I sat down as the riders began to gather at the center of the field. Carefully, I reached up and grabbed the little pieces of metal hanging off the chain, curious. It was a simple ball chain, with two rectangles of metal, and a disk that was blue on one side and gold on the other.
The two rectangles had the same few lines of gibberish stamped into them:
L. Dauphin
069179
ONEG
The disk was blank.
"Those are his dog tags," the Princess supplied. She raised one of her perfectly arched eyebrows. "I've never seen him take them off."
"For the amy? Is he active?"
Princess Lupa recrossed her legs. "He's training with Search and Rescue in the Royal Air Force. His final exams are in a few weeks.
I held up the tags. "Aren't these missing a bunch of information?"
"It was decided they should have as little as possible. It helps to protect him and his squadron. Dauphin is the last name Lo uses for common records. This disk represents his eyes. A quick way for his team to identify him in an emergency. Look, they are starting."
I turned my attention to the field again. Prince Leopold and Antoine faced each other at center field. A referee stood between them holding what looked very much like a white football. The ref blew his whistle and threw the ball in the air and then the field erupted in chaos.
"Oh my god," I said, my hand gripping tightly to the stem of my champagne glass.
The plays charged towards each other on their horses at top speed.
The Prince grabbed the ball, and chucked it over his shoulder to another player on his team. The player caught the ball and then someone from the other team rammed their horses together, making Prince's teammate to fumble the ball.
"Glorious, isn't it?" The princess said.
Crazy was more like it. No wonder no one had been overtly concerned by my riding incident. The players were getting thrown off of horses right left and center and just hopped back on.
As soon as the initial shock wore off, and another two or three glasses of champagne settled my nerves, I found myself enjoying the game. It helped that the Prince was good. He'd scored three out of the five goals for his team by the last quarter. Unfortunately, the two teams were evenly matched.
I sat on the edge of my seat. There were two minutes left in the game and there was a tie.
A player from the Prince's team had the ball. He threw it long down the field towards the other team's goal. I cheered as The Prince caught it, turning his horse for the goal. Then, suddenly, Antoine crashed his horse into Leopold. The two of them went flying to the ground in a tangle of limbs as the final buzzer rang.
A gasp rose up from the crowd, no one even seemed to notice the game had finished. Instead, all eyes were on the Prince and Antoine.
"Oh no," I heard Princess Lupa mumble. She leaned forward in her chair. "Please, Lo. Don't do anything stupid."
It was nearly impossible to see anything with all the horses running around. I could hear shouting though.
The ref sprinted across the field and blew his whistle twice. Horses began to clear and a man in white with a first aid kit started jogging towards the impact site. Farrow sprinted past him, disappearing into the chaos.
A moment later, Antoine pushed through the circle of players that had surrounded them, walking to the far side of the field.
Then came Leopold.
My breath caught in my throat. The front of his light grey shirt was covered in blood.
The medic was on one side of him, desperately trying to hand the Prince gauze. Farrow held out his hand, blocking the medic from getting any closer.
The pair crossed the field towards the Royal tent. As they grew closer, I could see she scowl on the Prince's face. The blood on his mouth. Frustration, in the way he rolled his shoulders.
The Royal Family all sat and waited, calm as ever. Like nothing unusual had happened.
"Are you okay?" I asked as they arrived at the tent. I hopped up from my seat. "Here, sit down."
"I'm fine," the Prince said.
At the same time, Farrow said, in English. "Sit."
To my surprise, Leopold listened.
Mr. Arsenault appeared and dropped a black bag at Farrow's feet.
The Prince switched to French, though he was clearly still trying to refuse any help.
Farrow ignored him as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and then gently lay his fingers on the Prince's nose.
Princes Leopold hissed.
"Is it broken?" I heard Henri ask.
"No," Farrow decided. "He'll be fine."
"That was a dirty move," Princess Lupa said.
Prince Leopold grumbled back in French.
"Huh?" I asked, still slightly alarmed by the amount of blood for a non-broken nose.
"Antoine threw himself at Leopold," the Princess explained. "It's an illegal move."
"Shouldn't he get, like, fowled for that or something?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. The clock ran out. It's a tie."
"The picture will be soon," Queen Charlotte said. "You should get changed, Leopold."
Leopold shook his head. "I can't go down there now. I have a spare in the car."
The Prince pushed himself up from the chair.
"I can get it," I told him.
"No, I need to move," Leopold said. Then something softened in his expression. "You can come, if you like."
I nodded.
Prince Leopold let Farrow finish cleaning off the blood, then the four of us, including Mr. Arsenault made our way back through the clubhouse.
The photographers were still posted outfront, and began snapping pictures of us and Leopold's blood covered shirt.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked quietly, as we arrived at the car.
Farrow and Mr. Arsenault was injured a few meters away, making a barrier between us and the photographers.
"Fine," he said again. Then "Come closer, I have an idea."
Clearly he couldn't be too badly injured if he was thinking of doing something for the press now.
Leopold popped open the trunk of the SUV and patted the inside. I hopped up, sitting in the trunk space.
Leopold grabbed his duffle bag and rooted around on the inside.
"I am going to take my shirt off," he said. "Try not to look too impressed."
I was about to laugh, or make a comment about how narcissistic he was, but it was too late.
Leopold pulled his shirt over his head, and I lost the ability to speak.
My gaze ran over his perfect tanned torso, admiring the dips and ripples of his abs. The strong, deep, v-line between his hips.
"That's ridiculous," I told him.
Leopold smiled. "I warned you."
I tore my gaze off him. Forced myself to look at his face. "Nothing I haven't seen before."
Leopold's eyebrows shot up, his grin growing bigger. "If you say so. Now stop checking me out and look innocent for the cameras."