Page 7 of The Curse Between Us

“But with it, peace.” Edric met Zephyr’s eyes with a steady resolve, and he saw the same resignation mirrored in them. They both understood the truth of the situation—the prospect of an end to the war was worth the sacrifice of something as trivial as their personal feelings. If they could find common ground in that respect, if they could make this work, then the people would see it for what it was: a gesture of unity in the face of years of strife.

Zephyr inhaled deeply, the tension in his posture easing just slightly, and extended his hand. A silver ring, set with a large blue stone, caught the sunlight streaming in through the smallwindow. The stone shimmered as though it had a life of its own, reflecting a brilliant light that seemed almost too bright. “Do we have an accord, Prince Edric?” Zephyr asked, his voice quiet but resolute.

“We do,” Edric replied, forcing himself to keep his voice as steady as possible. He reached out to clasp Zephyr’s hand, but as soon as their skin made contact, Zephyr recoiled with an almost visceral shock, as though he’d been burned by the touch. Edric, too, felt a jolt—a flash of cold so intense it seared through him like ice. He quickly tucked his hand into his side, desperate to warm the cold that had spread through his veins.

The two men stared at each other, both wide-eyed in disbelief. “That was... unexpected,” Edric said slowly, his voice betraying the confusion and alarm he felt. He looked down at his hand, which now seemed unnaturally pale compared to the other. "Your ring?" he suggested, though the idea seemed thin even to him. “Perhaps I had a reaction to the metal?”

Zephyr, looking less than convinced but unwilling to disregard the possibility, bit his lip and removed the ring from his finger. He held it up for a moment, studying it with narrowed eyes, before slowly offering his hand once more. The air between them seemed to thrum with an unspoken tension, as if something unseen was shifting, but Edric, determined to find an answer, reached for it once more.

This time, when their hands met, the cold hit him with the ferocity of a sudden storm. It slammed into him with such force that he bent over, gasping for breath as the icy sensation spread through his chest. Zephyr, too, was affected—his face went white as sweat drenched his shirt, and the flesh of his arm reddened, as though the chill had somehow burned him. The contrast was jarring, and for a long moment neither of them could move, struggling to recover from the unnatural shock.

Once the worst of the cold passed, Edric straightened, still shivering but with enough clarity to speak. “Well,” he said with a grimace, “this presents a problem.”

Zephyr’s eyes flickered, an unease settling on his features. They both knew the stakes of this marriage, but what good was a vow if they couldn’t even perform the most basic acts of it—like joining hands? A lack of intimacy was one thing, but even the ceremony itself would require them to touch. How could they fulfill the formalities of a wedding, let alone a marriage, if they caused one another pain at the slightest physical contact?

“I had no expectations of intimacy,” Edric said, more to himself than to Zephyr. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing in a marriage of this sort. But how can we even begin to think of the ceremony when...?” His words trailed off, the impossibility of the situation settling in.

Zephyr stared down at his own hand, which still held a trace of the redness from where Edric had touched him. His expression softened, but it was not from relief—it was from the understanding of a shared frustration. He raised his eyes to meet Edric’s once more. “I’ve never heard of such a thing happening,” he said quietly, a trace of wonder in his voice, as though trying to fathom the oddity of the situation.

Edric tilted his head, considering the question seriously. “How many times have a Rafrian and an Eskarven been given occasion to touch?” he asked, his voice tinged with a certain bitterness. He saw Zephyr’s mouth open, ready to offer a response, but Edric quickly waved it away. “Whatever the reason, we cannot let this be known. This cannot be something the world sees as a weakness.”

Zephyr’s brow furrowed at the suggestion, but it didn’t take long for understanding to flicker in his eyes. “If others knew, they would claim it as proof that our people are meantto be at odds with one another. That we fundamentally cannot be anything but enemies,” he said, his voice low and steady. His gaze seemed to harden as he said the last words, a quiet resolve taking over.

Edric gave him a humorless smile, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. “Precisely.” He turned his gaze toward the window, the faint glimmer of sunlight filtering through the curtains. It was so hard to reconcile the sheer absurdity of what they were trying to achieve—yet they had no choice. Too much was at stake for them to falter now.

Zephyr tucked his hand into his side, where the ring had once been, and nodded decisively. "Then we will have to be extremely careful," he said, the finality in his voice leaving no room for doubt. “Nothing can jeopardize this alliance. Not now. Not ever.”

Before Edric could answer, the door creaked open, and Alec’s head poked into the room. His gaze swept over the two men, his eyes sharp as always, but there was a hesitation in his posture, as if sensing the tension that still hung in the air. “Well?” Alec asked, his voice laced with quiet anticipation. “Have you reached an understanding?”

Edric hated everything about this moment—the dispassionate negotiations that had been orchestrated behind his back, the sense that all of this had been decided long before he’d ever been consulted. Alec and Herbert, the two of them, had seen it all mapped out, had planned it with military precision. It felt like a betrayal of trust, even if it had been done with good intentions. But what weighed heaviest on Edric’s mind was the fact that just down the hall, his father lay dying. And here he was, calmly discussing the possibility of ending the war that had given Caldwell its very purpose for generations.

He lifted his head, meeting Alec’s gaze with a grim, resigned smile. “You may be the first to offer us your congratulations, Alec. Prince Zephyr and I have agreed to be married.”

Chapter Three

The events of the past few hours felt like they were happening in a dream—too unreal to be true, too absurd to fully comprehend. Zephyr was left grappling with the weight of everything that had occurred: the battle, the sudden and unanticipated arrival of the Rafrian forces with King Caldwell leading them, Hadden’s untimely death that had stolen away any opportunity for Zephyr to say a proper goodbye, and now, as though the universe was mocking him, a betrothal. To Edric, the heir apparent to the Rafrian throne. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, an unanticipated change in the course of his life.

“You look rather overwhelmed,” Edric said, his voice pitched low, cutting through the haze of Zephyr’s scattered thoughts. Herbert and Alec were locked in a heated discussion on the other side of the room. Their voices buzzed in the background, speaking of public ceremonies versus private ones, of strategies to ensure the legitimacy of the betrothal in the eyes of their people. “It is a lot to adjust to, isn’t it?”

Zephyr didn’t answer immediately. He simply nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of Edric’s words. It was all too much. But what caught him off guard was the unexpected kindness in Edric’s voice. Amidst the chaos, amidst the rapid whirlwind of events that had turned his world upside down, Edric’s simple observation made Zephyr feel less alone in his turmoil. It was the most humane thing anyone had said to him all day, and in that moment, it offered him a small tetherto reality. He gave a small, rueful smile, an attempt at humor despite the gravity of the situation. “I’m feeling rather light-headed,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Edric made a soft noise of disapproval, as if scolding himself. It sounded more like an apology than anything else. “Forgive me,” he said, his tone filled with an unusual earnestness. “You are our honored guest now, not our prisoner.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he crossed the room with quick, purposeful strides. He pulled open the door with an almost frantic urgency, exchanging a few quiet words with someone outside. A moment later, he turned back toward Zephyr, his gaze full of something akin to concern. “Is there anything else you require?” Edric asked. “I don’t even—were you wounded in the battle?”

Zephyr shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate. “A minor injury to my leg, but it seems to have been treated while I was unconscious.” It stung, that small wound, every time he moved too quickly. But he refused to let it show. It wasn’t just pride that kept him from acknowledging the pain—it was the stark reminder that this wound had come from a Rafrian sword. There would be those within these walls, perhaps even among Edric’s own people, who would take satisfaction in seeing him suffer. He wouldn’t give them the pleasure of seeing him falter, not even in the smallest way.

Herbert looked up sharply, his gaze cutting across the room with a look that could slice through steel. “We made sure to keep him in one piece,” he remarked, his voice thick with the weight of unspoken meaning.

Zephyr couldn’t decide whether the implication behind Herbert’s words was more insulting or more pragmatic. Was he treated well because he was needed in the game they were playing, or because there was some measure of genuine care? He had no illusions about being a pawn in the larger schemeof things. They all had their roles to play. And, to be fair, the Rafrians had treated him more humanely than he could have expected given the circumstances. Yet there was no denying that he was still a piece on a board, moved at the whims of others. Judging by the way Edric’s lips tightened, he clearly didn’t approve of Herbert’s bluntness. Whether Edric’s irritation was for Zephyr’s sake or his own, Zephyr couldn’t tell.

Herbert, seemingly undeterred by the tension in the room, shifted his attention back to Zephyr with unnerving focus. “Do you have a regent in mind?” he asked, his voice cool but probing, like a surgeon making an incision into a delicate subject.

Zephyr hesitated. The decision weighed on him heavily. Eskarven had many cousins, all of whom had varying degrees of claim to the throne. But trust was another matter entirely. Few of them had his loyalty, and fewer still had the capability to rule in a way that would ensure the stability of the kingdom. He liked Pierce, his cousin, better than most. Pierce was older, well-liked by the people, and much more intelligent than he allowed others to believe. But he was too young, too inexperienced to truly lead. At least, not yet.

“There is one cousin I might grant the title and responsibilities,” Zephyr said slowly, carefully weighing his words. “Pierce is the son of my father’s sister, a few years older than me, and well-liked by the people. He’s far more intelligent than he pretends to be, but I wouldn’t fear him usurping the throne in my absence. He would enjoy the pomp and ceremony of being my regent, but I believe he would tire of the responsibilities eventually. Hopefully just in time for me to return home and reclaim my kingship.”

Herbert nodded thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as he considered the information. “Yes, I know of Lord Pierce. Excellent choice, for all the reasons you listed. And from myreports, he’s long been a supporter of peace between our kingdoms, even if he does often couch it in terms of protesting the lack of time for parties and pageantry.” He gave a slight, dry chuckle, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

The mention of reports made Zephyr’s skin crawl. The idea that Herbert had been watching them for so long, tracking their moves and strategies, was unsettling. It felt like an invasion of privacy, an intrusion into the lives of people who had never had the opportunity to gather intelligence in the same way. He wondered what else Herbert and his spies had observed, what secrets they had gathered over the years. What had they seen that he didn’t know? The thought left him feeling vulnerable, exposed. He shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the room, and caught Edric glancing at him with a look of silent concern. As though sensing his discomfort, Edric made a motion as though to reach out to him but stopped abruptly, his frown deepening.

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