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 22 "THE FAMILY DINNER, PT.2
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THE AMBIENCE OF the great hall was more off than a clumsy child trying to colour inside the lines. And, to add to that, each sound of movement or even a breath, seemed to echo back and forth the high ceiling, emphasising the sheer awkwardness we all were feeling. Or at least, I was. I think the other two, Theo and my beloved biological mother, were feeling mostly...anger and sadness all in a welter. I think that was worse than my biting of lips and spinning the silver fork constantly in my hand under the table. It seemed that each of their glares at each other exchanged freshly-sharpened knives that silently and invisibly continuously stabbed them. But then, when the servant delivered us our starter meal, the demeanour on the Queen's face changed, and all it shown was mere sadness. She wasn't angry at us anymore, you could tell that she was just sad, and that actually made me feel sorry for her.
While neither of them moved, I stopped anxiously spinning my fork and placed it down onto the table, only to grab one of the spoons (there was like, three different type of spoons for different type of dishes, but I just grabbed the biggest one) and dug it into the bowl of soup. The clings and clangs from the spoon against porcelain made both of them look my way, and felt them watching as I landed the spoon inside of my mouth and slowly forced myself to swallow. It was the first time in years that I ate soup, since I had the tendency to throw it back up, but I made sure I kept it down this time to show them that I was eating so that it would, maybe, make them eat, too.
I finally got the courage to break the silence. "This is really good," I forced out, pointing my spoon at the soup. "Really, you should try some."
Theo turned away from me, looked at the Queen again for a split second, but grabbed his own spoon and proceeded on taking slow sips. This was good, I thought to myself, nodding secretly. This was progress.
"So, um—" I continued, scrolling rapidly through my empty brain to find a topic that we all could talk about, when finally I got an image of Leslie, and thought of Maugham. "—Um—Maugham's been pretty good so far. The work there is harder than back in Ireland though."
