Clay's POV
It was Clay who woke up first.
His nose was still breathing in George's scent, the soft smell of him deep in Clay's nose, and his arm still wrapped around the prince's frame, holding him protectively.
Clay glanced out the window, seeing that it was just after dawn... meaning the fourth event was that day. He subconsciously pulled George closer, not wanting to make him participate in the tournament. Clay had always disliked being taught about the tradition of the tournament in his childhood lessons and he always resented the way his family viewed themselves.
Clay never held himself as high as them, he didn't see a point. Sure, he was royalty and, yes, his kingdom was the largest and most wealthy, but Clay hated putting himself as more than someone else because a person was a person. No life mattered more than another. So, Clay hated the tournament and how the royals had to compete for someone they didn't know. He didn't like being viewed as a prize... he wasn't, but that was how it felt to him.
And with George now in the equation, things changed. Clay cared for him, deeply, in a new way that he'd never felt. He could feel it in his heart, a steady burn, like a flame that only grew in George's presence. The fire in his heart was fueled by George. By his smile, his quirks, his eyes, and even his laugh, although Clay rarely heard it.
Clay knew this flame was dangerous, he knew it could overwhelm him. He knew the consequences of his heart's wants, but that didn't mean he was willing to let what he felt for George to well away, to dissipate. Clay wanted more and he knew that the fire in him would burn and burn, because he knew what George wanted, and it wasn't him.
This inferno in his heart, in his soul, would grow and grow and there was nothing Clay could do to stop it. He knew what he saw when George looked at him, the prince didn't feel this same. Clay could see it in the prince's eyes, something holding him back, something afraid. George didn't want to be here in Clay's home and Clay understood that. He understood that George wanted to go back to his home, to return to his people, his friends, his family.
Oh how Clay wanted George to stay. His heart ached at the mere thought of George leaving, riding away in his carriage, likely never to be seen again.
But Clay could do nothing about it, so he inhaled the scent of George and closed his eyes, letting the fire in him burn.
Clay pressed a dangerous kiss onto the sleeping prince's soft hair, knowing that it would never be returned, both the kiss and how he felt. He listened to George's quiet breathing, feeling his soft breath tickle his chest. Hands were still wrapped around Clay's middle, fisting in the back of his shirt and holding Clay tight.
Their legs were intertwined, calf against calf, foot against foot, in an intimately close way. Too close for their relationship as... friends? They weren't partners or lovers and they were certainly more than acquaintances, but Clay didn't know how to describe them.
A quote resurfaced in Clay's head and he murmured, too quietly for George to hear, "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite."
Clay's heart squeezed, Romeo and Juliet, his favorite book, had always supplied him with the right quote, but it was different now... now that he knew he couldn't have George.
Clay sighed shakily, his frame shuddering as he lifted his nose from George's hair. The prince in his arms stirred, mumbling and yawning. Clay reflexively loosened his grip on George, but George didn't do the same. George inhaled deeply and hugged Clay tighter.
This movement confused Clay, making him freeze. George wasn't letting go. Hope dwindled in Clay's heart, but that small spark was snuffed out in an instant.
"Where―" George mumbled, then froze.
The hands that were gripping Clay's shirt with such fierceness were loosened and wiggled from around Clay. Clay swallowed and pulled away, knowing that it was what George wanted. George's legs untangled from Clay's and he pulled back, sitting up.
Clay sat up slowly, cautiously reading the prince's facial expressions. George's eyes were wide and still drowsy from sleep, but a hint of fear lingered behind them. Fear, not from Clay, but something else. Something that always seemed to hold George back.
George blinked away the sleep in his eyes and looked around wildly, his messy hair falling across his forehead. He scrambled off Clay's bed, meeting Clay's eyes.
Clay held back his frown and crossed his legs, still sitting on his bed as he muttered, "Good morning, George."
George glanced out the window, his eyes widening further. He swallowed and his gaze darted back to Clay. He quickly looked away and whispered, "I-I'm gonna go... I have to get ready for the event. Uh, yeah, see you around."
Clay's heart was heavy as he watched, without complaint, as George rushed out of his room. He knew George was going to avoid him, again.
Clay sighed and washed up in his bathroom, dousing his face in cold water, but not dousing the fire in his heart.
~
"Good morning princes and princesses!" Wilbur shouted to the royals gathered in front of him, "As you all know, it is time for the fourth event!"
Wilbur droned on, his voice fading from Clay's head as his eyes searched the group for George. He spotted the prince in the back of the group, standing next to a familiar princess, Princess Maia. A twinge of jealousy sparked in Clay's chest.
George didn't meet Clay's stare, instead he pointedly watched Wilbur. George had changed and he looked refreshed, but Clay could tell that he was still wary. His shoulders were tense and his expression was guarded, closed off... again.
Clay saddened instantly, knowing that the chances of George ignoring what happened last night, this morning, were high. He felt his chest get heavy, a familiar weight dragging him down.
"And for today's event," Wilbur said, "you will be hunting... small game, don't worry. Each of you will be given a trained dog..."
Clay's eyebrows furrowed, hunting? How are they supposed to do that? Why are they doing it? Clay looked around at the confused royals. They were unsure, most of them probably never having done the sport before.
Each of the royals were given a bow, arrows, and a hound on a leash and their goal was to hunt as many ground-dwelling animals as they could. It was difficult and not a task meant for royalty.
Wilbur instructed them some more, anger rising in Clay's chest, anger replacing the sadness in him. He watched helplessly as George looked at the large dog beside him, the hound straining at the leash, impatient for the hunt. George hesitantly slung the quiver of arrows over his shoulder along with his bow. The royals were led into the woods and split up, accompanied by a guard, should they face any problems.
Clay walked furiously to Wilbur as the princes and princesses left, holding the dogs by their leashes.
"Wilbur," Clay hissed, "why the fuck is this an event?!"
Wilbur met his glare with an impassive expression, "Mother and Father wanted some more excitement, I hope you understand."
Clay scoffed, mother and father, as if Wilbur could call them that. Clay snapped, "Excitement?! Is this just one big game for everyone? They shouldn't be put through that."
"Relax Clay," Wilbur said evenly, "They don't have to carry the dead animals back, that's the guards' job. And don't worry, the dogs are trained."
"I don't fucking care about the dogs," Clay seethed, "what is the purpose of this event anyways?!"
"Clay, calm down. This event is to test their hunting skills."
"When will they ever need to hunt in their life?! Wilbur, when was the last time you touched a dog, or a bow, or answered a goddamn riddle?"
Wilbur didn't have an answer and Clay muttered, "Exactly, this tournament is messed up and unfair."
Clay grabbed a quiver of arrows and a bow from the rack and headed into the woods, determined to find George.
"Clay, what do you think you're doing?" Wilbur called from behind him.
Clay didn't bother to look back as he responded, "I'm a prince, aren't I? So I'm gonna hunt with the rest of them."
A guard attempted to follow Clay, but Clay glared at him and the guard stopped immediately. Wilbur didn't protest further as Clay walked into the woods, in search of George.
Surprisingly, George had gotten further than Clay had thought in the short head start he had. Clay walked through the woods alone, having not decided to take a dog. He wasn't actually going to hunt, knowing that the game killed would be thrown out and wasted.
He heard a bark and followed its source. Clay strode past a few trees and saw George bending over something, talking with his guard. George's dog was sitting patiently next to him, her tongue lolling out as she panted.
Clay approached and George turned to look at Clay, grinning. Clay paused, taken aback, not having expected to be given that reaction.
George beamed and gestured to the rabbit below him. "I got one!"
A careful smile grew on Clay's face. "Good job, George."
George laughed, a rare sound that immediately made Clays day ten times better. George's guard picked up the rabbit and put it in a large bag. George stood up and put his hands on his hips, clearly proud of himself.
George patted the dog next to him and slung his bow over his shoulder, brushing the hair out of his face. He grinned at Clay again and Clay almost fell to his knees at the feelings running through him. The prince was yet again stroking the embers, fanning the flame, and he had no idea. The thought pained Clay immensely, knowing that George only made Clay yearn for him more through the simplest of actions, just through his laugh.
"Are you hunting?" George asked curiously.
Clay glanced at his bow. "Uh, no. I just wanted to check up on you."
"I'm doing great! This is fun," George said with a smile, "wanna help me?"
Clay grinned slowly. "I'd love to."
Clay was confused at the prince's energetic attitude, a much different person than who George was in the morning, but he took up a pace beside George, the guard following behind and the dog trotting ahead.
They walked in silence, listening to the various bird calls and the gentle wind. Their feet were quiet on the forest floor so they wouldn't scare any game away. Soon enough, the hound's tail went straight and her nose sniffed the ground, huffing quickly.
George perked up, unslinging his bow. He nocked an arrow in the bow and held it lax, waiting for the right time. A bush nearby rustled and the hound paused, waiting for George.
George pulled his bow back and Clay watched him quietly, observing the determination that he rarely saw in the prince. A pheasant darted out of the bush and George's arrow flew, hitting its mark. The dog howled in excitement and raced to fetch the fallen bird.
George laughed, clearly exhilarated and full of adrenaline. Clay, however, was still confused. The hound trotted back, the pheasant hanging from her jaw. The guard put the bird in the bag and continued on with the dog.
Clay paused in his step, making George stop and giving him a confused look.
The prince said, "C'mon Clay! We only have an hour, there's more animals to be hunted."
Clay's eyebrows furrowed, "But George, I... I thought... why are you trying now?"
George's grin faltered and he mumbled, "Oh... yeah."
Just then, the dog walked back over, nuzzling George's hand with her muzzle. George looked down and smiled softly, gently petting the dog's head. Clay couldn't help but smile at the simple action.
"George," Clay said quietly, "if you want to win the tournament, then go ahead... it's up to you."
George bit his lip, not meeting Clay's eyes as he muttered, "I-I don't know what I want... let's just continue on."
So they continued walking through the forest, in an awkward silence this time. There were many more opportunities for George to shoot another wild animal, but the prince didn't make a move to grab his bow.
Clay's heart grew heavy as they walked, his mood dropping just like the hound's, whose tail was drooped at the missed chances. The guard behind them didn't say a word, his presence barely even noticeable.
The hour dragged on and soon they had to head back, as instructed by the guard. The guard led the way back with the hound trotting beside him. Clay and George followed behind quietly.
The two said nothing, barely even acknowledging each other's presence. It was George who changed the dull mood first. Clay was walking, deep in his downcast mood, when he felt a hand grab his own.
It was tentative, the grasp. George's fingers brushed over Clay's palm in a simmering drag as he interlocked their hands. Fingers wove between his own and Clay gasped softly at the contact. His eyes slid to stare at George, confused and curious, but he didn't turn his head, and neither did George.
George squeezed his hand so lightly that the movement was barely detectable, but Clay felt it. He almost stumbled in his step, squeezing George's hand back. He felt, more than saw, George's smile. Clay swallowed, his heart practically beating right out of his chest.
But overriding the feeling of elation, of utter happiness, was confusion. George hunted with such pride, only to stop the possibility of him winning, and now... now the prince was holding Clay's hand. An intimate gesture, usually shared between partners and lovers, but Clay and George weren't either.
So what was George doing?