“There’s nothing to do. She’s a fucking princess, Anderson.”

“Plus, there’s that duke’s son in the picture now,” Kenny adds.

I snap my gaze over to him. “How do you know that?”

Kenny is one of the last people I would expect to follow tabloid gossip. He glances at Anderson and Owens instead of answering me.

“Flores sent it to the team group chat,” Owens informs me.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t get anything.”

“I know—Thompson set up a separate one. We didn’t think you’d want to be included.”

“What? Why?”

Anderson is the one who answers. “Because it’s mostly about her.”

I glance between the three of them, expecting one of them to burst out laughing at any moment and tell me this is some sort of joke. None of them do.

“You’re telling me that the entire Lincoln football team—with the exception of me—is part of a group chat discussing my love life?”

“More like your lack of one, but aside from that…yes.”

I open my mouth, but Anderson keeps talking. “You’re a legend, dude. Even if she wasn’t royalty, and you hadn’t been basically dating her, people would still be curious. She’s literally the hottest—”

“Watch it,” I growl.

Anderson lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, you could really care less, huh? My point is, people talk, and you made it clear it wasn’t a topic you’d discuss. Which only made people talk more. We figured it would be better to stay in it, so we knew what people were saying, at least.”

“And?” I prompt, curious despite myself.

“Lately it’s mostly making fun of the fact her new flame plays polo and rows crew. Before that, there were a few mentions of how you dodged a bullet with the marriage law.”

“What marriage law?” I ignore the mention of Vivienne’s supposed fiancé.

“There’s some old law that means Vivienne has to be married before she can become queen.”

“That can’t be true. She would have told me.” I say the words without thinking them through.

“Told you? When would…” Kenny starts, but Anderson jumps on my unintentional admission first.

“She told you who she really was, didn’t she? Before it came out on campus?”

“Yeah, she did,” I finally admit.

“What did you say when she told you?” Owens asks.

I shift uncomfortably. No way am I telling them the truth about what transpired between us on that trip. “None of your business.”

“Meaning you either did something you regret, or you fucked her,” Anderson interjects. “Or both.”

I glare at him. “Listen. I met a girl, we hung out a few times, she told me she’s royalty, and then everyone found out she’s royalty. She left, I got drafted. That’s all there is to it, okay?” My voice is unyielding. Steely.

None of my friends look convinced, but they all drop the subject. We return to discussing football.

The following morning, I wake up to the sound of chirping birds and a fresh breeze wafting through the vents in the side of my tent. Despite the idyllic surroundings, my muscles are protesting the hard dirt I spent the night lying on. Or rather tossing on, thanks to the unwelcome conversation about Vivienne.