Page 11 of The Curse Between Us

“You would have been my co-ruler,” Edric said softly, though the words felt like a weight. “If nothing else, doesn’t that loss affect you?”

“No,” Marsh shrugged, his expression almost philosophical. “I’m a soldier, Edric. Not a king. And now you’re telling me that because of your marriage to the Eskarven prince, I have the chance to be something else—whatever I want to be.” He paused for a moment, his lips tightening. “I just hope you’re not sacrificing too much of your own happiness.”

Edric didn’t know how to respond to that. He had always considered his duty as his first priority—his people, his kingdom, the future he was meant to build. The marriage with Zephyr, while born of necessity, didn’t seem like the kind of sacrifice that would tear him apart. But then again, he didn’t know Zephyr—not truly. He only knew the prince as the enemy, as the heir to the kingdom that had been at war with his own for so long. And yet, something about the idea of the marriage didn’t feel entirely wrong.

“I don’t think I will be sacrificing anything,” Edric said, his voice steady but uncertain. “Not when it means securing the peace. Not when it’s for the future of our people.”

Marsh let out a low, teasing chuckle. “That handsome, is he?”

Edric laughed, the sound surprised but genuine. He shoved Marsh lightly, grateful that his friend wouldn’t be able to see the flush rising in his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” Marsh teased, his tone playful. But then he straightened, his voice taking on a more formal edge. “Your Majesty.”

Biting his lip, Edric shook his head, his thoughts spinning. “Please. Don’t,” he said, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He wasn’t ready for the formalities of kingship—not now, not from anyone, especially not from his best friend. “I’m still Edric. Just—”

“Just more,” Marsh interjected softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. He reached out and gripped Edric’s shoulder, a steady, reassuring touch. This time, Edric did not push him away. He knew the spirit in which the gesture was made—Marsh wasn’t just offering his support, but an unspoken promise that he was there, standing with him, no matter what. And Edric appreciated it more than he could express.

Before he could say anything more, the sound of footsteps echoed up the stone staircase. Edric frowned, wondering who else might be coming up here at such a late hour. The castle’s halls were quiet now, save for the soft rustling of the wind and the faint crackle of the lanterns.

Marsh, ever vigilant, took a step forward, his hand instinctively going to the sword at his hip. His posture shifted, placing himself between Edric and the incoming presence, his body a protective wall. From behind Marsh’s imposing figure, Edric could see nothing but the growing flicker of a lantern’s light.

Then, as if sensing the tension ease, Marsh relaxed, his hand falling away from his weapon. He stepped back slightly, his posture softening. “It’s only Victor,” he said with a hint of amusement. “Did you miss us, Victor?”

Victor, one of their oldest friends, rolled his eyes at Marsh’s teasing but said nothing. His gaze fell on Edric, and he offered a slight nod. “Not precisely,” he replied, his tone dry. “Someone craves an audience with you, Your Highness.”

Edric’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing. He didn’t expect any requests from Alec or his other friends at this hour, especially not with everything that had just transpired.

As if on cue, the shadowy figure behind Victor stepped forward into the light. Edric blinked, his gaze sharpening in surprise. There, standing in the lantern’s glow, was Prince Zephyr. His face was grave, his eyes shadowed with the weight of his own thoughts, yet he offered a small, courteous bow to Edric—a formality that Edric instinctively returned.

“Dismissed,” Edric said with a simple gesture, his voice steady despite the maelstrom of emotions swirling within him. He nodded to Marsh and Victor, signaling for them to leave. “Prince Zephyr and I can surely look after ourselves.”

Marsh, ever perceptive, studied Zephyr for a long moment before speaking, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Ah,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, “this is the Eskarven.” He hesitated, then, with a sudden, impulsive movement, reached out to clap a hand onto Zephyr’s shoulder, his strong fingers landing on the bare skin left exposed by Zephyr’s sleeveless linen shirt.

The moment Marsh’s hand made contact with Zephyr’s shoulder, both men let out anguished gasps of pain. The sound was so sharp that it startled Edric, and before he could react, Victor’s hand was already hovering over the hilt of his sword, his body tensing in an instant.

“Wait,” Edric shouted, stepping forward between Victor and Zephyr. His hands shot out, palms raised, trying to separate them without causing further harm. “Victor. That’s an order.”

Victor looked from Edric to Zephyr, confusion and concern in his eyes. “What did you do to him?” he asked flatly, his voice icy with suspicion.

Zephyr, clutching his shoulder, his face tight with discomfort, managed to speak through gritted teeth. “I did nothing,” he said, the words pained but firm.

Edric’s heart pounded in his chest as he swallowed roughly, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on him. He glanced between Marsh and Victor, who were both still trying to make sense of what had just happened. “We don’t know what it means,” Edric said, his voice low, but urgent. “But it seems that a Rafrian and an Eskarven cannot touch without causing one another pain.”

He watched, holding his breath, as Marsh and Victor processed the implications of his words. Marsh clicked his tongue in what could only be sympathy, while Victor appeared more shocked than anything else. The silence that followed was thick with uncertainty, the weight of Edric’s words hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

Edric took a step back, his voice becoming more commanding. “You must not speak of this,” he implored. “I beg of you.”

Marsh nodded immediately, his expression one of understanding. “You have my word,” he said, his tone steady.

Victor hesitated, his gaze flickering to Zephyr once more, but after a long moment, he, too, nodded, albeit with visible reluctance. “Mine as well,” he said, though the tension in his posture remained.

Marsh turned his attention to Zephyr, his expression softening slightly. “My apologies, Prince Zephyr. I meant you no harm.”

Zephyr gave a small, tight smile. “Nor did I to you,” he replied, his voice low and measured. “I would shake your hand, but—”

Marsh let out a soft chuckle and, instead of a handshake, offered Zephyr a brief, respectful salute. “I like him,” he muttered under his breath, only loud enough for Edric to hear. Then, he turned to leave, his voice returning to its usual teasing tone. “Don’t be up here all night, then.”

Edric waved a dismissive hand at Marsh and clasped his hands behind his back, watching as both Marsh and Victor’s footsteps faded into the distance. The air between him and Zephyr remained charged with unspoken tension. They stood there for a few moments, only a few feet apart, but it felt like an entire world of distance separated them.

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