Before Sunrise (a Nosferatu Xmas story)

Chapter One

Before Sunrise: A Nosferatu Christmas Story

Chapter One

Astor hadn't made it three steps from the classroom door when a hand locked onto his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Come talk a minute," said an unfamiliar voice behind him.

Astor knew who it was before the first word was uttered. It'd been that night's big gossip, it followed him from class to class, dogging him like a needy puppy, only it wasn't half as cute: the prince was looking for him, Astor Gant, a nobody. He'd tried to block out the whispers but they'd only grown louder and turned into taunts: Hey Freakshow, what did your family do to get on the royal radar this time? Are we gonna get to see you strung up in the arena next? I'd order extra BBQ if that happened. I'd throw a party.

Astor tried to bury his head in his books, lose himself in his teachers' lectures, but those words chewed away at him. There was some truth in their teeth. The last thing Astor wanted was to be was looked for by anyone, especially not royalty.

But there was nothing he could do about it either. The consequences for skipping class were too high, and the prince would just come back the next day or the day after that. You couldn't hide in the compound, and you couldn't run. So when the voice and the hand on his shoulder beckoned him, he went. Some folks you didn't say no too, and princes fell high on that list.

He let the eleven-year-old future king steer him away from the busy hallways into less travelled corridors. They were still on the education block, but not the part where the classrooms were. Administration maybe, or somewhere even more remote. The prince stopped at an unmarked door and ushered him through. He closed it behind him before turning on the lights. They were standing in a small storage room; three sides were lined by metal shelving while the final one held two tall cabinets, each sealed with a hefty combination lock.

"Help me move this," the prince ordered, grabbing one side of a large metal shelving unit containing textbooks, dozens of boxes of pencils and other sundry classroom supplies and pulling it towards the door.

Astor gaped at him, wondering if he'd heard right, but followed the instruction nonetheless.

"You can stop looking so scared," the prince said. "What do you think I'm here to do?"

Astor shook his head, refusing make eye contact with the older boy. Whatever this was, he just wanted it to be over.

"I heard your father works in the Alpha crew. Topside runs weekly."

This time Astor nodded. It was a matter of public record, of course, plus the prince suddenly sounded so grown-up and official that it drained a bit of the tension from the room. Astor didn't raise his head fully - deference to royals was still a thing - but far enough to notice that the prince was wearing an identical uniform: school-issue black cargo pants and a grey button-down shirt with his initials monogrammed on the right pocket in black and red stitching above the Argarast family crest. Astor's shirt sported no crest; his family wasn't that important.

"Your father was brought up on charges last year, right? What was it?" Astor was positive the prince was only feigning forgetfulness. There was no way the Keel Argarast would walk into a situation like this not knowing what he wanted. He would be prepared. More than prepared. It's what separated future kings from future public servants like himself, even at this age. "Oh yes, the smuggling of contraband."

Those were big words, but Astor knew what every one of them meant. He wanted to disappear. He imagined toppling the shelves and burying himself in the papers and office equipment. Anything to spare him from having to talk about his father's act of treason, the crime that had almost cost his family everything. He'd been a pariah since the trial, so was his brother. Even though they had nothing to do with their father's actions, they still had to wear the shame right along with him. Worse, nothing had changed. His father continued to bring that topside garbage home after runs, jeopardizing all of them. And it wasn't even for money or anything good, but because he and his little club wanted to study it, learn from it. Astor didn't understand what could be gleaned from the items made by their lunch. More hunting, less thinking, those were words his father would do well to abide by.