Page 24 of King of the Crease

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“It’s okay, Agnes. I’m getting dressed.” I scramble to throw on an undershirt. “I’m decent.”

“Apologies for interrupting you this morning.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I wanted to give you an update. The king was upset about your abrupt vacation, but I handled it.”

I don’t know what that means, and Agnes’s firm stare tells me not to ask.

“Thank you, Agnes.”

“He is mandating that you return on Christmas Eve so you can be here for Christmas Day festivities.”

“Understood.” I clock the chocolate advent calendar that Millie gave me. The countdown to Christmas just got a little less sweet.

“Your Highness!” Agnes presses her face up to the screen. “Your forehead! What happened?”

I rub the red mark. “It doesn’t hurt. I slipped on some ice and had a little fall. I’m alright.”

“Let me find a doctor out there who can treat the wound.”

“It’s really alright, Agnes. It will be gone by the time I’m back in Ardenia.”

“Are those Americans hurting you?”

Well, one did smack me in the head with a tree stump, but I decided it’s best to keep Agnes out of the loop on that one.

“I have to go, Agnes. Take care.” I replace the phone back in the dresser drawer and close it tight.

I check myself out in the full-length mirror. I’m wearing a pair of Adam’s jeans, a thermal, and his puffy vest. No trace of royal here. Just an average guy from Baltimore ready to play hockey.

8

NICK

Iarrive at the rink before the dawn cracks over the horizon, when the world still feels half-asleep and the parking lot is a frozen wasteland of tire tracks and old snow. The building hums quietly, like it’s stretching awake.

“Good morning, Nick,” says Marcy with a knowing wink. In order to sign up for the league, I had to divulge my true identity. She promised to keep it a secret, and I got the feeling that Marcy is always true to her word. She’s one of those people that’s like a vault of information.

I nod back at her and walk up to the ice, where I find Hank already suited up and skating in a corner.

“I got here early,” he says, reading my concerned mind. “I only have an hour. A customer called with a clogged toilet, and they’re hosting a Christmas party tonight, so...”

“Duty calls.” I start walking to the locker room then stop. “Wait. I should rephrase that.”

A few minutes later, I step out onto the ice in full goalie gear. Every inch of me is covered in thick pads. A gaggle of kids are being led in a figure skating class on one side of the rink. I skate to the far end where Hank’s set up a net in the corner of the ice. Through his helmet and mask guard, I can see his beaming grin, which instantly puts me at ease.

“The class is letting us have this space. It’s a good thing we’re goalies. We’re not moving much on the ice, you know?”

“Thanks for meeting up with me and helping. I know this is inconvenient for you.”

He waves off my concern. “Nah, we’re good, pal.”

“Do you call everyone your pal?”

“Only those who are worthy of the title.”