The royal blood of England is dying out, the Crown Prince is suffering from leukaemia and has no chance of surviving. The Queen of England has a big secret, secret of a boy named Aidan Murphy she gave up for adoption 18 years ago. As she realises th...
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THE PRINCE'S BLOOD chapter 01 "MY SAFE HAVEN"
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I OPENED MY mouth, ready to take a sharp breath. Instead, large knuckles collided with my jaw and sent a wave of ringing in and out of my ear. I almost welcomed the piercing pain that travelled everywhere through my body. It was the second time this school year, and we've only been in for two weeks.
If it was up to me, I would run away. I would try to dodge his attacks in a way that I could dive through his legs or something, and scramble away from there like a child or a coward. It's not like I was embarrassed of it, believe me- I would gladly get the fuck out of there. But, as I looked up, all I saw was desperate lust for action plastered on top of twenty-somethings boys and girls that surrounded me, laughing, cheering, recording on their phones or simply standing there; pouting with a uncertainty about whether they should feel sorry for me or hate me. In other words, there was no way out of there. People laid over us like a hoard of sheep and even if there was a kind soul among them that let me pass, Cian's possy would make it their lives' mission to drag me back in there.
"Go on, hit me!" I heard the muffled voice of Cian spit at me. I re-steadied myself back on my feet and brushed back the sweat-soaked hair away from my temples. Probably not the right thing to be doing during a fight, but was it going to make any difference? I would end up laying motionlessly like a splat on a window sill that was once a fly regardless if I made it my highest priority to win the fight.
I managed to take a breath this time, and rose my fists to my chest, hopping slightly from left to right in my spot. When I thought I had the best opening at him, I lunged a fist, aiming at Cian's red and pimpled face. He caught my wrist in mid-flight and twisted it, making me wince in pain.
"You're a joke," he chuckled, his laughter a welter of snorts and coughs from his tobacco-corrupted lungs. After a moment of boasting to his friends about how much a 'little pussy' I was, he turned back to me and forced me down to my knees as he pressed my arm back. I sighed with relief when he let go, but my little flinch of happiness was replaced with a strong kick in my stomach. I recoiled back and collapsed into the wet grass ; an artistic combination of rain and my very own saliva and blood.
