A Sprinkle of Stardust

Chapter 8 - Unrest

"Nash, get up! You're going to be late." His grandmother's voice cut his blissful sleep short. "Nash!"

The shock of the king's sudden awakening pulsed through him. He sat bolt upright. "I'm awake!"

Nash's heart thudded as he scanned his dim bedroom. There was nobody there but himself.

Breathing heavily, he touched a hand to his temple. Pain thudded behind his left eyeball. Where was Benje? Nash could really use one of his headache-healing concoctions right now.

He blinked. How long had he been asleep? He didn't feel rested at all, but that wasn't saying much. His fatigue stalked him through his waking hours and also the ones of sleep.

Nash's eyes fell on the window to his right. Through a space between the closed curtains, he saw that the sunset stained the sky a too-bright orange. Wincing, he reached for the glass of water on his nightstand.

A soothing sip had barely slipped down his parched throat before his apartment door flew open.

Benje flurried into the room. "Great grapes, Nash! I was starting to worry you'd never wake."

"Mother, is that you?" Nash asked.

Nash's joke brought an unexpected twinge of sadness.

Five years after his mother Livh's death, certain things Benje did still reminded Nash of her. Perhaps it was to be expected. Benje had known Nash's mother as well as he did. He and Nash had grown up together.

"Very funny." Scoffing, Benje set to opening the curtains. "Your mother was too soft with you and you know it."

Nash hissed, pulling the dark covers over his head to shield his eyes from the harsh light. "Luckily my grandmother made up for that, didn't she?"

"That she did. It's thanks to her that I let you get away with so much." The last curtain's hooks scraped on the rail as Benje threw it open.

Nash's grandmother Rayn was nothing if not memorable in her severity. Although it had been fifteen years since her death, he still heard her voice in his head, and it still inspired the same terror within him.

Livh had tickled Nash and planted kisses all over his face to wake him up when he was little. She shook him gently when he got older. Rayn, on the other hand, pulled off Nash's covers and commanded him to rise in her sharp, whiplike voice.

Nash's mother had lost patience with him and resorted to the same tactics after she become queen. If she could become so much like Rayn, perhaps it was possible that Rayn had been like her once—bright, lovely and soft?

Nash almost laughed out loud at the idea of his grandmother being anything like her daughter.

Livh was pastel shades, bright flowers and gentle curves. Rayn was dark colors, hard edges and straight lines.

Nash pushed away the preposterous thought and threw the covers off. As he did, he noticed Benje's clothing for the first time.

The other elf wore dark trousers and a tunic belted at his waist. His long blond hair was tied back, covering the tips of his ears as they usually did.

"You look like you're going somewhere nice."

Benje turned from the window to look at Nash, open-mouthed. "You've forgotten. Of course you have. Have you been drinking?"

"Not much."

Benje raised a sceptical eyebrow. His gaze landed on the empty alcohol decanter on the dressing table that hadn't been there the previous evening.