Page 9 of The Curse Between Us

The room wasn’t overly grand, but it was more than adequate. A large, comfortable bed sat nestled in a quiet alcove, and a chair and desk were placed before a large window that let in the bright, natural sunlight. Zephyr nodded his approval, though the gesture was tempered with a faint sense of resignation. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

“I’ll send someone to escort you to the temple soon,” Alec promised, his tone more businesslike now. “But for now, I must stress the importance of remaining unseen.”

Zephyr could feel the urge to roll his eyes at Alec’s insistence, though he held it back. By now, one might think Alec would have given him some credit for his intelligence. Instead, he said with a soft but biting edge, “Yes, I understand. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your grand plan.”

Alec flinched visibly, as though stung by the remark. “It’s easy enough for you to be flippant,” he said tightly, his voicecarrying a weight of unspoken tension. “You’ve been offered an escape from likely death and the opportunity to keep your crown.”

At that, Zephyr gave a bitter laugh, the sound raw and tinged with self-recrimination. “And what is this costing you, Prince Alec?” he asked, his voice cutting through the heavy air. “As far as I can see, the only one making any sacrifices on your country’s behalf is your brother.” He could feel the words landing with force, a calculated jab meant to provoke, to force Alec to confront the weight of his decisions. Alec flinched, just slightly, but it was enough to make Zephyr's mouth curl in a wry, bitter smile. “Tell me,” he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned forward slightly, “how long have you been planning this? You do realize that if Edric and I do, in fact, marry, he will never be able to find happiness with anyone else? We will be committed to one another for the sake of the alliance for the rest of our lives. Did you think about that at all, you and Herbert? What it would cost Edric?”

Alec’s expression tightened, and his cool, collected demeanor slipped just enough for Zephyr to see the deep unease that had been gnawing at him, just beneath the surface. The air between them thickened as Alec made a sharp movement—Zephyr braced himself instinctively, but the blow he expected never came. Instead, Alec's voice, tight with a barely controlled fury, broke the silence. “Of course I did,” Alec hissed. “I lay awake night after night, wondering if this was the right thing to do. If I could possibly ask this of Edric.” He shook his head sharply, his hair falling forward into his eyes. The flicker of helplessness in his expression was fleeting but palpable, his shoulders slumping with the weight of an emotional burden Zephyr hadn’t fully appreciated. “But...” Alec’s voice faltered slightly, as if searching for the right words. “It was always some vague future possibility. We knew there was no chance of atreaty while my father still lived, and even now I can barely imagine a world without him in it.” He let out a sharp breath, his gaze turning inward as he continued. “We hoped, we dreamed for an end to the war, and we made a plan to bring it about. But somehow, we never expected it to become an issue so soon.”

Zephyr watched him, struck by the vulnerability in his tone. Alec was, after all, just a man—one who carried the heavy burden of command on his shoulders, too young to bear the weight of a kingdom yet doing so nonetheless. He let out a slow breath as he seemed to unravel for just a moment, his eyes far away. Zephyr could almost see the endless hours of doubt and struggle that must have been clawing at him in the darkness of his own mind. Alec was not the cold, calculating prince that he had initially assumed. He was something else—someone who had to reconcile the moral cost of the decisions he made, someone who had to consider the consequences of actions that would alter the course of his kingdom forever.

“I hate that we had to ask Edric to give up his promise to Marsh, or any possible future with anyone else,” Alec confessed, his voice rough with regret. “I hate that we couldn’t speak of it without being accused of seeking to supplant my father.” His hands spread before Zephyr in a gesture of helplessness, as if offering his entire soul laid bare in that brief movement. “But if it means an end to this blasted war, I would do it all again. Without hesitation.”

Zephyr heard the weight of the words, felt the bitter edge of his own doubts start to soften. Alec’s willingness to sacrifice his brother’s future, to sacrifice his own peace of mind, revealed a level of commitment that Zephyr hadn’t expected. And yet, it wasn’t just sacrifice for sacrifice’s sake—it was a sacrifice made with the understanding that the consequences would be long-lasting, irreversible. There was a part of Zephyr that admired that. Even if it didn’t ease the sting of his own situation, it wasdifficult not to acknowledge the strength in Alec’s resolve. He dipped his head slightly, a silent gesture of respect, and said only, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Alec managed a small, rueful smile at that, the ghost of his earlier tension fading for just a moment. “As do I,” he replied, the words carrying a layer of weary self-awareness. He let out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it away from his face as he looked at Zephyr with a quiet seriousness that made Zephyr feel, for the first time, like they might actually be on the same side. “When you go to the temple, pray for us all.”

“I will,” Zephyr said softly. His voice carried a quiet solemnity, a promise given not just for Alec’s sake but for Edric’s as well. He stood in the doorway and watched Alec stride away, his long legs eating up the distance as he moved quickly, purposefully, toward his brother’s side. To watch their father die.

Zephyr sighed, the weight of the moment hanging heavily in the air. He closed the door behind him with a soft click and took a moment to survey his surroundings. He stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the modest yet comfortable space that had been prepared for him. Perhaps, in retrospect, an interior room would have been better after all. The sunlight pouring through the window was too bright, too harsh on his eyes, but there were curtains that he could draw to block out the worst of the heat. He moved toward the pitcher of water on the bedside stand and poured himself a glass, sipping it slowly as he took a mental inventory of his situation.

Compared to the cold, dark cell where he had awoken, this room was luxurious. The furnishings were well-crafted, the bedspread rich and clean, everything pristine and arranged with a meticulousness that suggested a long-anticipated arrival. Zephyr couldn’t help but wonder again how long Alec andHerbert had been preparing for this day, for this moment in time when all the pieces would fall into place. Had they imagined it this way from the beginning? Hoping, against all reason, that the fragile peace between their kingdoms could be achieved? That he and Edric would both survive the war, that they would agree to trade their personal freedoms for the good of both kingdoms? The audacity of such a plan, the sheer boldness of it, almost struck him as absurd—but it was exactly the kind of gamble Alec would take. Even now, despite his lingering resentment, Zephyr found himself marveling at the scope of it.

A knock at the door broke his reverie, and he moved swiftly to answer it, expecting some form of summons or instruction. When he opened it, a grim-faced guard stood on the other side, his expression tight with professionalism—or perhaps something more.

“My name is Victor,” the guard said curtly, his tone neutral but his gaze appraising. “I’m here to escort you to the temple.”

Victor’s lack of enthusiasm was almost palpable, and Zephyr could hardly blame him. Watching over the captured prince of Eskarven could hardly be considered a desirable assignment. He did not rebuke the man for his apparent rudeness, instead offering a brief nod as he set his cup aside. “I am ready when you are,” Zephyr said quietly.

Something like respect flickered in Victor’s eyes—brief, but enough to change the tenor of their interaction. He allowed Zephyr to fall into step beside him, instead of keeping the expected distance between them. “The temple is outside the castle walls, but not far,” Victor explained as they walked. “I’m taking us on a longer route to avoid being seen.”

Zephyr appreciated the explanation, grateful for the guard’s transparency. “Thank you,” he said. “I understand that my presence here could be...upsetting, to some.”

Victor snorted under his breath, not missing a stride. “To put it mildly,” he muttered. Then, to Zephyr’s surprise, he stopped suddenly and turned to meet his eyes, his expression momentarily softened. “I’ve seen you on the field,” Victor continued, his voice growing quieter but no less sincere. “You’re skilled, competent, strong. But you’re not wasteful. You never take life when you don’t need to.” He shrugged, a casual, almost dismissive gesture. “I don’t know why you’re here, walking around freely, but if the General trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”

It was an odd compliment, especially coming from a soldier who was clearly more accustomed to battle than diplomacy, but Zephyr found himself unexpectedly warmed by it. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice soft but genuine. He didn’t offer an explanation for the way Alec had treated him, or why he was being afforded such considerate treatment. There was no need. Instead, he kept his thoughts to himself as Victor resumed walking, leading him through the winding halls of the castle.

As they finally stepped outside the walls of the castle, the heat was immediate, the sun’s rays beating down on Zephyr with an almost brutal intensity. He gritted his teeth but kept his head held high, resolute, as they continued on. Victor turned onto a smooth path that cut along the valley floor, and ahead of them, Zephyr could see the temple rising against the sky. Its stone walls were a deep, weathered gray, matching the castle, and its towering arches reached toward the heavens, creating a breathtaking silhouette against the bright, unforgiving light of the midday sun. It was a beautiful structure, serene and imposing, but it made Zephyr long fiercely for home—home, where the air was crisp and sharp, where the world was covered in snow and ice, where the sky was endless and the trees stood bare, covered in frost.

There were a few yellow-robed attendants scattered along the stone walls of the temple as they approached, their movements slow and deliberate as they tended to the worn surfaces, scrubbing away dust and smoothing out imperfections. They glanced up at Victor and Zephyr as they drew near, but there was no recognition in their eyes. Of course, Zephyr thought with a slight tightening of his chest, they would have had no occasion to know him. Dressed in Rafrian garb, with the embroidered patterns of his kingdom stark against the sun-bleached stone, he could have been anyone. The anonymity was an odd sensation for Zephyr, one he wasn’t accustomed to. It felt as if he had stepped out of his own life and into a different world altogether. He frowned as Victor, seeming to sense his unease, gestured him through the grand, vaulting archway that led into the sanctuary.

The air inside was cooler, the atmosphere serene, and the silence of the temple contrasted sharply with the chaos he had left behind. In design, if not in materials, the temple before him resembled the one back home. There was the same sense of expansive airiness, the same careful arrangement of sacred space. A large inner sanctum, open and unadorned save for the grand murals, was surrounded by smaller chambers that likely served for solitary prayer and reflection. The central altar stood proudly, its intricate carvings bathed in the light filtering down from the high windows, and directly facing the entrance. A handful of worshippers knelt there, their lips moving in silent prayer, but Zephyr did not feel threatened or out of place by their presence. He had long ago learned the peace that such places could provide, even amid the turmoil of his thoughts.

Victor, as ever, faded unobtrusively into the background, standing guard at a respectful distance, while Zephyr stepped forward to join the silent line of supplicants. The peacefulnessof the moment was disorienting, as if the air itself had been suspended in time, untouched by the reality of his situation.

His gaze drifted upward to the enormous mural that dominated the space above the altar. The bright, vibrant colors of the painting seemed almost alive, the hues catching the sunlight in such a way that they glowed with a depth he hadn’t expected. The landscape reflected the conditions of Rafria—dry, sun-drenched hills and endless, golden fields of grain—but Zephyr could still make out the familiar themes. At the center of the mural, a beam of blinding white light radiated outward, its rays stretching to the far corners of the artwork. Beside it, a pool of blackness spread out equally far, as though fighting against the light’s encroachment, and the two forces—light and dark—were locked in a battle for dominance.

Beneath this cosmic struggle, a range of jagged mountains stretched across the canvas, their sharp peaks rising like a natural wall between two great lands. The same mountain range that divided Zephyr’s kingdom of Eskarven from this land of Rafria. The mural was more than just an artistic depiction; it was the story of two nations born out of a primordial war, a battle between the forces of Plenty and Abyss that had shaped the very geography of their world.

Zephyr’s gaze lingered on the imagery, as it brought a flood of history back to him—history he had long studied but never quite internalized. The bitter struggle between Plenty and Abyss was the origin of everything, the very foundation of their kingdoms. For centuries, the two forces had fought, locked in a conflict with no end in sight. Eventually, Plenty, the creative force of life, had triumphed, casting Abyss, the dark and destructive counterpart, deep into the earth. The mountains had been formed by the very upheaval caused by Abyss’s fall, and on either side of those mountains, two human kingdoms had risen—Eskarven on one side, Rafria on the other—blessed by Plentybut separated by the very mountains that defined their borders. Plenty’s gifts had manifested differently in each kingdom. Eskarven, cold and harsh, where winter reigned eternal. Rafria, warm and sun-soaked, where heat thrived in abundance.

Two extremes, separated by mountains, divided by the same force that had shaped them. It was no wonder, Zephyr thought with a tinge of bitterness, that their people had always been at war.

But things were different now. Change was coming, even if it had arrived too late for some. Zephyr bowed his head in prayer, the weight of his thoughts shifting as he recalled the series of events that had led him here. None of this would have been possible if Hadden, his brother, had still been alive. For all his flaws, his stubborn pride, and his frequent tendency to treat Zephyr like a child, Hadden had been his brother, and Zephyr had loved him. He had not expected to lose him so suddenly, so violently. He thought back to the last moments they had shared—the way Hadden had been laughing just before Caldwell’s fatal blow landed. The memory of that small, jeweled dagger pressed against Hadden’s throat lingered, as sharp and real as the pain that had followed it. What had Hadden been thinking in those precious final seconds? Had he even thought of Zephyr? Had he known that the kingdom would be in good hands, or had he worried for its future?

Zephyr shook his head, pushing the painful memories aside. He moved through the words of the traditional blessing for the dead, his voice barely a whisper as he prayed that Hadden’s name would be remembered with love and honor, that his legacy would be one of peace despite the bloodshed he had left in his wake. When he finished, he added another prayer—one for those about to embark on a new stage of their lives. He thought of Edric, of himself, and of the uncertain path ahead.

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