Page 35 of The Curse Between Us

As the palace grew ever closer, the sight of it so close now that it filled the horizon, Zephyr’s chest tightened with a complex mix of joy and melancholy. This was the land of his birth, the land that had shaped him into the ruler he was meant to be, yet it had always been a place he felt compelled to leave. He had known he would return one day, but seeing it now—seeing it through the eyes of Edric, who had never before experienced the raw beauty and unforgiving reality of Eskarven—made everything feel new again.

“We should go,” Zephyr said after a long moment, his voice quieter, more subdued. He flicked his reins gently, urging his horse forward. “They’re waiting for us.”

As they drew closer to the palace, the sound of their horses’ hooves clattering against the stone bridge that spanned the frozen river filled the air. The workers below, dressed in thick furs to ward off the chill, paused in their labor to wave at the passing procession. They were cutting large blocks of ice from the river’s surface and loading them onto wooden carts, the frozen slabs glinting in the dimming light.

“We melt the ice down for our water supply,” Zephyr explained, his tone still tinged with the weight of their shared journey. “It’s a reliable source, though there are natural springs deeper in the mountains. We use both, depending on the season.”

Edric glanced down at the workers below, clearly fascinated by the sight. “It’s not at all what I expected,” he remarked, his voice thoughtful but tinged with a slight embarrassment. He looked up at Zephyr, as though seeking some kind of reassurance, a hint of apology in his expression. “I thought Eskarven would be... different.”

Zephyr gave him a wry grin, unable to suppress the humor that seemed to bubble up at Edric’s words. “We have learned to live with the extremes of our situation,” he said with a shrug, his voice softening. “Just as you have. Every place has its hardships.”

Edric gave him a quick, almost sheepish smile. “That’s fair,” he said, nodding, his eyes still locked on the palace ahead of them. His expression was one of quiet reflection, a deeper understanding dawning. “I’m glad I accompanied you here,” he added quietly, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. It wasn’t just the words, but the way he spoke them—like he meant them,and understood now, in a way he hadn’t before, what it meant to belong to a place so shaped by its harsh conditions.

Zephyr, unable to contain the feeling of closeness, reached out and took hold of Edric’s hand. The gesture, though softened by their heavy gloves, was still an unspoken communication between them—one that spoke of shared experiences, trust, and the unbreakable bond they had forged through their trials.

“As am I,” Zephyr said, his voice a quiet murmur, almost drowned out by the sound of hooves and the rustling of the wind.

???

After a whirlwind welcome and a splendid homecoming feast that had been filled with laughter, music, and the joyful clinking of glasses, Zephyr led Edric through the towering halls of the palace toward their new suite of rooms. The weight of the evening hung in the air—ceremonial, yet full of a personal warmth that Zephyr hadn’t expected. His people were kind, patient, understanding of the time he had been away, but the pressures of his responsibilities were beginning to settle over him like a heavy cloak. The sight of the familiar marble corridors, the long tapestries hanging from the walls, the echoes of footsteps that had once been his own, filled him with a sense of homecoming that stirred something deep inside.

When they arrived at the door to the suite, Zephyr paused, his fingers tracing the intricate silver inlay on the doorframe, a design of swirling patterns and delicate engravings that had always caught his eye. He exhaled slowly, as if preparing himself for something both familiar and foreign.

“These were your brother’s rooms,” Edric said softly, his voice not quite a question, but one that carried the weight of uncertainty.

“Yes,” Zephyr answered with a quiet finality, even though it hadn’t been an answer that required words. “They’ve been prepared for me in my absence, as Pierce laid claim to my old suite during his regency.” He shook his head in amusement, a faint smile curving at the edges of his lips as he thought of his cousin. Pierce had always been full of life, full of ideas, and even more so now that he had been at the helm of Eskarven’s throne. The moment Pierce had seen him return, he had welcomed him with open arms but had been thoroughly unwilling to relinquish the apartment that Zephyr had once claimed as his own.

Edric didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and Zephyr appreciated the silence. It was a testament to their unspoken understanding.

“Allow me,” Edric said after a brief pause, stepping forward and brushing past Zephyr. With a gentle push, he opened the door to their new suite, and the moment it swung inward, the air seemed to shift.

The rooms were just as Zephyr remembered them: a grand space, with soaring ceilings that arched like the wings of a bird in flight, allowing the light of the setting sun to filter through the large windows, casting everything in a warm glow. The windows, framed with thick curtains of dark velvet, overlooked the frozen waterfall—a cascading veil of ice that shimmered in the dying light, a constant, ethereal presence. Inside, piles of soft cushions and heavy blankets lay scattered across the enormous bed, as though the room had been waiting for its rightful occupants to return. There was an expectant hush to the space, an air of preparation, as though it had been paused, waiting for them to enter.

Edric crossed the room to the center, his footsteps echoing in the vast space, and turned slowly in a circle, taking in every detail. “Impressive,” he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

Zephyr nodded but couldn’t find much to add. He had seen these rooms countless times, grown up in them, and though they were certainly impressive, the grandeur felt less welcoming now, more heavy with expectations than the warmth of a home. The life he had once lived here seemed distant, faded into the past. It would be an adjustment, yes, but Zephyr knew he would find a way to make it work, just as he had found a way to live with so many other things in his life. This room, this palace, was a part of him, and he would learn to exist within it again, with Edric by his side.

Edric cleared his throat, drawing Zephyr’s attention back to him. The familiar tension in his body was palpable—shifting weight from side to side, as if considering something before speaking. His eyes were drawn to the bed, and he tilted his head slightly toward it. “Forgive my indelicacy, but… there’s no convenient chaise here.”

Zephyr bit his lip at the gentle, almost bashful way Edric put it. Of course, the attendants had been meticulous in their preparations, ensuring that everything Zephyr might need was in place—but they could not have anticipated the dynamics of Zephyr’s return with his closest friend, nor the intimate nature of their relationship that, while not fully realized, was undeniably there.

He glanced over at the bed, his cheeks warming as he realized the implications. Sharing a bed was something both simple and complicated—comforting, but also laden with unspoken boundaries. “We could—” he began, then trailed off.

Edric took a step closer to him, his gaze unwavering, as though sensing the hesitation that held Zephyr’s words back. “We could what?”

Zephyr’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked at Edric, his figure striking in the black-and-white garments he had worn to the welcome feast. The fine fabric hung heavily on hisbroad frame, the details obscured, but his presence was no less commanding. His form still carried a quiet strength, even under layers of fabric. “It’s much colder here,” Zephyr said carefully, forcing his words to remain even. “I normally sleep in a long robe, with trousers underneath.”

The understanding in Edric’s eyes was immediate, and for a fleeting moment, Zephyr saw the flash of desire—raw and present—in Edric’s expression. It was gone almost as quickly as it came, masked by a flash of thoughtfulness. “You think it’s safe?” Edric asked, his voice low.

“Safer,” Zephyr corrected him. “We should still… try to maintain our distance. If our hands and faces are uncovered—”

“I understand,” Edric replied, the glimmer of desire fading from his eyes, replaced by the same thoughtful contemplation that Zephyr had learned to trust. “Still.”

“Still,” Zephyr echoed, his words hanging between them with a weight that felt simultaneously light and impossible to ignore.

It would be pleasant, having Edric so near to him, to feel his warmth in the cold night air. But the thought of not being able to reach out and pull him close—to simply hold him—was a kind of torture Zephyr wasn’t sure he could withstand. The distance between them, while necessary, felt like an insurmountable barrier, even as they lay in the same bed.

The air was thick between them, charged with the promise of something unspoken. Zephyr swallowed roughly, trying to regain his composure. He gestured to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. “You should find sleepwear there,” he said, his voice quiet, even as his mind raced.

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