Chapter Text
A small crab scuttles just past the young boy’s feet, narrowly avoiding the chubby fingers that chase after it. Clay huffs as he misses for the sixth time, crawling after the little creature as it scurries closer and closer towards the edge, weaving its way out of his grasp. His mission, however, is unsuccessful, and he lets out a whine as he watches the crab tumble over the edge of the docks, landing in the ocean with a gentle splash.
He watches it sink down into the water, keeping his eyes trained to it until it disappears from sight. “I’ll catch you next time, just you wait and see.” he whispers to himself, voice bright with youth as he swings his legs over the side, letting them dangle high above the water.
The waves below lap at the shore, carrying with them the secrets of The Great Isle, nestled between the bundles of greenery and shimmering seaglass. Clay can’t help the giggle that bubbles up in his chest at the sight of his own reflection in the water, the ripples making his face look all funny, distorting him completely with every subtle movement. He could probably sit here watching himself for hours, how long has he been here now, anyways?
He watches as a much larger figure appears behind him in the reflection, followed by a familiar, deep sigh. He quickly spins around to find his father standing behind him, looking nothing short of unimpressed. Clay shoots him a cheeky smile, peering up at him with wide eyes.
His father tuts, pulling him up to his feet, “What did we tell you, Clay?” he runs a hand through the young boy’s hair, attempting to tame the matted waves that his mother had spent so long styling earlier that morning. Clay sighs, that tone in his father’s voice never fails to make him feel guilty, “You told me not to stray too far and to keep myself presentable.” he repeats the words his father had said to him merely hours ago, his gaze locked to the floor.
He really couldn’t help it though! He’s barely allowed outside the palace walls and everything out here is just so interesting! Staring out the same windows day in and day out gets boring, especially for a kid, so can they even blame him for wanting to explore? And they should have known that the salty air would’ve messed up his hair, it always does after all, and Clay likes it better this way anyways, he always has.
He doesn't say that though, he keeps quiet and apologises, retucking his cotton blouse into the silly beige shorts his mother had insisted looked nice on him. His father doesn’t look any happier afterwards, placing a sturdy hand over Clay’s shoulder and beginning to lead him back to the main docking area, where Clay was supposed to have been.
“We’ve had people looking all over for you!” his father continues his scolding, his footsteps loud against the dark wooden planks, “You should’ve stayed with your brother, he’s been setting such a good example today.” Clay tries to keep up, but his feeble steps are no match for his father’s demanding strides. He doesn’t say much for the rest of the walk.
During his little escapade, he had completely forgotten why they were on the docks in the first place, but as the grand royal ship comes into view, the excitement all comes rushing back.
“They’re already here?” he exclaims, bouncing ahead and out of his father’s grip. The older man calls after him, “Don’t trip! And you would’ve already known that if you had been here earlier!” Clay doesn’t catch it though, too caught up in the excitement of new people !
He spots his mother and older brother waiting around with some of their guards, the two of them looking poised as ever, and quickly comes tumbling towards them, crashing into the back of his mother’s legs, face first into the flowing fabric of her skirt. “Clay! There you are.” she barely stumbles from the impact, moving straight into reprimanding the young one, already fussing with his hair and collar.
He drowns out her muttering, watching with awe as the new family's belongings are slowly carried off of the ship. He hears his brother scoff at the childlike glee (ironic, considering he’s only a year older than Clay) and in turn, Clay sticks his tongue out at him, earning a huff from his mother.
His father joins them soon after, taking his place by his wife’s side, ruffling his oldest son’s hair lovingly as he passes him, “Aren’t you all excited? I’m sure they’re going to be wonderful.”
The King and Queen have been on the search for their new royal advisors for years now, but only now have they found those that they deem perfect . From the little that Clay has heard about them, it’s a couple who are around his parents' age, both professionally trained and ideal for the position. They also have a son, who (if Clay has done the maths correctly) is his age - and that is what he’s the most excited about.
Whether they actually end up becoming friends or not isn’t something that Clay’s particularly worried about, he’s just excited to see some new faces around the palace. The family have moved over to The Great Isle from The Valley, and are formally moving into the palace to live with the royal family themselves - which is something the previous Kings and Queens have never done before.
It’s exciting! At least Clay thinks so. His brother doesn’t seem nearly half as interested, which Clay doesn’t understand in the slightest. How could you not be excited!?
He grows fidgety as the minutes go on, perking up at the sight of any movement, earning him a few too many nudges from his brother. The seagulls above screech their wretched song, but for once, they don’t capture the youngest’s attention, instead his eyes are glued to the vessel, admiring the way in which the sails dance in the ocean breeze.
He hopes to travel the kingdom via ship one day.
Just as his mind begins to wander, he feels his brother straighten up beside him. Clay shoots him a funny look, receiving a glare in response, “Look!” he nods back towards the ship, speaking through his teeth.
His parents get to them before Clay can, greeting them with warm smiles and polite handshakes. “It’s wonderful to see you again! I hope your journey was comfortable.” Clay recognises the perfectly practiced politeness in his mother’s voice, it’s the tone she uses when she’s trying to impress people, which really she doesn’t need to (she’s the Queen, after all) but she has a thing for first impressions.
“It really is great to see you both again! Let me introduce you to our eldest, the heir to the throne.” Clay blocks out the chatter, choosing to examine each of the newcomers individually instead. The mother seems like a kind woman, a soothing smile on her face as she talks, her accent is rather strong and she’s clearly lived in The Valley for her whole life. Clay wants to ask about it, would she let him ask about it?
The father is a slender man, and from what Clay’s seen so far, he’s not much of a talker. Much like his wife, the man seems to have a calming sort of aura to him, calm and collected, his eyes and hair both dark, reminiscent of the thriving soil that’s found back at his home. He seems nice enough, Clay decides, though he can’t gather much of an opinion yet.
A much smaller figure steps out from behind the father, and instantly Clay perks up. It’s their son!
The young boy looks to be around the same height as Clay himself, but he seems to carry himself with such grace - the kind that Clay’s parents wished their sons had. Clay meets his eye almost instantly, and beams at him without a second thought. The boy smiles back, but it’s barely there. Clay takes it as a win anyways.
The boy looks more like his mother, Clay decides, watching him as he takes his spot beside his father, almost instinctively reaching up to fiddle with the button on the older man’s jacket. He wonders what the boy will be like. Will he like Clay? Or will he prefer his brother? Will the boy even want to become friends with either of them? What room is he staying in? Who is he going to do school with? What will-
“Oh!” Clay’s mother’s familiar voice pulls him back to reality, “And this is our youngest, Clay.” He plasters on a smile, waving a little at the new advisors. They both smile at him and they exchange greetings.
They’re definitely nice , Clay decides.
The father pushes his son forwards a little, ruffling his dark brown hair, “This is our son, George. He’s your age, Prince Clay.”
George waves back at them, holding eye contact with Clay for a moment longer than with everyone else. The young prince beams.
―
Dinner makes it astoundingly clear that both of the parent’s want George to become friends with the heir. It’s almost pitiful to watch.
Clay’s brother isn’t too much of a conversationalist anyways, and from the looks of things, George just really wants to get on with his dinner, but yet, their parents are still trying to make it work. The small talk is awkward, small comments about common interests falling flat, a small joke that Clay’s brother makes barely even earns a chuckle from George.
They seem to all have forgotten that Clay’s sat at the table with them, but at least that makes it easier for him to survey the situation happening before him. It’s mostly the King that’s pushing for the (not so) blossoming friendship between the two boys, and for a moment, Clay lets himself wonder why his father isn’t trying to spark up conversation between him and George. It would make more sense wouldn’t it? Because they’re the same age…
The thought doesn’t linger for long however, as George’s mother’s voice catches his attention from the other side of the table, “George, love, are you feeling alright?” she asks, clearly noticing the lack of responses from her son. George nods quickly, scooping another fork-full of carrots into his mouth. He’s a surprisingly tidy eater, especially compared to Clay. Everything about George just seems tidy .
“What about you, Prince Clay?” The youngest perks up at the sound of his own name, meeting eyes with George’s father, “What are some of the things you like doing?”
Clay smiles, a real one this time, and says “I really like to fight.” excited to be allowed to talk about his interests, “I train with the novice guards sometimes, but I’m too young to do anything properly.” Much to his surprise, George’s father nods, urging him to continue, “I want to be the best warrior in the world one day!” he grins, raising his voice a little without meaning to.
George’s father nods at him once again, and an unexpected laugh comes from the other side of the table. “You’re such a dreamer.” It’s George, a small smile on his face, a chuckle falling from his lips. It’s the longest sentence he’s said all night, and Clay would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself.
“It’s important to have dreams.” Clay finds himself saying, watching as the corners of George’s lips continue to perk upwards, “Even if they might not come true.”
The little moment is shattered as Clay’s father speaks up once more, switching the subject to something else, though Clay doesn’t tune in, still puffed up with pride about being the first one to make George properly laugh.
The rest of dinner continues without any hiccups, and they all happily finish up their food. As the maids file in to take away their dishes, Clay’s mother pipes up, politely dabbing at her lips with a napkin, “Darling, why don’t you lead George to his bedroom? It’s at the very end of the corridor on the right on the third floor, you can’t miss it.”
For a moment, Clay thinks that she’s talking to him, but as he looks up to meet her eye, he quickly realises that her focus is elsewhere. His own bedroom is right down that corridor, wouldn’t it make more sense for him to take George up there? His brother’s bedroom is on the second floor, for crying out loud, may as well save him the walk…
Clay keeps quiet though, watching as George and his brother make their way out of the dining hall, waiting to be excused from the table himself.
“I do hope that they get along.” The King says, and it really seems that they’ve forgotten that Clay’s there… “The heir really needs a friend who’s around his age.” George’s mother chuckles quietly, “That boy always comes across rather cold at first, he warms up eventually though, I promise.” They all laugh quietly among themselves, and Clay just lets himself listen in.
“George is rather princely, isn’t he? My sons could do with taking a few lessons from him.” Clay’s mother says, a smile in her voice as she watches the two boy’s backs retreat down the hallway. “He’s always been like that, we wanted to put him into ballet to put that grace into use, but you should’ve heard the ruckus that caused!” The adults all laugh, and Clay begins to grow impatient.
“For a boy so proper, he can have quite the attitude.” George’s father tuts, though it sounds more fond than anything. “Oh, I’m sure he can’t be anything bad, every child has their moments.”
Clay finally coughs from across the table, catching his mother’s attention at last. “Oh, Clay!” she says, seemingly surprised, “You’re excused. Oh, I’m so sorry, please get yourself ready for bed.”
He barely says goodbye before heading off to his bedroom.
―
George’s brattiness is put up for display only a day after he’s officially moved into the palace.
Despite the age difference, the King had arranged for George and Clay’s older brother to be schooled together, apparently still adamant that somehow they’d become friends… Clay’s disappointed, sure, but he isn’t going to argue with his father. Especially considering the fact that he’ll likely be in his brother’s favour either way, whether Clay puts up a good argument or not.
He’s been staring at the pages of his textbook for what feels like centuries now, his teacher’s voice droning on and on to the point where Clay isn’t even registering the words anymore. Most of his school days go on like this, a flurry of words, equations and useless facts that all kind of blur into one.
If his test scores are anything to go by, it’s easy to assume that Clay’s just not particularly academically smart. At least, that’s what his parents always nag at him about.
It’s a repetitive cycle. He arrives at his personal classroom for 9AM, seats himself down at the familiar rounded table, waits for his teacher to arrive, and then he zones out for the next few hours. In all honesty, Clay could be one of the smartest kids on the Great Isle, he just doesn’t try . It’s not like he really sees the need to anyways.
His teacher’s been talking about some old book for probably about 25 minutes now, but the words on the page don’t even look like words anymore and Clay hasn’t retained a single piece of information that’s been spouted at him. “How do you think the characters are feeling at this point in the story?”
Clay blinks up at the older man with wide eyes, his mouth gaping as he tries to conjure up enough nonsense that’ll make him seem like he’s been paying at least the slightest bit of attention. Just as his teacher’s about to begin his scolding, the classroom door comes flying open, demanding their attention.
The small boy that stumbles through doesn’t look nearly strong enough to force a door open with such impact, but he certainly does look scarily angry. Well… As scary as an eight year old can look.
“Oh, Sir George…” His teacher’s voice is laced with surprise, his eyes following the young boy as he slumps down on the spare chair next to Clay, “What’s happened, love? I don’t believe you’re supposed to be in here? Aren’t you being taught alongside the heir?”
George huffs from beside him, sinking further down on the wooden seat, a grumpy pout on his face, “I didn’t like it.” he says simply, which only seems to confuse the older man further.
“Oh.” Clay watches as his usually composed teacher stumbles over his words, “Well, you’re welcome to stay here with us for the time being. We’ve been reading through this book, but it seems we’ll have to start again anyways because someone- ” Clay gives a sheepish smile “hasn’t been listening.”
George perks up a little, leaning over to inspect the book that lay forgotten in front of Clay, “Aren’t you supposed to be following along, Dreamy?” he says, and the nickname catches Clay off guard, to say the least.
“What did you call me?” he asks, ignoring the question, but George only stares at him blankly for a second before returning to examining the dusty pages. He doesn’t push any further, choosing to instead watch as George’s fingers trail along the printed words, the words that Clay hadn’t even made an attempt at reading.
“George, while you're here, would you like to read aloud for us? Considering that you seem to be able to keep Prince Clay’s interest far better than I can.”
George smiles, albeit hesitantly, but it’s a smile nonetheless, tucking his feet under himself as he gets comfortable in the chair, flipping back through the pages once more.
Dream huffs, unsatisfied with the lack of communication and quickly pipes up, “Why didn’t you like it?” George raises an eyebrow up at him, and Clay makes a mental note to learn how to do that (it looks pretty cool), “School with my brother. Why didn’t you like it?” he explains, shuffling in his seat.
George shrugs, not seeming particularly interested in the conversation, but he’s responded more to Clay in these past five minutes than he did to his brother for the entirety of dinner the night before, so surely that must mean something, right? “He was being really condescending.”
Clay blinks at him, expression blank, earning a sigh from the other boy. “It means that he was acting like he was better than me.”
A pleased hum catches their attention, their eyes flickering up to catch the teachers pleasantly surprised expression. “You’re rather clever, aren’t you, George?” he says, tapping his pen absently on the side of the table.
George shakes his head bashfully, shifting his focus back onto the story, “Thank you.” There’s a beat of silence as George clears his throat, beginning to read. His voice is clear and he doesn’t stumble over his words even once (something that Clay’s parents always lecture him about) and for the first time, Clay finds himself actually listening.
George asks to be permanently taught alongside the younger of the princes the very next day.
―
Much to Clay’s disappointment, him and George still don’t become friends right away.
George seems almost reclusive, ‘cold’ much like his mother had said that first night at dinner, but that doesn’t deter Clay in the slightest. If anything, it gives him more of a reason to try and befriend the icy boy. Perhaps it’s just his competitive nature shining through…
George is definitely nicer to him though, nicer to him than he is to his brother, that’s for certain, which Clay isn’t used to in the slightest. No one’s ever preferred Clay over his brother before…
No one’s ever chosen Clay over his brother before…
It’s been about three months since George and his family settled into the palace, and looking back, not too much has changed. The only really new thing that’s happened is that Clay and George have been forced to attend the ‘Gentry Children’s Choir’, a fact that neither of them are particularly happy with.
The choir is mostly made up of a bunch of snobby kids with raging superiority complexes, and really, the two boys find themselves enjoying laughing at the entitled bunch. It’s clear that neither of them have much of an interest in actually doing any singing, so they spend most of their time just lingering in the back, hoping that the choirmaster doesn’t pick up on their slacking.
Unfortunately, this doesn’t quite go to plan, and they’ve managed to receive one too many warning looks for comfort. The choirmaster certainly doesn’t have the patience to be teaching a bunch of children, but he does have the scare factor… Even George (who seems to be practically unbothered by most things) finds him a little intimidating.
“Everyone, back to your positions!” his voice booms throughout the small church, footsteps echoing as everyone clambers up onto the stage. They’ve been practicing the same four songs for the past month, and both Clay and George have gotten a little bored to say the least.
They take their places in the middle row, squished up against each other, grumbling at the lack of space. Clay shoves George away playfully, earning a yelp from the people on the other side of him, though George doesn’t waste any time shoving him right back, causing the poor kid at the end to topple off of the stands.
The choirmaster's sigh reverberates throughout the hall “Prince Clay. Sir George.” he warns, and George sends one final glare Clay’s way before straightening back up again. “Yeah, Dream. Shush.”
The hall falls silent, and the two boys struggle to keep the smiles off their faces. After all, when you’re supposed to be quiet everything suddenly becomes very funny…
The choirmaster waves his funny little stick and everyone begins to sing, all surprisingly in tune considering their ages. Clay completely misses the first beat, but it’s fine, it’s not like he sings loud enough to actually be heard anyways - he doesn’t even really know the words.
His eyes shift to George for just a split second, catching his exaggerated movements. It’s clear that George doesn’t know the words either (he doesn’t even seem to know the rhythm from the looks of things) and Clay has to hold back a snort as the boy dramatically mouths along with the music.
He looks more like a gaping fish than anything, his mouth contorting into all kinds of shapes, none of which resemble any of the words in the English language. He notices the staring and meets his eye, and Clay can’t hold back the laughter for any longer.
His cackle echoes throughout the church hall, nearly scaring the poor choirmaster half to death. The singing comes to a stop, everyone’s eyes locked on the disruptive duo. George is trying to hold it in, but all it takes is another particularly loud wheeze from Clay and he quickly comes crashing down, his knees buckling with the force of his laughter.
They’re both in hysterics now, oblivious to the annoyed looks they’re getting from their peers, especially the death glare they're receiving from the choirmaster. “Prince Clay, Sir George! How many times must I repeat your names!?” his voice reverberates around the church halls with such force that it could probably smash the stained glass, but it does nothing to stop their little laughing fit, “You’re supposed to be setting a good example; coming from within the palace walls, after all.”
The words fall on deaf ears, which only infuriates the elderly man even further, “Right!” he shouts, “Get out! Both of you, out! Stand outside until you can control yourselves, this is ridiculous!”
They definitely hear him this time…
George pushes Clay towards the steps, doing a horrible job at stifling a laugh, while Clay stumbles forwards and towards the exit, wiping away the tear tracks that have stained his cheeks, still laughing.
They quickly make their way down the nave, crashing into the seating aisles on either side as they make their way out, the grand church door closing with a loud crash behind them. George collapses the second they’re outside, holding his stomach as he lets out another pained laugh. Clay is right there with him, leaning against the wall to keep himself up.
The others can definitely still hear them from inside of the church, but they’re really too giddy to care. “What were you doing in there?” Clay’s voice is strained, cheeks still wet with tears as he forces himself to stand up properly. George lets out one final choked laugh, “Listen, I don’t know the words! I don’t listen to a single thing that old man says!”
Clay finds himself smiling, watching as George scrambles his way up off the ground. For the first time, he really feels like he has a friend.
“Okay, we have to get out of here.” George says as he brushes off the grit from his knees, “There is no way that I am sticking around to listen to him shout at us for 10 minutes straight.”
Clay nods in agreement, “I know a good little hiding place just outside of the palace walls, follow me.” He sets off into a sprint, giggling at the confused yelp from George, hoping that he’s somewhere close behind him.
They weave their way through the cobbled streets, and it turns out that George is much quicker than Clay had expected, quickly catching up to him. If they were racing right now, George would absolutely win, which only makes Clay want to push himself further.
“Where are you taking me, Dreamy?” George calls out, narrowly avoiding bumping into the people roaming the streets. Clay chuckles, “You’ll see!” he shouts back, ignoring the surprised glances from the townspeople. They must recognise him…
He leads them towards the edge of a small wooded area, throwing a smile back at George before pushing away a branch and making his way in. George hesitates for a second, but ends up following him nonetheless.
“How did you find this trail?” George asks, a couple of steps behind Clay, careful not to trip over any of the protruding tree roots. “Just by exploring. I sneak out sometimes when I have nothing to do.”
They’ve slowed to a walk now, both of them panting deeply as they try to catch their breath, cheeks rosy from the heat. “Do your parents not go looking for you?” George asks, and it's clearly an innocent question, but it catches Clay off guard.
“I mean…” he pauses, thinking, “No?” They continue to wind between the trees, pushing the low hanging branches out of their way as they go past. “My parents get worried if I’m out of their sight for more than like, ten minutes.”
George nearly trips behind him, and Clay has to hold back a snort, “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” They finally reach a small clearing, and Clay turns to George with a smile, “And look at that, we’re here.”
Clay leads them out of the woods and onto a rather large hillside. Part of the wall that surrounds the palace is visible towards the top of the hill, overgrown with moss and vines. It’s clear that no one visits this part of The Isle very often…
The hill itself isn’t too steep, littered with patches of daisies and other wildflowers, the grass long overdue for a cut, reaching the young boys’ mid calves. The hillside leads down to what appears to be a hidden beach, it’s tiny and honestly a little sad looking, but it gives a beautiful view of the ocean that surrounds the island.
Clay trudges ahead through the grass, following a little path that he had constructed throughout his visits. George trails behind him, joining him as he collapses down onto a flatter piece of land, stretching his arms far above his head with a yawn.
“Do you have direct access to this place from the palace?” George asks, turning around to examine the small section of the wall, searching for any kind of hidden exit. Clay makes a non-committal sound, “There’s some bushes around here that cover up a piece of the wall that collapsed years and years ago. No one seems to have noticed it yet, so I’m using it to my advantage while I can.”
George hums in response, lying down on his back next to Clay, squinting as his eyes adjust to the bright sky above.
“This is really nice, Dream…”