Philophobia || Dreamnotfound

5

Clay's POV

Clay walked out of his bedroom with an aching headache the next morning.

He'd taken some herbal remedy that the castle healer had given him a large stock of. The medicine hadn't kicked in yet and Clay was in a cranky mood.

After practically hurling his guts into his bedroom's latrine, he was still nauseous. He had made sure to clean up, however, because, you know, he was still the prince.

Clay took a couple turns, heading for the castle courtyard. He rubbed at his temples and clenched his jaw, his head spinning.

He didn't remember much from the previous night, but based off his large hangover, he assumed he had a good time. Clay could faintly recall a face that didn't fit with the scenery of last night's endeavors, but the face didn't last long in his head, fading as soon as he stepped into the courtyard.

His dry eyes were blinded by the sun and he flinched, backing up into the shade. Clay rubbed his eyes and laughed bitterly at himself. This was what comes with drinking, Clay thought with a sigh as he looked around.

The courtyard wasn't too crowded, just the occasional servant and guard and a couple princesses, who were standing by a garden of flowers and peeking at him beneath lowered lashes. Clay smirked and waved, having to lean into a castle pillar to support himself.

The princesses broke into giggles and they talked in excited whispers. Clay grinned and went to approach the group, when he was interrupted by a figure.

A man stepped in front of Clay, and, based on his appearance, he was a prince. The prince was wearing a wide smile, reaching across his lean face. He had a slight fuzz on his chin and his brown hair was so bright in color, that it was practically orange.

"Hey, Prince Clay!"

Clay held back a wince at his cheerful voice, his headache still present, but slowly fading, "And you are...?"

Clay felt bad he didn't remember the prince's name, but the orange haired prince didn't seem deterred, as he continued, "I'm Prince Floris from Bootsford Kingdom, but you can call me Fundy!"

"Hello, Fundy. Are you liking it here so far?" Clay asked with a welcoming smile.

"It's amazing! Your castle is huge and your city is beautiful, I can't imagine living here."

"You can, if you win the tournament."

Fundy's face lit up, "You think I could?! There are so many talented royals competing."

Clay nodded slowly and ran a hand through his hair, feeling relieved that most of his nausea had faded. He replied, "Well, if you try your hardest, you could have a shot."

Truthfully, Clay didn't know Fundy's skill level, but he knew there were several very skilled royals. He didn't know how Fundy compared.

"Thanks!" Fundy exclaimed. "I'm glad to know that I'm wanted here. If you know what I mean. I thought you didn't care who was..."

Fundy's voice rambled off, Clay losing focus as he felt something resurface.

Nobody ever wants me. Clay blinked, surprised at the sudden thought. He could vaguely remember saying that, but he didn't know where. It was unlike him to say something that personal.

"Hey... you okay?" Fundy asked, his eyebrows furrowing at Clay's frozen stance.

Clay looked around, suddenly paranoid, who did I say that to? His stomach churned, maybe he shouldn't have partied last night and gotten drunk with the visiting kingdoms here.