Page 99 of A King's Oath

“No, no,” he chuckled, hesitant. “Umm… let me show you to his tent. What did you say your name was?”

“Avantika.”

They began to walk down the field, the fresh-cut green grass crunching under their footsteps.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No… but hey, I’m not a groupie. He knows me, I swear.”

The older man laughed, now a little more comfortable. Avantika knew something about groupies and youngsters claiming acquaintance with royals. She was a little far off in the direct line of succession, and hence protected from such incidences. But her cousin, their crown prince, had been harassed quite a few times. She also knew that he was not always innocent.

“Don’t worry, you don’t look like a groupie. And I’ve seen my fair share,” he quipped. “Here, his tent…”

The tent was empty. Samarth’s chair sat empty, his kit open. Avantika ran her eyes through the paraphernalia, jogging hermemory like it was just yesterday — counting them. His mallets were here — arranged by size, knee pads, arm pads and boots absent. Helmet too.

“Is he in the stables?” The older man asked somebody passing by and even before they replied, Avantika knew the answer.

“Swaroop! Bro, check your mallet length!”

“Coming!” The older man, Swaroop, hollered. Then turned back to her — “Avantika, this is Raman, he will take you to the stables. Samarth seems to be somewhere there.”

He nodded at the groom, communicating something with his eyes.

“This way, madam.”

Avantika followed him to the back, the clean scent of the crisp grass and warm Parisian evening now ripening with manure and horses. Once upon a time she had hated this stink with a vengeance. Once upon a time, she had been wary, even scared of horses. And now… it was the best part of her girlhood. The nostalgia of matches watched with Samarth riding his horses up and down the fields, the evenings spent behind the stables in each others’ arms — kissing, trading stories, making plans, the afternoons spent feeding Cherry, Sujan, Bella and Bodhi.

“Kunwar?” Raman called out from the threshold of the stables. “Kunwar?”

“I can go in…”

“No, please wait here. I’ll find him for you.”

Now Avantika knew that silent conversation. She was not to be left alone. Of course. Groupies were one thing, undercover journalists or harassing women quite another. Did Samarthhave many of those? Apparently, he did, if Swaroop’s offhand remark was anything to go by.

“It’s alright, Raman,” Samarth’s heavy voice reverberated before he stepped out from the shadows of the tack room. In his blue and white polo shirt and tight white breeches, pads all strapped as she had guessed, his helmet was held under his arm. His eyes were intense. Not happy to see her.

Avantika took a step back. Did he not like that she had come?

Maybe not. They had met on the plane by chance. He had come to her apartment hoping for dinner and then stayed to take care of her. Then run off the moment it had felt something more than just two friends catching up. Maybe he was right. She shouldn’t have come here.

“I’ll be out there in a minute, Raman.”

As if that conveyed a ‘leave us alone,’ Raman turned on his heels and jogged away. Avantika glanced over her shoulder at his retreating figure, wondering if she too should turn tails and run.

“What are you doing here?”

She whirled, only to find him closer. Still in the shadows of the stables, he was lit well enough with the dappling evening light to give her her first glorious sight of HH Kunwar Samarth Sinh Solanki, the star Polo Champion of not only his Gir Zephyrs but also a Grade I player of the National Indian Men’s Polo Team. She had done her research on her way here in the taxi.

“Ava?” His head bent, his eyes now worried. “Are you sick again?”

“What? No! No. I am fine… I just came here to…”

One dark brow shot up, right alongside the side of his mouth, just like their childhood. Sometimes he had the smuggest butsweetest smile. This one. This particular one. It gave her the confidence, and she stepped up.

Avantika reached for the helmet in his hand and set it on his head. As usual, his head bent lower of its own accord, his hands going behind his back as he stood there like a good boy. Her heart softened into mush as she went on pressing his helmet snugly, then gathered the straps in her fingers and slowly, taking her time, clicked them in place beneath his chin. She ran her fingers up the straps to turn them right and make sure they weren’t biting into his jaw. And the skin — the rough, stubbly skin underneath her nails was so different from the smooth skin she had stroked countless times in this same gesture.

Avantika stepped back before she did something insane. Like kiss him quickly on the mouth in another throwback to those pre-match rituals.

---