Chapter 8: Attempted Murder at the Dinner Table is a Proof of Love
I want to cry. I really want to cry. I want to shove this fork into my brain and die. Why did I open my big mouth just now? I’m dead. Dead dead. I’m a cold corpse on the gutter.
The boy in front of me shows nothing but sheer shock, jaw dropped to the point of letting his fork fall onto his plate. The princess beside him bursts into laughter with her father, while the Queen’s face, previously like an ice statue, transforms into a demonic creature.
I’ve already accepted my fate. Thanks for the brief stay, life, now I’m off to a better place.
An ice thorn crystallizes in mid-air and shoots towards me. I don’t even need to say who conjured it to flay me, do I? I can only close my eyes and pray for any deity to take me away.
Instead of feeling something piercing my chest, I only hear a metallic clink. I run my hand over my flesh. Is everything in place? Really? I open my eyes, encountering a grayish barrier surrounding me, with that ice thorn swirling upwards.
The Duke beside me has his hand extended. One of the rings on his right hand shines intensely.
"Enough," his voice booms like thunder, to the point where the servants tremble. "The boy merely retorted to the prince’s lack of manners. What kind of person asks such a question at the table? It’s obvious he would know, even commoners know."
The table immediately falls silent. The ice thorn disintegrates in the air with a subtle vibration, melting before touching the ground. The barrier around me slowly dissipates, only then do I realize I’ve held my breath for too long.
Is he defending me? Is this serious? Well, that prince deserved it, but it deeply impresses me that someone would want to cover for my mistakes.
The King, who had been laughing heartily until then, leans back on his chair-shaped throne with a sideways glance at the Queen. Is it just me or does this mean he’s on my father’s side? What a mess is this?
I receive an invisible threat through my dear aunt’s frozen expression. She kills me in countless ways with her eyes. Tomorrow I might wake up hanging from the ceiling with a rope around my neck, and it won’t even be me who put it there!
Okay, I need to defuse this situation. Even if the situation is like this, if it drags on any longer, I’ll only gain a target on my back because of everyone else’s irritation. One of the servants pours wine into the glasses, but her hand trembles so much that it slides a bit towards the floor when she fills the glass next to me.