A Sprinkle of Stardust

Chapter 9 - Actor

After dinner, the guests poured onto the central, uppermost level of the palace that was the theatre for the night. The brightness emanating from the glowing golden balls floating in the air illuminated the area, adding their warmth to the night.

The guests' shoes clicked against the tinted floor that doubled as the ceiling of the ballroom below. Each step hammered an invisible nail deeper into Nash's left temple.

He stared up at the leaves of the trees that came together to obscure the edges of the sky. The moon shone through the glass dome ceiling like a spotlight, but nothing could distract him from the sounds around him.

The fabric of the guests' expensive outfits swished as they moved, dampening but not drowning out the murmurs that rustled between them when they noticed Nash already in his seat in the middle of the front row. Their eyes flitted away when he caught them staring.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. He knew what they were saying, but he also knew that they didn't know enough about him to judge him.

Rumours were rife of Nash setting fairy villages on fire and murdering nixies, and everyone bought those stories without question.

Everyone except Nash because he didn't remember doing any of it.

He must've. The men who carried out the orders reported to him with the familiarity of those who served him. They were bound to secrecy, which was the only reason Nash was still king.

Nobody could prove that he had done these awful things, or he'd be dead already.

People said a curse was to blame for his bloodlust, but it was something else. Something worse.

A sensation ran down the back of Nash's neck like nails scraping against his skin—a warning to stop his thoughts in their tracks and seal his lips so they couldn't slip out of them. He heeded it.

Around him, the laughter and chatter of his guests were too loud, too intrusive.

The only thing that kept Nash from returning to his room and locking himself there for the night was the knowledge that Benje would find him and force him to humour this charade. His reluctance to attend his own birthday festivities and Benje's intervention would only send more tongues wagging.

Nash shouldn't be around people when he was in this mood. If he had his way, he wouldn't be around people at all, but Benje was right.

If Nash didn't keep the most powerful elves in the realm happy, they would overthrow him before he could raise his next glass to his lips. Where would that leave him and Benje?

Nash winced.

The thoughts. There were too many of them.

With a groan, Nash massaged his eyebrow ridge. It soothed his headache but only for a moment. As soon as his hand returned to his side, the persistent pain was back, pulsing at full force.

Nash sighed. His only hope was getting so immersed in the play that he would forget about his migraine.

Rows of chairs curved around the stage. The heavy, black drapes were closed, but feet thudded as the crew rushed about backstage, their shadows flashing in the tiny gap between the bottom of the curtain and the wooden platform they were to perform on.

Nash pulled the long sleeves of his tunic up with a huff. The heat of the night was stifling, or perhaps it was just him. Regardless, it didn't bode well for his headache.

When the last guests passed up into the rooftop theatre and took their seats, Benje sat beside Nash as he did at every event. He was a comforting companion at these occasions where Nash knew nobody else, when his guests terrified him with steady, sometimes hard, sometimes curious glances and pointed questions.