Page 19 of The Curse Between Us

Zephyr placed a hand on his shoulder, offering a comforting touch. “I understand,” he said softly, knowing that Edric was referring not just to the chambers, but to the weight of his past.

They arrived at a door guarded by two unfamiliar soldiers. The guards nodded in respect as Edric approached, and they were ushered inside without question. The room beyond was vast and airy, the high ceilings adorned with intricate tilework, and the gentle breeze from the open windows stirred the sheer curtains. The space felt serene, a far cry from the bustling hall they had just left.

Edric’s voice broke through Zephyr’s reverie. “I hope this is to your liking,” he said, his posture stiff as he clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze avoiding Zephyr’s. “If there’s anything you want changed, just say the word.”

Zephyr shook his head, but his attention was caught by something on the desk. It was a small dagger, its hilt adorned with intricate jewels that gleamed in the dim light. His heart stuttered in his chest as he recognized it, and the memories of the last time he had seen that dagger—pressed to his brother’s throat—came rushing back in a wave of discomfort.

Edric hurried across the room, his eyes darting from the dagger to Zephyr, a look of confusion crossing his face. “What is it?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“That dagger...” Zephyr’s voice was strained, his words failing him for a moment. “It—” He swallowed hard, fighting to regain his composure. Could this really be a cruel joke? A way to remind him of his brother’s death, of the price of their so-called peace?

Edric’s hand hovered over the dagger before he picked it up gently, a wistful look on his face. “It was my mother’s,” he said softly, his voice laced with something akin to reverence. “My father carried it after she died, and when he passed, he left it to me.” His eyes darkened as he spoke, the weight of the memory heavy in his tone. “It was a reminder... a symbol of his grief and the vengeance that fueled him.”

Zephyr’s chest tightened, the air around him thick with the unspoken truths. He remembered the final battle all too clearly—the way King Caldwell had driven himself into battle, his grief propelling him toward that final act. And now, that same dagger was here, in this room with them.

Edric turned to him, his eyes softening as he placed the dagger back on the desk. “I didn’t know it would be here,” he said quietly, his gaze not meeting Zephyr’s. “I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

Zephyr took a deep breath, his voice tight as he finally spoke. “He killed my brother with it,” he said, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. “I wondered why, at the time.”

The room was heavy with silence as Edric looked at him, his face unreadable for a long moment. “We ought to hate each other,” Edric murmured, his words not a question but a statement of fact. “When I was younger, I would have hated you. I would never have agreed to this marriage. I would have seen it as an insult to my mother’s memory.”

Zephyr nodded slowly, understanding that part of Edric’s past—his hatred, his desire for vengeance—was now partof their shared history. “Yes,” he said softly. “But we are here now. And we’ve chosen a different path.”

Edric’s eyes met his then, a flicker of something like hope in them. “And yet,” he said softly, as if to himself. “And yet.”

The moment lingered between them, quiet but heavy. Then, without another word, Edric turned to the door and spoke to the guard. “Take this to the treasury,” he ordered, his voice firm but not unkind. “Thank you.”

Zephyr nodded, his throat tight with emotion. The gesture—removing the dagger, putting it out of sight—spoke volumes. It was a sign of respect, of acknowledging the pain they both carried, and of the growing trust between them.

Edric’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You take the bed,” he said suddenly, his tone brisk as he moved to make up a spot for himself on the chaise. “I’ll sleep here.”

Zephyr frowned, ready to protest, but Edric shook his head firmly. “No, tonight, you sleep there. We’ll talk tomorrow, but tonight, you take the bed.”

A small smile tugged at Zephyr’s lips. “So, you’re to be a commanding husband, are you?” he teased.

Edric’s eyes widened in mock surprise before he laughed, throwing a pillow at Zephyr’s chest. “Keep your pillow,” Zephyr teased back, settling it beside him.

Edric’s grin softened as he lay back, a contented sigh escaping him. “Get some sleep, Zephyr. We’ve done it,” he said quietly, his voice full of satisfaction. “We’ll have peace between our lands.”

Zephyr nodded, the weight of their shared goal settling into his bones. It was true. They had accomplished something monumental. Peace, at least for now, was theirs.

As the room darkened, Zephyr’s mind wandered to Eskarven—the snow-capped peaks, the crisp winds. Soon, hethought. Soon, he would be home. He shut his eyes, the soft rhythm of Edric’s breathing across the room lulling him to sleep.

Chapter Six

Edric spent a restless night on the chaise, waking multiple times to the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the sheer curtains, casting pale, ghostly shadows across the room. Each time he stirred, he needed a few moments to gather himself, to remember why he was there — cramped and uncomfortable — instead of in his wide, warm bed. His body ached from the awkward angles he’d twisted into during the night, muscles protesting with every shift and stretch, the upholstery of the chaise too stiff to offer any true relief.

Because the bed was currently occupied. By his husband. The thought brought a fresh wave of frustration that gnawed at the edges of his exhaustion. Zephyr lay sprawled across the mattress, serene and untouched by the turbulence that plagued Edric’s mind. And Edric could not touch him, not even in accidental passing during sleep. The invisible barrier between them, unspoken but undeniably present, was as impassable as a stone wall.

It was a wonder he got any sleep at all. His eyes would slip shut out of sheer fatigue, only to flutter open again at every creak of the floorboards or sigh of the wind against the windowpane. He counted the hours by the slow movement of the shadows, and by the time the sun’s first rays crept through the large windows of his chambers, he abandoned any hope of rest. With a groan he tried to stifle, he rolled off the chaise, joints popping as he stretched. He cast a wary glance towardsthe bed, watching Zephyr’s steady, rhythmic breathing, but the other man did not stir.

Thankful for a few moments to himself, Edric quickly dressed in loose trousers and boots, his fingers sluggish as he fumbled with the laces. The castle was already stirring when he slipped out of his chambers, but he ignored the curious glances from the attendants he passed in the corridors. Let them whisper. Let them wonder why their new king was awake early, striding through the halls of the castle rather than still in bed with his new husband. They would never arrive at the truth, no matter how much they speculated. And if they did — well, that was a problem for another day.

Entering the barracks, he was greeted by the familiar scent of sweat and steel, the air thick with the remnants of last night’s training sessions. Victor’s eyebrows shot up as soon as he spotted Edric, while Marsh offered a softer, more knowing smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you this morning,” Victor commented, his tone carefully neutral but laced with subtle curiosity.

Edric sighed, tugging the laces on his boots tighter. “We may no longer be at war with Eskarven, but I have no plans of allowing myself to go soft. I will be here training as usual, and I expect the same of you, at least until such time as you request formal leave from the Guard.”

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