The stadium crew brought round a cart and escorted Stephen with the girls to the practice field on the east side of the stadium.
In the glow of the lights and to the cheers of fans watching the next match, Stephen hobbled up and down the pitch with the girls, showing them a good side step and how to ruck out the ball.
Rugby was the best sport, and after thirty minutes with these girls, he was their fan. He’d speak to the King’s Office and the Rugby Union about a campaign to strengthen girls’ play. He’d be their patron and voice to the world.
Take that, Corina Del Rey.You and your American football.Can’t suit up a girl in an American football kit.
Her tweet yesterday haunted him. Twisted about his chest all night. Where was she? Did she tweet from America? Did she fly to Brighton? If so, where was she? Did she bring the annulment papers? He was eager to have that part of his life signed, sealed, and boxed away.
He’d contemplated texting her, asking her if she’d tweeted on purpose. But he wanted time to think. He’d done nothing with her request for information on Carlos. There was nothing to do, really, except let her in on Brighton military classified information.
To be honest, he was grateful she’d not tweeted her request publicly.
Ask him for news on how my brother died. #howtocatchaprince
That would’ve had the defense minister ringing him.
Leslie ran across the field toward him, her friends trailing, and Stephen smiled, scooping her up with one arm. “I think you’ve got a future in the sport, Leslie.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck, hugging him. “Thank you for coming to my game, Your Highness.”
“My pleasure. I’m a rugby man, after all.” Leslie’s friends swirled around him, so he knelt down, careful of his ankle, and took down each of their names, promising to send them one of his special caps.
“I told you I was good, sir.” No confidence lacking in Leslie of the Watham 2 Warriors.
“Be faithful in school and practice, be team players, and you’ll all go far.”
The girls’ parents arrived, calling, “Time to get on.” Stephen gave them high fives and watched them go, another twist in his chest.
He’d have liked to have had a family. Girls. Seven. And form a seven-side rugby team. Call themselves the Stratton Royals.
Thomas stood next to him. “A good bunch, eh?”
“A very good bunch.”
“Are you thinking of Corina?”
How did he do that? Was Stephen so transparent? “No.” Lie. “Just that . . . Well, it’s of no matter. Ready?” He was hungry. And his ankle needed rest.
Stephen walked with Thomas to the car in silence, the summer afternoon full of the sun and wind, of shouts from the stadium, of victory and loss.
He was about to slide into the passenger seat when he heard her voice. “Stephen?” When he turned, Corina offered him a bold wave and a “Surprise!” shrug. He squinted through the light bouncing off the many windshields.
“Corina?”
“It’s me.” She took a step in his direction.
“How did you find me?” Stephen panned the sea of cars jamming the car park.
“I heard on the news you were here, so I caught a taxi. Then when I arrived, a man in blue coveralls told me you were at the practice field. I just started walking this way, and then”—she pointed toward the practice field—“you came walking out. Hi, Thomas.”
“Afternoon, Corina.” Thomas leaned on his door, smiling, shooting Stephen a look. One he preferred not to interpret.
“You caught a taxi from America?” Stephen said, trying to make merry, ease the tension between them. Well, the tension gripping his chest at least.
She pulled a face. “Very funny. I flew over yesterday. The King’s Office sent Gigi an invitation to theKing Stephen Ipremier, and she felt I was the only one suitable to take her place.”
“You flew all the way over for the premier?”
