The Mushroom Prince // DNF

16/Dinner

George paced back and forth across his room for what felt like a lifetime, or at least long enough for a hazy tangerine sun to drop low in the sky, finally breaking through the rain clouds and casting the earth in a warm late spring glow.

On a normal day, it was the sort of thing George would stop to appreciate; the sky painted brilliant shades of red and orange, blades of green grass speckled with drops of dew that shone in the setting sun.

But the day had been anything but normal, and when George finally did stop at his window, it wasn't to enjoy the sunset. It was to look down at the nearby town; the town that had broken apart during his father's reign, the town that waited for him to fit the pieces back together.

His eyes carved a path through the distant streets, a path he had only traveled a few times, but one that would lead him to a house where his life had changed forever. He was too far away to see the candlelight that flickered behind glass window panes, to see the people who moved beyond the walls, the very same people who held the fate of his future in their hands.

He wondered if Clay was inside that house, maybe lost in conversation with Sapnap or delving into details about the master plan with the pink haired man called Techno. Or maybe he wasn't in the house at all. Maybe he had left for some far off land, a place where George's promises of retaliation couldn't reach him.

But whether Clay was near or far, George could clearly picture his wavy blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and overly confident smile that never failed to make his heart beat just a bit faster. It was almost as if he were in the room, arriving at just the right time to comfort George when he needed it most.

George cast one more look over the town, a few tears sliding down his face. He wiped them away quickly with the back of his hand, feeling a bitter sort of resentment towards himself for even allowing his mind to think of Clay.

He wouldn't allow himself to think of him anymore, couldn't allow himself to think of him because it caused more pain than he could handle at the moment.

George silently tried to will his body to carry him back to the throne room, to confess to his father what felt like an ever growing secret. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to make himself do it. His mind kept shifting back to images of his father's face, looking down on him with anger and disgust, and it was enough to keep him rooted to the spot.

He took one final sweeping glance out the window before turning away, feeling a gnawing hunger growing in his stomach. It was just about dinner time, and he knew his family would be sitting down to eat at any moment.

Although he loathed the idea of being in the same room as his father, the presence of his sister and stepmother were sure to provide enough of a buffer to the tension.

He walked over to his dresser and reached for a small handheld mirror that had belonged to his mother. It was gold and had intricate engravings of lilies, his mother's favorite flower, that circled the glass. He held it out in front of himself, a reflection of red rimmed eyes with dark circles peering back at him. He pulled the mirror closer to his face, his hand moving to trace along the newly forming bruise below one of his eyes, the same side of his face where his father's hand had made contact just hours earlier, the area swollen and painful as his fingers ran over it.

With a sigh, he placed the mirror back down, crossing his room and exiting into the hallway.

As he neared the dining hall, he passed by a young maid who flashed him a smile and said, "good evening, Prince George. You're just in time for dinner."

He noticed the way her eyes immediately drifted to his swollen, bruised eye, but he smiled back politely, quietly thanking her as he continued closer to his destination. He paused at the tall arched doorway, inhaling slowly and pushing the door open on the exhale.