He handed Tristan some medicine, sure to put a lock on his stomach. Tristan nodded his thanks and strode away. He made his way back to the changing room and got into his gear. The place rocked with the giddy excitement of the first game of the long season. They exclaimed over their new kits, made predictions about the score, and maybe added some lamentations about the short off-season. When the door sprang open, the crown prince strode into the room with his security detail.
As he spoke to each of the players and worked the room, Tristan took note of the men with him. Then, he clutched his stomach, only for Rowan to see, and ducked out of the room. They would head out to the pitch for pregame shortly, and Tristan needed to be indisposed. He stepped into one of the restrooms and locked the door.
It wasn’t long until Jamie’s delegation departed. Tristan peeked out from the loo, and noting the empty hallway, he followed at a respectable distance. When they stepped to the elevator heading to the box, Tristan darted in between the closing doors.
As he’d expected, he had a guard encircling each of his biceps before he could even utter a word. But he had already locked gazes with Jamie. It was hard to stare into those ice-blue eyes without thinking of Ele.
“Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head.
He didn’t fight the hold of Jamie’s security detail, but he did flex, just once, for effect. Their grips tightened.
“Mr. Davenport. What a surprise,” Jamie greeted.
“I’m sure. Got a minute?”
The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitched, an indication of a reluctant smile, and Tristan knew he would get to have the conversation he needed.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Jamie asked.
“As you know. But I’m finding it a bit hard to concentrate with all these questions.”
“Cheeky bastard,” Jamie muttered, clear enough for Tristan to hear.
The prince’s PPO nodded, and the vise grips on Tristan’s arms disappeared. The elevator came to a halt, and three guards stepped out.
Tristan tilted his head. “Here?”
Jamie leaned against the back of the elevator and crossed his arms. “Unless you want someone to see.”
“Right, of course.” Now that he had the audience he wanted, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. There were so many different questions he wanted to ask. “How is she?” he decided to ask because it was what he needed to know most.
Tristan assumed Jamie had anticipated the first one and would have a ready answer, but instead, he shifted his gaze and then his feet.
His hand left its position on his chest and crept up to the back of his neck. “I think, okay.”
“Think?” Tristan’s annoyance couldn’t be disguised.
“She’s not really talking to me at the moment.”
“But surely, Robert is keeping you informed.”
Jamie’s gaze landed back on Tristan. “Robert was removed from her detail.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Perhaps he should have shown some deference, some respect, but he found himself pissed on Ele’s behalf.
“It was the right thing to do.”
“You did it? How could you do that to her?”
“What is it you are expecting from this conversation? You want to know she’s okay? Or that you didn’t completely devastate her when you shoved her into the limelight?”
Tristan recognized the deflection for what it was, but his guilt over what had happened precluded him from pressing more.
“Yeah,” Tristan answered, “that’s what I want to know.” He’d tried every way possible to exonerate himself from the fiasco, but he should have done more to protect her.
Jamie studied him, and Tristan squirmed. It was almost as if he were in an interrogation room and Jamie were the bad cop. He wished they were in a graphic novel, and he could read Jamie’s thoughts. But all he could make out was a lingering anguish swirling in the icy depths.
“She told you about our parents.”