Page 12 of The Curse Between Us
They did not have much time for private conversations over the following days. The feast was an extravagant and noisy affair, full of laughter, music, and dancing, with the air of celebration thick in every corner of the hall. Had circumstances been different, Edric might have enjoyed it thoroughly. He had long been accustomed to the ceremonies and revelries of his court, but the shadow of Zephyr’s imminent departure loomed heavily over him, clouding the joy of the evening. He forced himself to smile, to clap along with the entertainment, to engage in polite conversation with their guests, but each glance toward Zephyr was like a dagger to his chest. Each look was a painful reminder that soon, his husband would be leaving, and Edric could do nothing to stop it.
Zephyr, for his part, seemed to endure the evening with quiet grace, his every word carefully measured, his laughter polite but distant. His usual warmth was hidden behind the thin veneer of composure he had been forced to adopt, and though Edric could see the toll it was taking, Zephyr never once allowed his true feelings to show. It was a skill Edric admired, but it also hurt him to see Zephyr carrying the burden of his decision alone.
Even after they retired to their chambers, there was no opportunity to discuss Zephyr’s choice. The exhaustion from the long evening of socializing hit Zephyr immediately as they entered the room, and without a word, he collapsed onto the bed, his body already betraying the toll the day had taken on him. Edric stood in the doorway for a long moment, his mind a swirl of conflicted emotions, but he knew better than to disturb Zephyr in such a state. He could not bring himself to burden him with his own pain—not when Zephyr already had so much to bear.
The next day was filled with intense negotiations regarding trade agreements, and it consumed both of their energies. Zephyr, despite his condition, attended each meeting with the same diplomatic skill he had always exhibited, but it was clear that he was struggling. By the time the day was over, Edric could see the exhaustion weighing on him, and yet there was still no time to speak of what loomed ahead. The true nature of their pain would have to wait.
It wasn’t until the day of the tournament—the last full day of the Eskarvens’ visit—that Edric and Zephyr finally had a chance to speak privately. They were seated in the places of honor, high above the crowd, with the best view of the tournament grounds. The sun shone fiercely, and the air was thick with the promise of competition. Hadley and Clara, standing at the front of the group, led them in a joint prayer, their voices mingling in perfect harmony as they sang the traditional hymns. It was a moment of shared reverence before the chaos of the games began, and Edric found himself momentarily distracted by the beauty of the ceremony.
But soon, the archers took their places, and the tournament began in earnest. Edric could hardly focus on the contest; he cared little for the competition. His thoughts were consumed with Zephyr. He glanced over at him, sitting cool and composed beside him, and felt a pang of sympathy. He leaned toward Zephyr, keeping his voice low, but the words came with an undeniable edge of concern.
“How are you feeling?” Edric asked quietly, his eyes searching Zephyr’s face. “I know this cannot be easy for you, with the sun so intense.”
Zephyr offered a small, but strained, smile, his eyes distant as he responded. “I’m fine,” he said. His fingers brushed the small flask of Elsie’s tonic that hung from his belt, and he patted it absently. “I have Elsie’s tonic with me.”
Edric nodded, though his heart remained heavy. He looked down at the Eskarven delegation, now seated several rows below them, and his stomach twisted with the thought of their impending departure. Tomorrow. Zephyr would leave with them, and Edric had no idea when—or if—he would see him again.
“Zephyr—” Edric started, his voice thick with emotion, but he faltered, unable to finish the sentence. The words he wanted to say—the plea, the confession, the raw, desperate ache in his chest—were too much to voice. He could not impose that on Zephyr, not when so much was already on his shoulders.
Zephyr turned toward him, his expression expectant, and Edric’s words died on his lips. He couldn’t bring himself to say what was in his heart. Not here, not now. He could see the conflict in Zephyr’s eyes, the unspoken understanding between them, but Edric could not put his own feelings ahead of what was best for Zephyr.
Instead, he gave a half-hearted smile and said something that felt entirely wrong. “I think I ought to give your people a true spectacle.” The words slipped from his lips before he could pull them back, and as soon as they were out, Edric regretted them. But there was no turning back.
On the field below, the attendants were clearing the targets from the archery contest, setting up for the sword-fighting portion of the tournament. Edric’s gaze followed them, the anticipation in the crowd palpable, but his mind was elsewhere. He was angry. Angry that the situation was so unfair. Angry that they had been brought together, only to be torn apart again. Anger coursed through him like wildfire, and he could not contain it any longer.
“I’ll give them a spectacle,” he muttered to himself.
Zephyr frowned, concern flickering across his features. “Edric—” he started, but Edric ignored him. His decision was already made, and he couldn’t back down now. He needed this. Needed something to feel like it was in his control, something that could distract him from the ache in his chest.
Without waiting for another word, Edric rose to his feet and made his way down the steps. He could hear Zephyr calling after him, but he pressed on, his determination outweighing everything else. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to prove. Perhaps it was to the Eskarvens, or perhaps it was to himself. But in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the fight, the release he could find in the clashing swords.
When he reached the ground, he was met by the attendants who stood at attention as soon as they saw him. “Might you have a spare sword for your king?” he called out, his voice loud enough to carry over the murmurs of the crowd.
A stir of excitement passed through the audience as they saw Edric approach, and he was handed three swords, all of them gleaming in the sun. Without looking, he grabbed one, shrugging off his outer layers of clothing as he did. The cool air hit his skin, but he didn’t care. He was beyond caring for anything except the fight ahead. He climbed over the barrier that separated the fighters from the spectators and crossed the field to join the group of soldiers and fighters who were whispering in disbelief at his sudden appearance.
The sword felt heavy in his hands, but he rested it casually over his shoulder, turning to face his opponents with a grin that held no humor. “Shall we?” he said, his voice sharp with challenge.
The trumpets sounded, signaling the start of the match, and Edric lost himself in the heat of the moment. His body moved automatically—thrust, parry, block. The clash of swords, the cries of the audience, the rush of adrenaline—it all blurred into a single, intoxicating rush. His anger fueled him, and he fought with reckless abandon, not caring for the rules, not caring for the spectators. All that mattered was the fight.
He struck with every ounce of frustration, of confusion, of loss. The blows he landed were fierce, but there was no satisfaction in them. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the release that came with each swing of the sword.
The crowd roared, but Edric hardly heard them. He was focused entirely on the fight, each movement a way to push back against the universe that had torn him and Zephyr apart. The anger in his veins felt like the only thing keeping him together.
His next strike was expertly blocked, and Edric blinked up into Alec’s face, startled for a brief moment. His brother was standing before him, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern.
“What are you doing?” Alec hissed between his teeth, his voice tight with frustration.
Edric shook his head, not bothering to answer. Alec wouldn’t understand. Despite their earlier conversation, Alec could not grasp the depth of Edric’s feelings for Zephyr, not in the way Edric himself understood them. He couldn’t understand why Edric needed this fight so desperately.
They were separated again, their swords clashing as Edric pressed forward with abandon. There were no consequences here—this was just a game, a distraction. But Edric didn’t care. He fought as if his very soul depended on it.
One by one, his opponents conceded defeat, until he stood face-to-face with Alec once more. The crowd had fallen silent, all eyes on the two brothers as they circled each other warily. Alec’s face was taut with concentration, but Edric’s grin had turned into something sharper, a challenge. The crowd watched in anticipation, but Edric barely noticed them.
Alec made the first move, striking with careful precision. Edric danced back, narrowly dodging the blow. “What point are you trying to prove?” Alec asked, his tone a mixture of frustration and confusion. “You do not need to impress the Eskarvens, Edric.”
“It isn’t that,” Edric answered shortly, the words sharp. He swung again, but Alec blocked it effortlessly.
“Then what?” Alec asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion.
Edric shrugged and extended his foot, hoping to trip Alec. But his brother was too quick, too skilled, and he sidestepped the move with ease.
“If you win, I might tell you,” Edric taunted, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips, though the pain inside him remained as raw as ever.
Alec laughed, the sound ringing out across the tournament field, and the spark of challenge in his eyes flared brighter than ever. The tension between them shifted, and their swords became the only language they spoke. The crowd faded into the background as the brothers locked eyes, their movements fluid and fierce, each blow, each parry, a test of wills. The air was thick with adrenaline, and for a brief moment, Edric felt an intense connection to the fight, as though it was the only thing that mattered.
Alec’s sword flashed as he pressed forward, his strikes sharp, precise—but there was a weariness beginning to creep into his movements. It was a subtle shift at first, but Edric noticed it immediately. Alec, ever the seasoned fighter, was beginning to tire. Meanwhile, Edric’s anger, that raw, unrelenting force, still burned in his chest, fueling his every move. The frustration, the helplessness, the pain of knowing Zephyr would be gone soon—it all coursed through him like fire, lending him strength he hadn’t known he had.
They danced across the field, their blades clashing with a resounding ring, but Edric could feel the shift in the fight. Alec’s swings were slower now, his reactions more delayed, and Edric seized the opportunity. With a burst of speed, he closed the gap between them and, with one fluid motion, swept his blade up to rest at Alec’s throat.
Panting heavily, Alec took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. “I yield,” he said, his voice laced with admiration and a touch of disbelief, and the crowd erupted into applause, their cheers echoing across the grounds.
Edric stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of the fight. The adrenaline drained from his system quickly, leaving him feeling light-headed and hollow, as though the very act of releasing his anger had taken something from him. He exhaled shakily, wiping his brow as the applause continued.
An attendant approached, a smile on her face as she held out a golden pillow, atop which rested a crown of red roses. The scent of the flowers filled the air, and Edric reached for it automatically, his mind still reeling from the intensity of the fight. She motioned for him to lower his head, but instead, Edric lifted his gaze, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on the highest level, where Zephyr stood.
Zephyr, the one person who seemed to exist outside of everything else, stood there in his simple but elegant attire—white and grey, a striking contrast to the vibrant colors of the tournament below. He was clapping, a smile lighting up his face, his eyes shining with pride as he cheered Edric’s success. But there was something else in his expression, something tender, a quiet recognition of the bond that had grown between them over the past weeks.
A surge of clarity swept through Edric, cool and refreshing, as if the noise of the world around him had suddenly dulled and all that remained was Zephyr. The weight of the circlet in his hands seemed to ground him in that moment, the decision he had made crystallizing in his chest. His mind was clear now, and he knew what he had to do. He took the circlet from the attendant, holding it gently in his hands, and made his way up the stairs once more, the cheers of the crowd barely registering in his ears. His focus was entirely on Zephyr, on that lone figure standing at the top, high above all the rest.
Zephyr saw him coming, his eyes widening in surprise as Edric climbed the final steps. He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Edric, that was—” Zephyr began, but his words faltered as Edric, without warning, dropped to his knees before him.
The crowd fell silent as Edric knelt, holding up the circlet of roses with a fierce, unwavering gaze. “I offer this token, husband,” he said, his voice loud enough for Zephyr to hear but soft enough that it seemed to carry only for the two of them, “as a sign of my commitment to you and to the alliance between us.”
It was impulsive. It was dramatic. It was likely ridiculous. But none of that mattered in the face of what Edric felt in that moment. He had fought, he had raged, and now he was offering the only thing he could—his heart, his loyalty, his promise.
Zephyr’s eyes softened, and there was something in his expression that made Edric’s heart skip a beat—something that spoke of shared history, of unspoken words and quiet understanding. He swallowed visibly, his throat tight, and nodded. He gestured for Edric to rise, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out, though they both knew there would be no touching.
With trembling hands, Edric took the circlet and carefully placed it atop Zephyr’s head, the roses resting lightly against his hair. The action felt like a lifetime in itself—slow, reverent, full of significance. He avoided Zephyr’s gaze, knowing that if he looked into those eyes, the flood of emotion inside him would spill over. He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper as he leaned in close, close enough that no one else could hear the words he had to say.
“I am coming with you,” Edric whispered fiercely, his breath warm against Zephyr’s ear, though he could never touch him. “When you leave tomorrow, I am coming with you.”
The words were a declaration, a promise, an act of defiance against the forces that would tear them apart. Edric had made his choice, and there would be no turning back. He wasn’t asking for permission—he was telling Zephyr that no matter the distance, no matter the risk, he would be by his side.
Zephyr didn’t respond immediately. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. Edric pulled back slightly, searching Zephyr’s face for any sign of what he was thinking, of what he was feeling. For a moment, there was nothing but the soft flutter of his breath, the quiet sound of his heartbeat, and then Zephyr nodded once, his expression unreadable, his eyes holding a mixture of emotions that Edric couldn’t quite decipher.
“I never expected anything like this from you, Edric,” Zephyr said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But I will not stop you. If you truly wish it, then… you have my word.”
The crowd, still silent, watched the exchange with bated breath, but Edric’s world had narrowed to that single moment. The future was uncertain, full of danger and unknowns, but he had made his choice. For the first time since they had met, he felt a glimmer of hope flicker in the dark. They were together, and no matter what came next, they would face it as one.
As Edric rose to his feet, his chest still tight with the weight of the decision he had just made, he couldn’t help but feel the beginning of something new, something powerful. The tournament had ended, the crowd had dispersed, but for Edric and Zephyr, the real challenge was just beginning. And no matter what, Edric knew he would never let Zephyr face it alone.