protected - dnf

fourteen

Clay paced back and forth in his enormous room, nervously fidgeting every now and then with his hair, his tunic, and the crown that rested on his head. His room was large enough for him to pace, luckily; well, really, it was large enough for him to do almost anything he wanted. It was four times the size of a normal bedroom, with large windows on the eastern wall, a giant four-poster bed, a large table and desk, and enough room for him to sleep, eat, bathe, study, and nervously pace in all he liked.

There was to be an event tonight, an event that Clay had spent weeks preparing for. Camelot was hosting the kings and councils of every one of the Five Kingdoms. They were to be here, eating, talking, and strategizing, all in the Grand Hall.

Clay had paid enough attention in his history lessons to know that alliances were made and broken in the spaces of hours. And as his father had drilled into his head, he was to be absolutely perfect that night. So it had been etiquette classes, clothes fittings, and civics refreshers for days. He could probably recite the names and stations of every guest who would arrive that evening in his sleep.

Clay didn't care all that much about pomp and performance, or about his social status in the world of nobles. As the Prince, he didn't feel the strong need to jostle for friends who probably only cared about him because of his status. And he found those who enjoyed politics merely for the sake of politics somewhat disturbing. But he did care deeply about his kingdom's wellbeing, and the social politics that happened at these events had a direct impact on Camelot's ability to trade, to feed its citizens, and to defend itself.

For that reason, he felt a nervous apprehension as the dinner grew closer with every passing second. He was to be an ambassador for Camelot tonight, and one wrong word or action could throw his kingdom into jeopardy. He was no longer a child, and would be taken seriously in his father's court; an actor, not a bystander.

Clay felt anxiety start to swirl in his chest as he continued to pace, running his cues in his head over and over. His crown, which he rarely wore, seemed to grow heavier and heavier on his head.

A sudden tap at the window startled him and pulled him out of his anxious spiral. He looked at the short window closest to his bedside until the tap replicated. It was a pebble being thrown against the glass.

Failing to stifle a relieved grin, Clay rushed to open the window only to have another pebble strike him directly in the middle of his forehead.

"OH," George cried below, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, Dream!"

"You idiot," Dream laughed, rubbing his forehead and feeling a swell of relief to see his friend. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"More like trying to make sure you're not already dead," George shout-whispered, shuffling awkwardly on the ground. He was standing in the middle of the small garden that Clay's north-facing window opened up into, looking just as out-of-place as ever. "Where have you been?"

Thinking back, Dream realized guiltily that he had probably dropped off the face of the Earth in George's eyes, having been consumed by preparation for the dinner for the past week and a half, at least. Considering he and George saw each other nearly every day, he didn't blame the other boy for being worried.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you," Dream said, leaning on his elbows in the windowsill. "My father is hosting this enormous dinner tonight, and it's very important. I've been totally consumed with getting ready for it."

"Ah," George said, nodding stiffly. "Explains the crown."

"Oh," Clay said, reaching up to touch it self-consciously. "Yeah."