“Working at the restaurant. He and Vara will probably celebrate later,” Emma said.
Vara waved us over. Emma and I strode to her table, where she said, “Hello to the both of you. I hope you’re having a wonderful Shotzanek.”
“We are, but you didn’t call us over for pleasantries,” I pointed out. “You have something on your mind.”
Vara ducked her head. “I do. I would like to write another article forThe Annual Arcanea. About you, Ethan.”
“Me?” I reared back. “Why?”
Vara sucked in a breath. “Look. Elijah and Gabby are more unpopular than ever. The people are searching forsomeone elseto look up to. Perhaps you can put yourself in that position. So many already think you’re a hero. Why not play it up a little? Give them the vigilante story they’ve all been dying for.”
I mused on the idea. Vara wasn’t a part of the revolution, as far as I knew, but she supported the cause. This was her idea of helping.
“What did you have in mind?” I said.
“I was thinking something… controversial,” Vara admitted.
“Enlighten me.” My tone was flat.
I looked to Emma, and she said, “You said we needed to remain in the public eye. Everyone is still curious about your time as the Phantom. Maybe it’s time to give the people what they’re asking for, before they forget about us.”
“What about Elijah? He controls the news media now. He’s not going to let the papers publish something about Ethan,” Emma said.
“It’s a celebrity piece, not a political article,” Vara pointed out. “If the king shuts it down, it makes him look even worse than he already does, and he’s already worried about appearing more insecure than the public has already deemed him.”
I nodded. “Very well. I’m sure you have an angle you want to work, don’t you, Vara?”
Vara smiled. “How comfortable are you wearing your skates—justyour skates?”
An hour later, I was wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. I was naked as the day I was born, standing on the ice wearing nothing more than my prosthetic, my hockey gloves, and my skates. I held my hockey stick awkwardly, still shocked Vara had managed to talk me into this. The idea was that I’d show off my prosthetic just like Emma had showed off her infusion pump, to prove I wasn’t ashamed of it— along with awholelot else.
It was certainly controversial, and would definitely attract the attention of everyone in the kingdom. In Malovia, everyone loved a star athlete, just as much as they loved a scandal. A former prince telling his story of his time spent as a vigilante, with raunchy pictures to match? I’d be the talk of Dolinska the moment the article broke.
“You really don’t mind this?” I called to Emma. She was sitting on the sidelines and grinning.
“Ilikeshowing you off.” Emma giggled. “Shows everyone what they’re missing.”
At least she was happy. I was concerned her first visit back to the rink would make her crumble, but apparently, if it featured me displaying the royal jewels while skating around the ice, Emma was all for it.
I shifted from one blade to the other. I wasn’t particularlyshyabout being nude in front of Vara. I’d been naked before in front of a woman, after all, and I’d gotten over a lot of insecurities about my amputation, but I didn’t want anyone else poking their head in here, either. Strange, seeing as how I’d agreed to plaster pictures of my bare ass all over the front page ofThe Annual Arcanea.Vara had paid off the rink’s administration for a few hours to lock the doors, so we’d have the rink to ourselves. Even so, I was paranoid.
Vara needed to hurry up and take some pictures. I was freezing my cock off out here. Literally.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Just skate around and take some shots,” Vara called as she set up the camera. “I’ll snap some pictures here and there. Try to act natural.”
Like there was anything natural about this. I played around with the puck and shot it in and out of the net, trying not to look at the camera. I heard Emma boo from the sidelines.
“Come on, Ethan. You can do better than that!” Emma cried.
I scowled, and skated faster. I took a few high-powered shots at the goal, and Emma cheered. I found myself loosening up as I practiced, and the vulnerability fell away. I was barely aware of Vara as I sank goal after goal into the empty net.
Vara was professional. She didn’t make any comments or jokes, just studied me, as if trying to figure out what the best angle would be.
“I think I got the perfect shot,” Vara said, and she waved me over. She showed us the camera. The picture she’d snapped was a photo of me about to take a slap shot, standing on my right leg while my prosthetic was raised behind me, my arms drawn back just before I hit the puck. Everything obscene was covered. It nearly looked artistic, like a body composition of an athlete, and not the pornographic picture I’d been imagining.
“It looks good,” Emma agreed. “What do you think, Ethan?”
