Page 15 of The Curse Between Us

Chapter Five

It took surprisingly little time to plan the wedding, which, on the surface, seemed like a monumental task. The urgency of the alliance and the pressure from both sides to cement the union quickly left little room for ceremony. Of course, Edric and Zephyr had good reason to want the marriage made official as swiftly as possible—it would solidify the peace they were striving to build and send a powerful message to both their peoples. Yet, despite the necessity of it, Zephyr couldn’t help but feel that there was something missing. A part of him wished they had more time to let the whole affair settle in, to allow the event to feel more momentous, more... real.

But there was no point in indulging such thoughts. The marriage, after all, was a union of convenience—nothing more than a carefully calculated political maneuver. It would serve both their kingdoms well, and that, as far as Zephyr was concerned, was the only truth that mattered. The sooner he and Edric were wed, the sooner Zephyr could return to Eskarven and take up his rightful place on the throne. It was a practical, even necessary step.

At least he could take solace in knowing that Pierce had matters well under control in Eskarven. The letter Herbert had helped draft had been reviewed, revised, and sent off with a messenger from the temple, guaranteeing their safety in enemy territory. A few days later, they received a reply, sealed with Pierce’s personal crest, and the contents offered a measure ofreassurance. Pierce was delighted to hear Zephyr was safe and would stand as regent until his return. The letter made no mention of the political climate at the Eskarven court, which made Zephyr uneasy. It was the sort of omission that sent a chill down his spine. Yet, despite his concerns, there was little he could do but wait. Soon, messengers might be able to pass more freely over the mountains, and perhaps then they could establish a more regular correspondence.

Just a few days ago, the thought of such free passage had seemed like an impossible dream. The thought of communicating openly with his homeland, without fear of interception, without the looming threat of death for betraying the fragile peace—such things had been unimaginable. But now, as strange as it felt, Zephyr was beginning to believe that he and Edric were on the right path. The alliance, though it came with its difficulties, would bring lasting peace. It would change everything for both kingdoms.

Still, not everyone shared his optimism.

In the immediate aftermath of Zephyr’s appearance at the temple, an emergency council session had been convened. He and Edric had sat together at the large table in the council chamber, perched on the highest level of the castle, and listened as one speaker after another voiced their objections. Their arguments all boiled down to the same point: the alliance was unnecessary, even dangerous. The only real argument against it, however, was the weight of tradition. It was this, rather than any valid objections, that seemed to irk the council members.

Edric had been patient as always, listening with an air of diplomacy and grace. When the last speech ended, he simply raised an eyebrow and said, “I have respect for our traditions, of course. But I have more respect for our people, both present and future.”

Those words hung in the air, and the council fell silent. The sharp objections turned to reluctant muttering, the passionate pleas fading into mere suspicion. A number of glances were thrown Zephyr’s way, laden with distrust, but it was too late. The argument was won, if not by reason, then by sheer force of conviction.

Once the session had ended, and the council members had retired, leaving only Edric, Zephyr, Herbert, and Alec in the chamber, Herbert had shaken his head sharply. “It isn’t peace they are opposed to. It is peace that puts us on equal standing with Eskarven.”

Zephyr had winced at the harshness of Herbert’s words, but he couldn’t deny their truth. If Rafria had emerged victorious in battle, as they had during the great war with Abyss, the council members would have been far more willing to speak of peace, but only if it meant Eskarven’s subjugation. That, it seemed, was what they truly wanted—dominance, not equality.

“They will have to learn to live with their disappointment,” Edric had replied firmly, and that had been the end of it.

Now, three days before the ceremony, Zephyr was being fitted for the garments he would wear on his wedding day. It was a strangely intimate process, one that both unnerved and amused him.

The Mistress of the Wardrobe, a cheerful woman named Skye, immediately put Zephyr at ease with her warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Zephyr,” she said, dipping into a deep curtsey. “Oh, such wonderful coloring you have! You will be a delight to dress.”

Zephyr returned the bow and offered her his most charming smile, though his mind was elsewhere. He understood the necessity of having new finery for the wedding, but there was one serious problem with the whole affair: the act ofbeing measured and touched by another person could prove disastrous.

Zephyr took a breath, trying to keep his voice casual as he leaned in slightly, lowering it to a confidential tone. “Thank you,” he said, keeping his smile in place, “but there’s one thing I must mention before we begin.”

Skye’s expression shifted to one of interest. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

Zephyr’s tone became conspiratorial as he spoke, hoping the request would sound as reasonable as possible. “You see, we have a custom in Eskarven that once a person is betrothed, they must not be touched with bare hands until the wedding night.” He allowed himself a slight hesitation, hoping to sell the notion. “It’s important, and I wouldn’t want to make your work difficult, but... do you have gloves you might wear while we work? And, if possible, incorporate them into the ceremonial garments as well?”

Skye blinked in surprise but nodded eagerly. “What a fascinating custom! We truly know so little about each other, don’t we?”

Zephyr smiled, though he couldn’t help but feel that the lack of knowledge worked in his favor. With any luck, no one would question the strange custom once the ceremony was underway. How he and Edric would explain their reluctance to touch after the marriage itself was another matter entirely, but that was a problem for another day. For now, he had a more immediate concern: the fitting.

Skye darted across the room, rummaging through a chest of drawers before emerging with a pair of soft, satin gloves and a triumphant smile. “Will this do?”

Zephyr felt an immense wave of relief. “Perfectly,” he replied, inwardly sighing as he accepted the gloves. He had beendreading the thought of inadvertently causing her pain, but this was one obstacle that had been easily avoided.

She circled him, her eyes narrowing with concentration as she took in his form. “You have a good figure,” she said approvingly. “You and the king are nearly the same height. A pleasing match, I think. But for the wedding, we’ll need contrast, not similarity.”

Zephyr tilted his head, curious.

Her eyes swept over him thoughtfully. “Your people,” she said, tapping a gloved finger against her chin, “you don’t wear many colors, do you?”

“No,” Zephyr replied. “Grey, silver, white, black, and blue, mostly.”

“Ah, yes,” Skye said, her gaze now appraising in a professional, almost clinical manner. “It’s a lovely palette, but we’ll need something to make you stand out.”

She moved to her desk, picking up a piece of parchment and sketching quickly. Zephyr waited, silently admiring her focused energy, but not daring to interrupt her process. After a few moments, she let out a satisfied sigh and turned the sketch toward him.

“Black leather for the trousers,” she explained, tapping the page with her pen. “Tight.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a wink. “You have excellent thighs, Your Highness, if I may say so myself. In a purely professional capacity.”

Startled into laughter, Zephyr drew closer to the mirror, inspecting the ensemble Skye had laid out for him. The trousers were a deep, glossy black leather, tucked neatly into high boots adorned with rows of buttons that ran down their sides, giving them an almost military precision. The style was sleek, undeniably regal, yet practical enough to convey the strength and determination of their purpose. Zephyr couldn’t help but imagine how these garments would feel when he finallystood before the crowd, making his vows to Edric. It was a fitting representation of his journey—one that was both deeply personal and yet entirely political.

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