Page 13 of The Curse Between Us

Edric lingered for a moment in the dimly lit hallway before slowly making his way back to his own chambers. Tradition would dictate that this would be his last night in them; after the coronation the next day, he would be expected to move into the monarch’s chambers. But as he thought of the room where he had just witnessed his father’s death, he shuddered. He could not imagine taking up residence in that place so soon.

At least, he thought to himself with grim amusement, no one would dare question his authority in declaring such a thing. Not once he was king.

???

Perhaps due to the uncomfortable reality that so many reigning monarchs died young, lost to the war with Eskarven, Rafrian coronation ceremonies were relatively simple. Efficient, even. In the way they seamlessly bridged the gap between the funeral of the previous ruler and the crowning of the next, all in the span of a single day. The swiftness of the transition felt almost too practical, too impersonal, as though the loss of a king was expected, and life would carry on regardless. Yet, as Edric stood at the front of the assembled mourners, staring at the pyre upon which his father’s body had been placed, the solemnity of the moment weighed heavily on him.

He had attended other funerals in this very courtyard, of course, had seen the processions of life and death play out in front of him countless times over the years. But this was different. His father’s body, now reduced to ashes, was a grim reminder of the fragile thread on which a monarch’s life hung. Today, there was no comfort in the ritual, no distant detachment. The gravity of this occasion was inescapable, and it clung to Edric like the heavy weight of a crown that would soon rest on his brow. His posture was stiff, his face a carefully maintained mask, for he could not yet bring himself to grieve. The loss felt too raw, too tied up in the weight of what was to come. He could not mourn until the enormity of what he was about to step into had settled within him.

He stood silent, distant, his thoughts clouded with the unshakable feeling that everything had shifted. The death of his father wasn’t merely a personal loss; it was the loss of the kingdom’s stability, the loss of the future Edric had once imagined. He knew little of ruling, of the intricate web of politics and alliances that would soon consume his every waking hour.He had been groomed for this role, yes, but the reality of stepping into his father’s shoes felt like a crushing weight.

Edric’s thoughts were pulled back to the present as the High Priestess, Hadley, stepped forward. She was clad in a robe of pure gold cloth that shimmered in the sunlight that spilled into the temple’s central courtyard, creating an almost ethereal glow around her. The brightness of her appearance contrasted sharply with the darkness of the occasion, yet it was fitting for the solemn yet hopeful ritual. Her bright red hair—burnished by the sun—reminded Edric of the flames that now consumed his father’s body. As Hadley moved toward the pyre, she drew from a flask in her hand, and with a practiced motion, lit the pile of wood beneath Caldwell’s body, the fire immediately taking hold of the kindling.

“The warmth of the sun sustains us in life,” she intoned, her voice ringing out across the courtyard with a reverberating power. “But in death, it is to the fire that we turn, to burn away the flesh while igniting the memory of the spirit inside it.”

Edric’s eyes stayed fixed on the flames, feeling their heat as the fire licked the sky. He could not bring himself to look away, even as Hadley’s eyes swept over the crowd, ultimately landing on him. There was something unsettling in her gaze, a knowing look that seemed to pierce through him. For a brief moment, he wondered if she saw the turmoil inside him, the uncertainty of what he was about to face. The weight of her steady gaze sent a shiver down his spine, despite the overwhelming heat of the pyre.

“King Caldwell burned brightly in life,” Hadley continued, her words floating above the fire like a solemn prayer, “and brightly he will burn now. In the pain of his passing, may we find comfort in the knowledge that he will never truly leave us, just as the warmth from the fire lingers long after the flames have been extinguished.”

The words should have been comforting, should have offered Edric some semblance of peace, but instead, they stirred something darker within him. He swallowed roughly, his thoughts shifting to the uncertain future ahead. How would his father have reacted to what Edric had planned for the kingdom? What would he have thought of the changes Edric intended to make with Zephyr, of the uncertain alliance between their two nations? The thought of it all—of the path he and Zephyr were about to walk together—made his stomach churn.

Hadley’s eyes remained fixed on him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. For just a fraction of an instant, Edric thought he saw a glimmer of something more in her gaze—something that seemed to recognize his inner turmoil. It made him uncomfortable, the sense that she knew something he wasn’t yet prepared to face. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady himself, but the lingering tension was still there, like a storm on the horizon.

“In the fire, may he find peace,” Hadley concluded, and the assembled crowd echoed her words in unison, their voices quiet but reverent.

The ceremony moved forward without incident, and Edric felt the barest nudge against his side. He turned to see Alec, his ever-watchful companion, frowning at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Edric squared his shoulders, offering Alec a glance that he hoped would pass for a reassuring nod. There was no time for weakness now. The next part of the ceremony was upon him. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and steady, and positioned himself in front of Hadley.

“Who will take up the crown of Rafria?” she asked, her voice carrying across the courtyard.

“I will,” Edric answered, his voice surprisingly steady despite the knot of nerves that twisted in his stomach. He hadrehearsed this moment countless times in his mind, but now that it was here, it still felt unreal.

Hadley regarded him with an intensity that seemed to weigh him down. Her gaze was probing, almost as if she were searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation that might make her question his worth. The silence stretched between them for a long moment before she spoke again, her voice low and formal.

“And why should it be upon your head that we place the crown, and into your hands that we place our care?”

Edric took a deep breath, steeling himself for the ritual challenge. He knew these words were part of the ceremony, but he could see in Hadley’s eyes that she meant them—she was not merely going through the motions. She was testing him. If she found him wanting…

“I am the eldest son and heir of the late king,” he declared, his voice ringing clear and strong in the open space. “The crown is mine by right. But I am also one who loves Rafria deeply, the hills and the valleys and the sun-burned fields. More than that, I love its people, and it is with them foremost in my thoughts that I ask your blessing upon my reign.”

His words hung in the air as he dropped to one knee, bowing his head. There was a tense quiet as he waited, his heart racing in his chest. All the sounds of the world seemed to fade, leaving only the whisper of Hadley’s robe as she moved to place the crown upon his head. It felt heavier than he had imagined. A weight not just of gold, but of legacy, of responsibility.

After what felt like an eternity, he felt the solid pressure of the crown settle onto his brow. He exhaled slowly and rose to his feet, inclining his head graciously to Hadley. “I am honoured by the trust you have placed in me,” he said, his voice thick with the weight of the moment.

Hadley nodded once, a spark of approval flickering in her eyes. “We have a king once more,” she proclaimed, her armswide in a gesture of triumph and acceptance. “People of Rafria, I present to you: King Edric.”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their enthusiasm filling the air like a palpable wave. Edric raised his hand, signaling for them to quiet. His pulse raced in his veins as he stepped forward to address them, the crown on his head a symbol of his new power.

“Thank you for being here to mark this occasion with me today,” he said, his voice strong but carrying an undertone of emotion that he couldn’t quite suppress. “It is a day for both sorrow and for celebration, and I draw comfort and strength from your presence here.”

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the faces before him. Herbert, standing among the advisors, was watching him with his usual intensity. Edric caught his eye and saw the tiny nod that conveyed approval. It was a small gesture, but it filled him with a fleeting sense of reassurance.

“My father passed from this world too soon,” Edric continued, his voice growing firmer. “While I have been preparing for this moment for most of my life, I still hoped it would not arrive so soon.”

The crowd murmured in response, and speculative glances were exchanged. Alec met Edric’s eyes and gave a slight shrug, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was, as ever, a source of support—even if his expression never showed it.

“There is no sense in delaying it,” Edric said, taking a deep breath. “We lost my father to the war that has plagued us for as long as anyone can remember.”

A shocked whisper rippled through the crowd, and even Hadley took a small, involuntary step forward. But Edric wasn’t finished.

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