Clay's POV
Clay had made sure to give George plenty of space in the week that followed.
They shared passing glances, Clay's full of hope and longing and George's full of sadness and regret. No words were spoken between them and it ate away at Clay. He longed to talk to George, to help him, to comfort him. But he knew better, fulfilling his promise to give George space before trying again.
He didn't know when enough time was enough. The sixth event was today, the last one was next week. Seven events, one tournament, one winner. Seven was the perfect number, it symbolized luck and completion, so it was only fitting. Not to mention, Clay's birthday was the day of the last event, the day when the winner was announced.
Clay was currently sitting beside his parents, waiting for the event to begin. Wilbur was standing in front of the princes and princesses, instructing them and reiterating the rules. This was one of the only events where the royals were told ahead of time what was going to happen.
The sixth event was simple, if you knew how to ride a horse. The royals had to ride their horses through a trail at whatever speed they'd like. There were a few obstacles, but nothing impossible or extremely difficult. Clay couldn't see the trail from his viewpoint, but he saw the starting line and the finish line.
Wilbur had said that the purpose of the event was to see how well the royals could ride. Apparently, riding a horse was necessary for parades, wars, and simple things like taking a trail ride for fun. Clay thought it was total bullshit, he didn't see a point, especially if there were obstacles.
Clay saw George amongst the royals, clad in a navy blue shirt and black breeches along with dark brown leather boots. His expression was nervous, but he stood tall, waiting to begin. George was standing with Maia, the two seemingly getting closer and closer as the time went on. Clay couldn't help the feeling of jealousy prick in his chest.
Wilbur instructed them to mount their horses and Clay watched as George got on his horse with ease. He gripped the reins, sitting tall on his black mare and waiting for Wilbur. Once the royals were on their horses, Wilbur told them to start.
Several royals galloped off instantly, but George held his mare back a moment, waiting for the path to clear. His eyes met Clay's and he offered a sad smile before urging his horse forward, onto the course.
Clay's heart ached at the small gesture. Even if it was as small as a smile, and a sad one at that, he longed for more. After a week of avoiding George, Clay was desperate for more interaction between them.
Clay's mother clapped beside him, excited for the event. Clay ignored her hushed whispers and watched as George's figure faded into the distance. Wilbur wrote on his scroll and talked with a servant, heading towards the finish line.
It would be a while before anyone would finish, the course was meant to take two hours, but it would depend on the speed at which the royals were riding. Clay turned his head to listen to his parents as they talked.
His mother turned to him and asked, "Clay, why don't you ever wear your crown?"
"It digs into my scalp."
She frowned and touched her crown. "If you wear it often enough, you'll get used to the feeling."
"I don't want to get used to the feeling," Clay muttered.
"Not everything in life is about what you want," his father said.
His mother nodded in agreement, "Wilbur never complains about wearing his crown."
"Well I'm not Wilbur."
"Clay," she said with a frown, "you could at least try to act like him, try to act like a prince."
Clay held in a sigh, used to this after years and years of the same statement over and over again. He said, "I know, Mother, so you've said."
"Don't use that tone with your mother," his father said with narrowed eyes.
His mother shook her head and tutted, "Wilbur wouldn't dare."
Clay stiffened, biting the inside of his cheek as he stood up. He tried to stay calm as he at looked his mother with disappointment, "Wilbur's not your son. I am."
Her eyes widened and his father took in a deep breath. Clay fisted his hands, trying not to let his parent's see him cry, he said, "Why is it always Wilbur? Wilbur this, Wilbur that. It's the same shit every time I talk to you."
"Watch your mouth son," his father snapped.
Clay turned to meet his father's stare. He lifted his chin and replied, "You wouldn't say the same to Wilbur, would you? You're too busy raising him. It's not like he can be king, only I can... so why haven't you treated me the same way?"
His father sighed, "Clay―"
"No," Clay interrupted harshly, "it's too late. You've had twenty-one years, twenty-one fucking years, almost twenty-two now. You don't get to act like a father now."
His father's mouth dropped in shock and his mother was trembling, trying not to cry at his outburst, but Clay didn't feel sorry. He knew for a fact that they made him cry way more than he made them cry.
He looked at his parents coldly, sneering, "I bet you're happy with how I turned out, huh? Well if you wanted me to be like Wilbur, then why didn't you fucking raise me?"
The last sentence tasted foul on Clay's lips, but he didn't take it back, he didn't want to take it back. So he turned and left his parents, snatching the reins of a horse from a guard. He didn't look back as he pushed the horse into a gallop, riding away from the castle.
Clay didn't know where he was going, he just wanted to get away from his parents, away from his life. And who could blame him for wanting to make a scene, to leave an impression on his parents. He steered the obedient horse below him onto the course, eager to take his mind off what he had said.
After a long while of straight galloping, clearing the small jumps and walking through streams, he slowed his horse to a trot. The horse panted heavily below him and he loosened the reins to give her some breathing room. Clay ran a hand through his wind-tossed hair and sighed, greeted by the pleasant smell of the woody forest.
Clay slowed the mare to a walk and they walked quietly, the sunlight peeking through the treetops, dappling the mare's chestnut neck. Her hooves thudded softly on the dirt floor, snapping on twigs and rustling through leaves. After a while of walking he saw a familiar horse ahead of him with a familiar colored shirt. Next to the prince and his horse was another rider, a princess.
Clay's stomach dropped and he stopped his horse, not wanting to alert them of his presence. George and Maia were talking quietly, Clay couldn't hear them. After a minute of them talking, Maia waved to George and urged her horse into a trot, going over the next obstacle, a small bridge over a small river.
"I'll catch up in a moment," George called after her.
But the prince didn't, instead he stopped his mare and dismounted, patting the horse's neck. He tied the horse to a tree and sat down, looking into the water.
Clay didn't know what to do, he didn't want to go back the way he came, but if he went forward, George would see him. He couldn't stray off the path because then George would hear the twigs snap and the bushes rustle. So he walked his horse forward, pretending not to see George.
"Clay?"
He turned to George, faking surprise like he wasn't just stalking him. He exclaimed, "George?!"
George lifted an eyebrow, "What are you doing on the course?"
"I, uh... I kind of ran off after yelling at my parents."
George's face softened, "Oh, do you want to talk about it?"
Clay hesitated, looking between George and the path, he replied, "I can go if you want. I didn't mean to disrupt you."
"Clay," George encouraged gently, "I know it's been a while since we've talked and we kind of left things off... roughly." George cringed and added, "I didn't mean to hurt you, if I did, and I don't plan on hurting you now. You can stay... let's talk."
Clay relaxed at George's calming voice and dismounted the mare he was on, tying her to a tree near George's horse. He approached George uneasily and sat next to him, sitting an arm's length from the prince.
George watched him quietly as Clay crossed his legs and rested his head on his hands. Clay studied the scenery; gently rippling water, tree branches still in the absence of the wind, grass poking into his legs. He swallowed and looked to George before quickly looking away.
"Clay," George breathed, bringing Clay's eyes to him. George's dark eyes were open, sad, wishing as he said, "you can look at me. I'm not going to push you away again."
Clay noted the way his dark eyes seemed to glow, like honey had been added to the brown. They were framed with dark lashes, which brushed gently against George's cheeks when he blinked, casting a sliver of a shadow onto his cheekbones. The curve of them flowed into his jaw, which led to his mouth, but Clay didn't dare let his eyes travel there. He held George's observing gaze and let out a sigh.
"I'm trying to give you space, George," Clay murmured, his voice breaking on a whisper at George's name.
George nodded slightly, having already picked up that fact after a week of no contact. Clay looked away from George's eyes, which only seemed to lure him in, to lull him into a sense of security. The prince's eyes, one of Clay's biggest weaknesses, the way they softened in understanding, crinkled at the corners in a smile, or fill with tears.
"Clay," George insisted softly. "Why won't you look at me?"
Clay closed his eyes and inhaled before whispering, "Because I'm afraid of what I'll see."
George paused and took a deep breath, asking quietly, "What do you mean?"
Clay exhaled, his shoulders sagging. He swallowed, keeping his eyes screwed shut, he whispered, "I know what I want to see, but I never see it. Or if I do, it's there for a moment, then gone before I can even recognize it." Clay paused, continuing after a moment, "I... I'm afraid, George. Afraid I'll see how much you hate me for what I've done, afraid I'll see how much I've hurt you... I'm afraid of seeing what I've done in your eyes."
The words hung in the air, echoing after Clay's confession. He was afraid of all those things. He didn't want to see his reflection in George's eyes because then he'll see how much he hated himself for making George so confused and hurt.
There was a faint rustling of grass as he felt George come closer, Clay's eyes still shut tightly. George rubbed a hand on Clay's knees, a thumb dragging slow circles, comforting Clay. Clay shuddered at the touch, yearning for more.
"I'm afraid to lose you," Clay whispered, his voice breaking, "but I don't even have you."
The finger on his knee stilled. Clay felt a hand on his cheek, wiping away a tear that he hadn't known he shed, and heard George murmur, "Clay, look at me."
Clay took a deep breath and opened his eyes slowly, painfully looking into George's eyes. George stroked a finger over Clay's cheek, brushing over his cheek bone.
George murmured, "Young men's love lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes."
Clay's mouth parted and his eyes widened at the quote, a line from Romeo and Juliet. George meant that he expressed his emotions through his eyes, right? So did that mean what Clay was thinking it meant? George smiled softly as if to say, yes, you heard me. Clay leaned into his hand, grabbing it gently and pressing a kiss to the curve of his palm.
George's eyelashes fluttered, leaning closer to Clay and pressing their foreheads together. Clay's heart quickened and he whispered, "But George... that quote... do you mean it?"
"Yes," George breathed, his breath tickling Clay's mouth, causing Clay to look down briefly before looking back up and internally scolding himself. "Clay," George whispered, "I know we're both afraid of something, but do you think we can work through it... together?"
"Together?"
George nodded, his nose brushing Clay's. Clay dared to look deeper into the prince's eyes, getting lost in a sea of honey and caramel, the hues of browns only bringing Clay closer. George exhaled softly, lifting Clay's chin to brush their lips together. Clay inhaled sharply, his breath hitching as he watched George's eyes slide close, him doing the same.
Clay leaned in, fully pressing their lips together. George's lips melted into his, their mouths moving slowly, cautiously, feeling for each other. Clay reached a hand up and gently grabbed George's shirt, keeping him close as they got to know each other in a new way.
Clay broke away briefly, opening his eyes and murmuring against George's lips, "Is this what you want?"
"Yes," George whispered, his wide eyes were slightly fearful, but they were earnest.
Clay sighed in relief and their mouths reconnected, moving in sync in a deeper kiss, less explorative and more passionate. Clay's hand slid from George's shirt and drifted up, skimming over George's chest, brushing against his collarbone, and resting at the base of George's head, caressing the spot where his fingers met soft hair.
George shivered at the light touch, leaning further into Clay. Clay hummed onto George's mouth, the pleasant feeling of George's lips on his was enough to make him want to stay forever. But after a too-short moment, Clay pulled away, their lips leaving each other and their eyes opening.
Their foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling and eyes lingering and mouths agape. Clay had never kissed someone that intimately before, he had never had this feeling with anyone, it was a good feeling. A feeling that they could have more of if they wanted. And Clay wanted, he wanted George.
They slowly leaned away from each other, George's hand leaving Clay's cheek. George bit his lip, smiling softly, his eyes never leaving Clay's.
Clay smiled back and the two intertwined their fingers, aching for more physical touch after being deprived of each other for a week. Clay pressed a kiss to George's hand, causing the prince to blush and smile wider.
"Well that was nice," Clay said with a grin.
George rolled his eyes. "Nice? That's all you have?"
"How would you describe it?" Clay asked, lifting an eyebrow. He added, "You should know what to say, seeing as you read romance novels more often than I do."
George scoffed, but his smile didn't fade. He licked his lips, thinking for a moment.
"I think I would describe it as... perfect and... long-awaited."
-----------
a/n - LET'S GOOO! finally, am I right?
also, if you look up the quote online, it has a different meaning in context of Romeo and Juliet. in the play, it means that Romeo loves Juliet in terms of just her beauty and sees her through eyes of lust. that's not how I'm intending it to mean in my story.
take it as this, Dream loves George and he's afraid that he won't see that in George's eyes, but George is starting to feel the same, so he wants Dream to look him in the eyes so he can see that. I do NOT mean it in terms of just physical beauty and attraction. it is my story afterall, so I wanted to change that :)
see you tomorrow, ily <3