Philophobia || Dreamnotfound

17

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."