Page 10 of The Curse Between Us

Marriage. He had never given much thought to it before. He had always assumed it would happen eventually, as all things did, but it had never been a priority. His lovers, when he had them, had always been temporary, passing pleasures that never demanded more of him than he was willing to give. Love had never been a part of the equation. But now, as he stood here, surrounded by the ancient weight of history and religion, he wondered what this marriage would truly mean. It was supposed to be a strategic partnership, a union of two kingdoms. But there was something...different about it. He wondered, too, if he would ever feel what others called love.

And then there was the physical aspect. His thoughts shifted to Edric, and he found himself wondering how their union would manifest, if they could even touch one another. Zephyr looked down at his hands, his fingers flexing slightly as he thought of the strange sensation that had flared through him when Edric had brushed against him. He had heard that the touch of a Rafrian burned, but he had never understood the true depth of it, not until he experienced it for himself. He would have to ask someone—perhaps a priest or priestess—if they knew more about the phenomenon, if there was a way to navigate it.

Before he could go in search of an attendant to inquire, a loud noise echoed through the air, cutting sharply through the tranquility of the temple. The sound was heavy, deep, a strange tolling of a bell unlike any Zephyr had ever heard before. The other worshippers all looked up in alarm, their prayers momentarily interrupted by the deep, resonating sound that seemed to reverberate through the very stones of the temple.

Victor cursed, his voice rising above the clamor of the bells. “What is it?” Zephyr asked, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

Victor, his face grim, shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, with a swift motion, he reachedinto the pocket of his scarlet tunic and pulled out a thin strip of black fabric, tying it solemnly around his upper arm. The gesture sent a chill through Zephyr’s bones.

“The king is dead,” Victor said quietly, his voice tinged with a heaviness that carried the weight of generations. “Long live the king.”

Chapter Four

Edric stood with his elbows resting on the thick stone wall, gazing out at the horizon where the sun was sinking behind the low hills to the west. The fading light turned the sky into a canvas of glorious reds and oranges, the flames of dusk burning as though the land itself was offering a tribute to the king whose reign had ended today. It was a fitting, almost poetic gesture—one that felt like a final salute, not just from the earth, but from the very soul of the kingdom. Yet, despite the grandeur of the moment, a hollow ache settled in Edric’s chest as he processed the reality of it all. His father was gone.

He could scarcely believe it. After Eileen had brought him back to the king’s chambers, Edric had watched his father—Caldwell—struggle through hours of labored breaths, growing colder, paler, the light of life slowly dimming from his eyes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the breath that once passed from his lungs to his lips had stopped, the king’s body going still, the room growing quiet. It had been almost peaceful, an ending that was as serene as it was unexpected. Caldwell had always been such a vibrant, temperamental, and combative man—this slow, silent departure seemed almost out of place.

Alec, who had been by Edric’s side through much of the ordeal, had placed a steady hand on his shoulder, tightening it in a brief, reassuring gesture before giving him the proper salute—a soldier to a king. Edric had blinked, swallowed hard, and returned the salute with the appropriate gesture, thoughhis throat had tightened, making the movement feel awkward, forced. Alec had left almost immediately after, off to begin the complicated work of arranging both a royal funeral and a coronation, as well as a rather unexpected wedding.

The weight of it all should have been overwhelming, but for the moment, at least, Edric was granted an unusual respite. Respect for his grief kept him from having immediate duties to perform—no more decisions to be made, no more immediate matters to address. So, he had sought solitude atop the castle walls to watch the sun dip below the horizon, to reflect on the day’s events, and to sort through the chaos in his mind.

But despite everything, he didn’t feel any different. He thought that perhaps the true weight of it would come during the coronation, when the golden crown would be placed upon his head and the mantle of kingship would finally settle onto his shoulders. Or maybe, he wondered, it was just denial. Maybe he was still waiting for the sound of his father’s voice to echo down the halls, calling for soldiers to prepare for battle, for the next great war. The thought seemed so foreign now, yet in his mind it lingered, refusing to leave him. He felt nothing—no sadness, no grief, no overwhelming sense of loss. Not yet, anyway. He would have to process it all first, accept it, before any of those feelings would come.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and Edric glanced down, spotting a familiar figure climbing the stone steps toward him, lantern in hand. He didn’t call out a greeting; he simply stayed where he was, his gaze still fixed on the darkening sky, waiting for Marsh to join him.

When Marsh reached his side, he hung the lantern from a hook on the nearby wall and mimicked Edric’s stance, his elbows resting on the same thick stone. They stood there in companionable silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, the only sound the distant rustle of wind and the faintclink of the lantern chain. The world around them gradually darkened, the sky turning from red to deep purple, and then to black, with only the dim glow of the lantern to illuminate their faces.

Finally, Edric broke the silence. “I keep wondering if things might have been different,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur. “If I had been on the field today. If I could have reached my father in time, or if I would have died in his place.”

Marsh considered his words carefully before shaking his head slowly. “Maybe,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But different is not always better.”

Edric let out a long breath, letting his shoulders sag slightly as he slumped forward against the wall. “I’m afraid I’m not ready for this, Marsh. Not for this weight. Not for any of it.”

A heavy hand, warm and solid, settled on Edric’s back, and he allowed himself to lean into it, the familiarity of the gesture grounding him in the moment. Marsh’s presence was a constant, a steady rock in the turbulent sea of his emotions. “You are ready,” Marsh said with quiet assurance. “Your father—he had his qualities, yes. But you’re a better man than he was, Edric. And you’ll be a better king.”

The words were kind, but they did little to ease the uncertainty gnawing at Edric’s gut. He leaned further into Marsh’s touch, feeling the weight of it anchor him. “Do you truly believe that?”

“I do,” Marsh replied firmly. “Edric, you’ve been trained for this since you were a boy. You understand what’s important. You care about the people—more than just about war and revenge. Your father...” Marsh paused, letting the words settle before continuing. “He lost sight of that. Ever since your mother’s death, he became obsessed with the war, with vengeance. And look where it led him.”

Edric flinched at the harshness of Marsh’s words, though he knew deep down they were true. He had been only ten years old when his mother, Queen Meredith, had died—caught by a chill from a wind that had swept down from the mountains. His father, consumed by rage and grief, had blamed the Eskarvens for her death, even though it had been a cruel twist of fate rather than any malice from across the border. From that moment onward, Caldwell had been blinded by his hatred, the war consuming him completely. And Edric and his brother, left without proper guidance, had been forced to navigate their lives with a father absent both physically and emotionally.

“We’ve arranged a treaty,” Edric said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “With the soon-to-be king of Eskarven. He’s here, in the castle now. Alec and Herbert are drawing up the plan.”

“A treaty?” Marsh repeated slowly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “A... peace treaty?”

Edric nodded. “Yes, a peace treaty. An end to the war.”

Marsh was silent for a long while, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, considering what Edric had just said. “At what cost?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Edric swallowed hard. He had known that Marsh wouldn’t be fooled by any of the surface details. He could feel the weight of his friend’s gaze on him, knowing that it wasn’t just the treaty that Marsh was concerned about. The marriage, the union between him and Zephyr, would be the true cost of the peace. He stepped back from Marsh, pulling away from the comforting weight of his hand, and straightened his shoulders, forcing himself to meet Marsh’s eyes.

“A marriage,” he said quietly. “Between Prince Zephyr and myself.”

Marsh exhaled slowly, absorbing the information with an expression that Edric couldn’t quite read. “What is he like?The prince, I mean. I’ve seen him on the battlefield, but that’s not enough to know him.”

Edric frowned, surprised by Marsh’s line of questioning. “You’re not...” he hesitated, then spread his hands helplessly. “Marsh, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Marsh asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was no resentment in his eyes, only understanding. “Edric, there were never any promises between us. We might have been happy together, but if you’re worried about hurting my feelings, don’t. I understand.”

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