International Relation(ship)s

Chapter 4

Quite unsurprisingly Clay had always thought that the Palace reminded him of the White House. Not in the way one might enter a cosy cottage and feel immediately at a home-away-from-home, in fact, quite the opposite; they shared the same feeling of holding so much history and yet no character at all.. Both felt like parade floats, in the way they were so incredibly lavish and over the top on the outside, to the public eye, but when you step inside it just feels so hollow. Touching down in the UK, meeting the prince, it all made this so much more real to him. This is actually happening... and I've gotta pull it off. He rattled through the list of things he had learned about George as he was led through the remarkable building for reassurance. It was a rather strange quirk that he had had for as long as he could remember, but for some reason, rattling off facts and figures in his head did help to sedate his mind.

Mother? Princess Catherine, oldest daughter of the queen, first princess to obtain a doctorate. Father? Charles Fox, nationally-loved actor, passed in 2015. Age? 23. Best friend? Alastair Blackwell, nicknamed Eret, Heir to the biotech giant Blackwell Pharmaceuticals, met at Eton. Went to Oxford University. No pets, but loves animals...

"...Clayton? Clay?" Zak, who was leading him to his room for the night, dragged him from his thoughts as he continued walking on autopilot. His mind was foggy, the only clarity being the facts he ran over and over like some sort of prayer or chat, and it felt like his legs were a separate entity to his mind, moving on their own.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" He realised the other man had stopped walking, and was standing still in a doorway, a couple metres behind, a true testament to how little he had been paying attention. "I zoned out for a second there!"

"It's no problem at all!" Zak chuckled with a slight smile. "You'll be sleeping in here."

Clay thanked him with a polite smile, turning to his room, so very ready to throw himself on the bed and not move for the next few hours, but he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Clay, can I ask you a favour?" Zak hesitated before speaking, and Clay was very much confused as to where this was going, but of course, agreed enthusiastically. "Would you mind maybe trying to talk to George once or twice outside the- um scheduled activities?"

Clay's face dropped into an expression which practically screamed 'do I have to?'

"Come on, it will make this whole act seem much more genuine, and you know how much trouble he will be in - you both will be in - if we can't pull this off."

"Fine. I'll try my best." Clay sighed, dubious, as he headed into the grandiose bedroom, far too much gold to be considered tasteful by his means, his battered old sports duffel bag full of clothes sitting next to the meticulously made bed.

"You know... the Prince - George - he doesn't exactly- well... he doesn't exactly have many friends." Zak broke the awkward silence with a tentative voice.

"Oh god, I know where this is going-"

"-Clay, from what I've heard, you don't exactly have a massive social life either."

"I don't have time for friends- I don't need friends..." Clay shot back in a rather hilariously pragmatic way, "-wait who told you that?"

"That doesn't matter!" Zak quickly dismissed somewhat defensively, causing Clay to raise an eyebrow and wonder what else someone had told him. "What I was saying was, it doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world for you to actually maybe have a try at this whole 'friends' thing with Prince George."

"You know what, it actually kinda does sound like the worst idea in the world to me-"

"Why do I even bother," Zak muttered under his breath.