Page 38 of The Unlikely Heir
“A glass of ordinary water will be great, thanks.”
She fills a glass with water and hands it to me wordlessly.
“Thank you.”
I retreat, pretty sure her withering stare follows me.
“I think I need to learn to drink tea,” I say in an undertone when I find Amelia, who is standing with Michelle and another member of the board I was introduced to earlier.
“You’ll probably go thirsty in this country if you don’t,” she whispers back.
I take a deep breath and try to join in the conversation Michelle and the woman are having.
Unfortunately, I’m instantly lost because they seem to be having an intense debate about something to do with an oyster. I never knew shellfish could be so contentious.
Michelle glances at me. “What do you think, Prince Callum?”
“I don’t know much about shellfish,” I hedge.
There’s a moment of stunned silence. My face heats because it’s very obvious from their faces that I’ve made a mistake.
“I thought you were talking about oysters,” I say quickly.
“We’re talking about the redesign of the oyster card,” Michelle says.
“What’s an oyster card?”
There’s another moment of dead silence.
“The Oyster card is used for the London public transport system,” Amelia says kindly.
My cheeks heat. “Oh. Right.”
I clutch my glass of water, my fingerprints leaving marks in the condensation.
Will I ever feel like I truly belong here? How can I ever be a proper king when I’m not English?
I take a deep breath. History is littered with foreign kings of England.
There was Cnut the Great—only a letter scramble away from a very unfortunate name—who was a prince of Denmark but crossed the North Sea in 1015. Then came William the First and Henry the Second, both born in France. William the Third was from the Netherlands, and both George the First and Second were born in Germany.
Okay, so maybe none hailed from as far away as America, but they all came from countries with a more fractious history with Britain than America. There’s nothing to prevent me from being an amazing king when it’s my time to inherit the throne.
Amelia seems to pick up on my feelings because she’s moved closer to me.
“Remember, Cleopatra was of Greek descent, and yet she’s remembered as one of Egypt’s greatest queens,” she whispers.
I throw my sister a grateful look, then straighten my shoulders. I can do this.
Amelia and I leave the event together. As part of my attempt to improve my Britishness, I quiz her on contemporary British playwrights, a topic I don’t know much about. I’m so focused on her words that I don’t take care with my footing, so I stumble as we descend the steps outside the museum.
It’s only a little trip, and Amelia catches my arm before I can faceplant. So you know, only a small stumble in the context of the history of great falls.
But it happens in full sight of the assembled press and their snapping cameras.
Which I know makes it a big deal.
Sure enough, when I get back home and, like the masochist I am, check out the headlines, most of the newspapers and social media are abuzz about my fall.
