts, you know that? You think people are machines, or dolls. Am I wearing her clothes? Is that the idea? You broke your toy and now you want a new one?”

“That’s not why…”

“You know this is wrong. Part of you does, anyway. I saw him in the hospital and I saw him again when that little girl was clinging to me and crying. Because she was scared of you.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of it. You don’t understand, how could you?”

I touch his arm, gripping the fabric of his sleeve tight in my fingers. “Tell me you’re not really like this. Tell me it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does. I can’t change my entire country because you’ve been struck by a strange fancy.”

I grab his face. I cup his cheeks in my hands and just stand there.

“Look at me. Look at me.”

He faces me head on. His whole body shudders as I run my fingers through his hair.

“I believe that you don’t want to hurt these people. I believe that you want them to be safe and happy. They are safe…from everyone but you. You’ve made the choice for them, safety or happiness. That’s no choice at all.”

He takes my wrists, gently, and pulls my hands from his face but stops halfway, staring at them.

“I haven’t felt the touch of another person since I was a little boy. Touching a member of the blood royal is forbidden. It is our custom not to even touch one another. I never saw my mother and father kiss. He never hugged me. The only member of my family who would set a hand on me was my grandfather.”

I give my hands a little tug, but his grip tightens on my arms.

“That girl was right. You are a witch, and you’ve put a spell on me. No matter what I do I cannot break it. I want you, Penny. When you say these things, it pains me. Because you say them, and because you’re right. I command you to stop touching me because every time I feel your skin on mine, I need you more.”

I flinch and blink when he uses my name. My real name, not my dumb legal name my mother came up when she was high.

“I want you to stay with me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I… I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“I told you, if you’re looking for a replacement for some other girl…”

He lets go and turns around, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “It is not like that at all. You don’t understand.”

“I saw the initials in the library, K + C in the heart.”

“K for Kristien,” he sighs. “My brother and Cassandra carved them there. Ordinarily the heir’s wife is chosen when they are both young. Historically my forbears avoided marriages among the nobility… I cannot speak of this. Not here. Come back to the castle with me.”

“Promise me you won’t take that little girl away. Promise me, my prince. If you do, you may as well send me with her because I’ll never listen to another word you have to say. If I can’t be free, you might as well kill me.”

He walks to the window and looks out.

“In one week I must travel to New York on diplomatic business. You will accompany me. If you wish to stay, that is your choice. I will not force you to return here with me. I will deliver you safely. After that, the choice is yours.”

My mouth drops open.

“In return, all that I ask is that you hear me out. Back at the castle.”





Chapter Eight





I almost revolt when they pack me into the car and the prince does not join me. There are too many people. I won’t risk making a scene. I can only hope that he was telling me the truth and I can trust his word that he won’t hurt that poor little girl.

Oh, Penny, you silly romantic idiot, do you really think you can change that creature?

Not change him.

Help him.

It’s a long ride back, to be taken in total silence. I look out through the windows at first then close my eyes when I get tired of plain gray stone everywhere. Where are all the old buildings, all the history? This should be a beautiful place full of all sorts of architectural styles. Solkovia City has thousand-year-old churches and tile roofs, all sorts of beautiful buildings, squares, courtyards. Everything here is the same drab, dull gray.

I quickly get tired of it, lean back in the seat, and close my eyes. When the car finally comes to a gentle stop I grab the door and shove it open myself, and step into the courtyard. I start toward my room—I think—but that blonde-haired guardswoman steps in front of me.

“His grace commands you follow me.”

I’m too defeated and tired to argue. I just fall in line behind her and trudge along, wondering when I’ll be allowed to sit down again.

“I am taking you to his private quarters.”

I stop mid-stride and swallow, hard.

The woman stops and scowls at me.

“Not his bedroom. His quarters. Follow.”

Sighing hard, I resume my slow walk behind her, following her through twisting corridors, across a bridge enclosed by a timbered roof and walls, and through an open gate. She stops at the gate itself.