Page 37 of The Curse Between Us

Edric’s pace increased as they made their way toward the hill, and Zephyr felt his heart lift with the prospect of having Edric fully in his element. "Very well," Edric relented. "I will indulge you and your strange customs, my lord, as I am a guest in your land."

Zephyr, still walking, caught the hesitation in Edric’s voice, but the words that followed, softer but unmistakably real, made his heart swell. “You are not a guest,” Zephyr said quietly, before he could stop himself. “You are my husband.”

Edric stopped dead in his tracks, and for a moment, the world seemed to still around them. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Edric's face, his eyes lighting up. “Then I will indulge you and your strange customs, husband.”

They shared a long, tender look before they continued up the slope, the weight of Zephyr’s words lingering in the air between them.

At the top of the hill, Zephyr set up Edric’s sled with great care, holding it steady while Edric climbed in, his movements somewhat awkward due to the thick layers of clothing they both wore. "Now hold to the rope, and—" With a gentle push, Zephyr sent Edric sliding down the slope, watching as he let out a surprised shout, the joy in his voice ringing clear.

Zephyr followed close behind, laughing as the wind whipped past him. The speed, the thrill of it all, was unlike anything he had felt in a long time. When he reached the bottom, he saw Edric already standing, an expression of joy and exhilaration on his face. "So?" Zephyr asked eagerly, his breath coming in quick bursts.

Edric grinned and, without warning, shoved Zephyr playfully to the ground. "I’ll race you to the top!" he declared, his voice full of energy.

Zephyr scrambled to his feet, chasing after Edric, but Edric was quicker, reaching the top with a triumphant grin. "Oh, very well," Zephyr sniffed, rolling his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. "I guarantee you I can reach the bottom before you, though."

“I’ll take that bet,” Edric said, already preparing to climb into his sled.

They raced up and down the hill for over an hour, laughing and shouting, until even Zephyr began to tire. “Truce?” he asked, his voice breathless as they reached the top once more.

“Truce,” Edric agreed, extending his hand to Zephyr.

But as Zephyr approached, Edric’s next move took him by surprise. "Edric, what are you—" Zephyr started, his words faltering as Edric pressed himself tightly against the sled, making space in front of him.

“Please?” Edric said softly, a glint of something tender and hopeful in his eyes.

Zephyr hesitated, then, with a slow exhale, he climbed into the sled, settling against Edric’s chest. The sensation of being so close to him was almost overwhelming. Edric’s arms wrapped around him gently but securely, holding him as they slid down the hill. Time stretched, the world narrowing to nothing but the warmth of Edric's chest against his back, the cold wind rushing past them, and the pure, untainted joy of the moment.

When they reached the bottom, Zephyr turned his head slowly, meeting Edric's gaze. The distance between them was almost nonexistent. Edric's cheeks were pink from the cold, his eyes sparkling, and the light of the afternoon sun made the freckles on his skin stand out sharply.

Before he could think twice, Zephyr reached out, his gloved hand cupping Edric’s cheek. Edric’s breath caught, his eyes fluttering closed at the touch.

“I want to kiss you,” Zephyr whispered, his voice low with longing. “Very badly.”

Edric’s eyes opened slowly, and he sighed softly, his voice trembling. “As do I.” He reached up, taking Zephyr’s hand and drawing it gently to his lips. “I wish—”

“I know,” Zephyr said, a soft, sad smile tugging at his lips. “As do I.”

They remained there for several moments, frozen in place, their faces mere inches apart. Zephyr could feel the heat of Edric’s breath against his skin, but the weight of their shared restraint held them in place. Finally, Zephyr dropped his hand with a quiet sigh. “We should be heading back,” he said reluctantly. “If I keep you out here much longer, you may catch ill from entirely natural causes.”

“Right,” Edric agreed, blinking as though waking from a dream. He gestured to the top of the hill. “Your sled is still—”

“I’ll get it,” Zephyr interrupted, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile. "Wait here."

As he trudged back up the hill, he couldn’t help but reflect on how close they had come to breaking the fragile boundaries they had set. It was dangerous, but it was also undeniable. They had been so close—perhaps too close—but Zephyr knew that the temptation, as strong as it was, had to be resisted.

When he returned, the seriousness in Edric's eyes spoke volumes, and before Zephyr could open his mouth, Edric spoke first. "I know," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "It was a lapse of judgment. I cannot bear the thought of causing you that kind of pain again, Zephyr."

Zephyr met his gaze, his heart heavy with the same understanding. "We will be careful," he replied softly, and in that moment, he knew they would be. But the ache between them remained, undeniable, ever present.

???

The next week passed in a whirlwind of council sessions, royal duties, and tours of the palace and surrounding areas. Each day was filled with meetings, speeches, and preparations for the future of Eskarven, but there were also moments of peace—precious, fleeting moments curled beside Edric in their wide, warm bed. These moments were the lifeline Zephyr clung to amidst the responsibilities of his newfound position as king.

On the fourth day, the long-awaited coronation took place in the grand Crystal Hall, a moment that Zephyr had anticipated with a mixture of solemnity and apprehension. The hall was magnificent, bathed in the shimmering light that reflected off the walls of crystal and ice. The beauty of the room was overwhelming, and as he stood there before the gatheredcrowd, Zephyr could barely recall the details of the ceremony itself—only the sound of the jubilant cheers that echoed from the high, vaulted ceilings and the sensation of the crown being placed upon his head. The weight of it was both literal and metaphorical, a reminder of all that had led him here and all that would follow.

But amid the grandeur of his coronation, there was a growing sense of unease—something Zephyr could not shake. Though he had ascended to his rightful place as king, his heart felt heavy with the knowledge of the future’s uncertainties. The week had been filled with triumph, but in the depths of it, something was wrong.

On the sixth day, Edric developed a cough.

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