Page 13 of The Curse Between Us

Zephyr’s fever had started to ease as soon as they began the downward descent through the mountain pass. It was a subtle shift, but undeniable. The oppressive warmth in his chest had lessened, and the dull ache in his head slowly gave way to a refreshing clarity. If there had been even a sliver of doubt remaining that the illness had been connected to his presence in Rafria, it evaporated now. He inhaled deeply, the crisp, cool mountain air sweeping over him, soothing his body in a way that felt almost sacred. It was as though the very land had greeted him, its embrace a balm for his troubled health.

Zephyr sat up straighter in his saddle, feeling the tension in his muscles begin to ease as they descended further. He looked around at the familiar terrain, the jagged peaks that rose around them like sentinels. This was Eskarven, his home, and it had been far too long since he had breathed its air. The weight in his chest lightened further, a sense of peace beginning to settle within him.

As his gaze moved over his shoulder, he caught sight of Edric, who had been riding in silence beside him. Their eyes met, and Zephyr raised an eyebrow. Edric, who had been deep in thought, offered a rueful smile before nudging his horse forward to match Zephyr’s pace. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft but with genuine concern.

"Better already," Zephyr replied, inhaling the mountain air again, savoring the way it filled his lungs. "It’s good to be home," he added, the words slipping out with an uncharacteristic vulnerability. He had been away from Eskarven for so long that the simple fact of returning—of being here—felt almost surreal.

Edric’s smile softened, his eyes reflecting both understanding and a touch of sympathy. Before he could respond, however, he shivered visibly, his cloak fluttering around him as the cold air bit at his skin. He chuckled, though there was a wry edge to his voice. “I can’t say the climate agrees with me as much as it does with you, but I am prepared to take my turn with the discomfort.”

Zephyr couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of Edric huddling more deeply into his cloak, the stark contrast to his own comfort in the mountain chill not lost on him. He had tried to warn Edric—tried to explain how the cold of Eskarven would be just as harsh as the heat of Rafria. But Edric had been insistent, as always.

"I told you this would happen," Zephyr had said earlier, his voice tinged with amusement as he prepared for the journey. But Edric had been undeterred, his resolve clear. "I’m going with you," he’d insisted. "I’ll remain as long as I can and return when I can no longer travel."

Even Edric’s advisors—Alec and Herbert, especially—had tried to convince him otherwise. They had argued with him late into the night, pleading for him to reconsider, to stay in Rafria where he would be safe. But Edric had listened to their concerns with patience, then simply folded his arms and said, “I am going,” and that was that. No more was said on the matter.

Now, here they were, descending the mountain pass into Eskarven, Edric at Zephyr’s side, clearly feeling the effects of the cold but still steadfast in his decision. He was not here for politics, not for the official visits or the formalities. He was here for Zephyr. All for him. And that, Zephyr thought, was a gift that could never be repaid.

Edric, despite his discomfort, looked around with interest, his eyes scanning the terrain as they moved forward. “It must have been difficult, getting your forces through this pass,” he commented thoughtfully, before glancing at Zephyr with a slight grimace. “Or should I not—”

Zephyr raised a hand, cutting him off with a gesture that was both dismissive and understanding. “There’s no sense pretending the last centuries of war never happened, Edric. If we cannot speak of them, how can we ever hope to move past them?” His tone was firm but not harsh, an open invitation for honesty in the face of their shared history.

"A wise answer, my prince," Clara interjected from behind, her voice calm and assured. She had ridden up to join them, her horse moving steadily alongside. “King Edric is right to ask. There is no shame in acknowledging the past, especially when it informs the present." She gave Edric a respectful nod. "We were often hampered by the narrowness of the pass, but it is the only access point to Eskarven. There was no other choice.”

“We?” Zephyr’s eyebrow arched in surprise. Clara spoke as though she had been personally involved in those conflicts, though he had known her only in her current role as High Priestess. He had never suspected she might have a military background.

Clara caught his look and met his gaze with a knowing glint in her eyes. “I was not always a priestess,” she said, her voice carrying a note of pride. “I have been a soldier as well.”

Edric let out a low whistle at the revelation, his respect for Clara evident in the way he looked at her. Zephyr, on the other hand, was momentarily stunned into silence. He had heard of the former High Priestess’s storied career in battle, but he had never imagined Clara, of all people, had once held a soldier’s sword. It was a piece of her history that had never quite matched the image he had of her.

“Perhaps we may discuss the possibility of widening the pass, to increase the efficiency of trade,” Edric suggested, turning the conversation back to practical matters. As he and Clara began discussing the logistics of the proposal, Zephyr drifted into a quiet contemplation. It was hard to focus on anything other than the relief that surged through him. Being back in Eskarven, with Edric at his side, filled him with a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he had missed so much.

They neared the base of the mountains, and Zephyr’s thoughts shifted again. The air was growing colder still, and he reached into his saddlebags for a thicker cloak, tossing it over his shoulders. With a glance at Edric, he gestured for him to do the same. “It’s going to get colder,” he warned.

Edric nodded, adjusting the cloak around his shoulders with a grateful murmur. “How much farther?” he asked, his voice still tinged with the discomfort of the cold.

“Two hours, at this pace,” Zephyr replied, pointing to the left where the mountains curved. “The palace lies just beyond the base of the great waterfall. Once we reach the foot, we turn west.”

Edric squinted toward the mountains, but the distance obscured his view. “I can see nothing from here.”

“Soon,” Zephyr promised. “Soon.”

From behind them, Eileen’s muffled voice broke the moment. “I certainly hope so! How do you bear this cold?”

Zephyr glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “This? This is nothing.”

Eileen grimaced but hunched down further into her saddle, her cloak pulled tightly around her. Alicia, seeing her discomfort, passed her a flask of hot spiced wine, which Eileen accepted with a grateful smile.

Zephyr watched the exchange with a sense of quiet contentment. It was heartening to see how well the Rafrians and Eskarvens had worked together on this journey, overcoming the natural barriers between their lands and their histories. As his eyes met Edric’s once more, their shared smiles spoke volumes. This—this alliance—was the future.

An hour passed before Zephyr saw the first shimmer on the horizon, a faint glimmer of light that grew steadily brighter as they rode forward. His heart quickened, and an overwhelming sense of peace washed over him. He hadn’t realized how much he had longed for this moment until it was right in front of him. The familiar sight—the beacon that had marked his childhood and his return—was nearly within reach. His hand instinctively reached out, settling lightly on Edric’s shoulder. The cold, biting air had forced them both to layer themselves in thick, protective fabrics, which, in this moment, served as a blessing. The closeness between them, though intimate, was softened by the layers that shielded them from the sharp edges of touch.

“Look,” Zephyr said softly, his voice carrying a sense of awe that he rarely allowed himself to express.

Edric, his attention fixed on the growing glow on the horizon, leaned forward in his saddle, squinting against the light. “There?” he asked, his voice tinged with wonder. He pointed ahead, his finger tracing the path towards the distant palace, which now gleamed like a mirage in the fading light. “Is that—”

“Yes,” Zephyr answered, his tone gentle, but brimming with pride. “That is Eskarven.”

Clara, who had been riding nearby, spoke up with a note of unmistakable pride in her voice. “The sunlight reflects off the walls of crystal and ice,” she said, her words carrying the reverence that the Eskarven people held for their home. Her gaze was fixed on the distant fortress, and as she spoke, the Eskarvens surrounding them straightened, their postures proud as though standing before something sacred. “You’ll see it more clearly as we draw nearer.”

The snow beneath their horses' hooves crunched with every step, but the skies above remained clear, offering them an uninterrupted view of their destination. The land, though cold and harsh, seemed to offer them a view of perfection, as if it too understood the significance of their journey. Zephyr kept his eyes on Edric, watching his face shift as the palace slowly came into full view—a majestic sight of towering marble, crystal, and ice, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. It was white and silver, a towering testament to the strength and resilience of the Eskarven people, glistening like a jewel against the backdrop of the mountains.

His home. Where his throne awaited him.

Edric let out a soft breath, his eyes wide, and his lips parted in silent awe. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the sincerity in it was clear. “The word is inadequate, but I can’t find any other.”

Zephyr felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of the moment almost too much to bear. It was rare for him to let such emotions show, but in that moment, it was impossible to deny the swell of pride, love, and history that surged through him. “It is,” he agreed quietly. “It is everything.”

As the palace grew ever closer, the sight of it so close now that it filled the horizon, Zephyr’s chest tightened with a complex mix of joy and melancholy. This was the land of his birth, the land that had shaped him into the ruler he was meant to be, yet it had always been a place he felt compelled to leave. He had known he would return one day, but seeing it now—seeing it through the eyes of Edric, who had never before experienced the raw beauty and unforgiving reality of Eskarven—made everything feel new again.

“We should go,” Zephyr said after a long moment, his voice quieter, more subdued. He flicked his reins gently, urging his horse forward. “They’re waiting for us.”

As they drew closer to the palace, the sound of their horses’ hooves clattering against the stone bridge that spanned the frozen river filled the air. The workers below, dressed in thick furs to ward off the chill, paused in their labor to wave at the passing procession. They were cutting large blocks of ice from the river’s surface and loading them onto wooden carts, the frozen slabs glinting in the dimming light.

“We melt the ice down for our water supply,” Zephyr explained, his tone still tinged with the weight of their shared journey. “It’s a reliable source, though there are natural springs deeper in the mountains. We use both, depending on the season.”

Edric glanced down at the workers below, clearly fascinated by the sight. “It’s not at all what I expected,” he remarked, his voice thoughtful but tinged with a slight embarrassment. He looked up at Zephyr, as though seeking some kind of reassurance, a hint of apology in his expression. “I thought Eskarven would be... different.”

Zephyr gave him a wry grin, unable to suppress the humor that seemed to bubble up at Edric’s words. “We have learned to live with the extremes of our situation,” he said with a shrug, his voice softening. “Just as you have. Every place has its hardships.”

Edric gave him a quick, almost sheepish smile. “That’s fair,” he said, nodding, his eyes still locked on the palace ahead of them. His expression was one of quiet reflection, a deeper understanding dawning. “I’m glad I accompanied you here,” he added quietly, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. It wasn’t just the words, but the way he spoke them—like he meant them, and understood now, in a way he hadn’t before, what it meant to belong to a place so shaped by its harsh conditions.

Zephyr, unable to contain the feeling of closeness, reached out and took hold of Edric’s hand. The gesture, though softened by their heavy gloves, was still an unspoken communication between them—one that spoke of shared experiences, trust, and the unbreakable bond they had forged through their trials.

“As am I,” Zephyr said, his voice a quiet murmur, almost drowned out by the sound of hooves and the rustling of the wind.

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After a whirlwind welcome and a splendid homecoming feast that had been filled with laughter, music, and the joyful clinking of glasses, Zephyr led Edric through the towering halls of the palace toward their new suite of rooms. The weight of the evening hung in the air—ceremonial, yet full of a personal warmth that Zephyr hadn’t expected. His people were kind, patient, understanding of the time he had been away, but the pressures of his responsibilities were beginning to settle over him like a heavy cloak. The sight of the familiar marble corridors, the long tapestries hanging from the walls, the echoes of footsteps that had once been his own, filled him with a sense of homecoming that stirred something deep inside.

When they arrived at the door to the suite, Zephyr paused, his fingers tracing the intricate silver inlay on the doorframe, a design of swirling patterns and delicate engravings that had always caught his eye. He exhaled slowly, as if preparing himself for something both familiar and foreign.

“These were your brother’s rooms,” Edric said softly, his voice not quite a question, but one that carried the weight of uncertainty.

“Yes,” Zephyr answered with a quiet finality, even though it hadn’t been an answer that required words. “They’ve been prepared for me in my absence, as Pierce laid claim to my old suite during his regency.” He shook his head in amusement, a faint smile curving at the edges of his lips as he thought of his cousin. Pierce had always been full of life, full of ideas, and even more so now that he had been at the helm of Eskarven’s throne. The moment Pierce had seen him return, he had welcomed him with open arms but had been thoroughly unwilling to relinquish the apartment that Zephyr had once claimed as his own.

Edric didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and Zephyr appreciated the silence. It was a testament to their unspoken understanding.

“Allow me,” Edric said after a brief pause, stepping forward and brushing past Zephyr. With a gentle push, he opened the door to their new suite, and the moment it swung inward, the air seemed to shift.

The rooms were just as Zephyr remembered them: a grand space, with soaring ceilings that arched like the wings of a bird in flight, allowing the light of the setting sun to filter through the large windows, casting everything in a warm glow. The windows, framed with thick curtains of dark velvet, overlooked the frozen waterfall—a cascading veil of ice that shimmered in the dying light, a constant, ethereal presence. Inside, piles of soft cushions and heavy blankets lay scattered across the enormous bed, as though the room had been waiting for its rightful occupants to return. There was an expectant hush to the space, an air of preparation, as though it had been paused, waiting for them to enter.

Edric crossed the room to the center, his footsteps echoing in the vast space, and turned slowly in a circle, taking in every detail. “Impressive,” he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

Zephyr nodded but couldn’t find much to add. He had seen these rooms countless times, grown up in them, and though they were certainly impressive, the grandeur felt less welcoming now, more heavy with expectations than the warmth of a home. The life he had once lived here seemed distant, faded into the past. It would be an adjustment, yes, but Zephyr knew he would find a way to make it work, just as he had found a way to live with so many other things in his life. This room, this palace, was a part of him, and he would learn to exist within it again, with Edric by his side.

Edric cleared his throat, drawing Zephyr’s attention back to him. The familiar tension in his body was palpable—shifting weight from side to side, as if considering something before speaking. His eyes were drawn to the bed, and he tilted his head slightly toward it. “Forgive my indelicacy, but… there’s no convenient chaise here.”

Zephyr bit his lip at the gentle, almost bashful way Edric put it. Of course, the attendants had been meticulous in their preparations, ensuring that everything Zephyr might need was in place—but they could not have anticipated the dynamics of Zephyr’s return with his closest friend, nor the intimate nature of their relationship that, while not fully realized, was undeniably there.

He glanced over at the bed, his cheeks warming as he realized the implications. Sharing a bed was something both simple and complicated—comforting, but also laden with unspoken boundaries. “We could—” he began, then trailed off.

Edric took a step closer to him, his gaze unwavering, as though sensing the hesitation that held Zephyr’s words back. “We could what?”

Zephyr’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked at Edric, his figure striking in the black-and-white garments he had worn to the welcome feast. The fine fabric hung heavily on his broad frame, the details obscured, but his presence was no less commanding. His form still carried a quiet strength, even under layers of fabric. “It’s much colder here,” Zephyr said carefully, forcing his words to remain even. “I normally sleep in a long robe, with trousers underneath.”

The understanding in Edric’s eyes was immediate, and for a fleeting moment, Zephyr saw the flash of desire—raw and present—in Edric’s expression. It was gone almost as quickly as it came, masked by a flash of thoughtfulness. “You think it’s safe?” Edric asked, his voice low.

“Safer,” Zephyr corrected him. “We should still… try to maintain our distance. If our hands and faces are uncovered—”

“I understand,” Edric replied, the glimmer of desire fading from his eyes, replaced by the same thoughtful contemplation that Zephyr had learned to trust. “Still.”

“Still,” Zephyr echoed, his words hanging between them with a weight that felt simultaneously light and impossible to ignore.

It would be pleasant, having Edric so near to him, to feel his warmth in the cold night air. But the thought of not being able to reach out and pull him close—to simply hold him—was a kind of torture Zephyr wasn’t sure he could withstand. The distance between them, while necessary, felt like an insurmountable barrier, even as they lay in the same bed.

The air was thick between them, charged with the promise of something unspoken. Zephyr swallowed roughly, trying to regain his composure. He gestured to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. “You should find sleepwear there,” he said, his voice quiet, even as his mind raced.

Edric nodded, and with a small, respectful smile, he crossed to the wardrobe. Zephyr, ever the gentleman, politely turned aside, giving Edric privacy as he began to strip off his outer garments. The sound of fabric being pulled off, the soft rustle of movement, was all Zephyr could hear as he focused on his own preparations. The minutes felt like hours. When he finally heard Edric’s quiet cough, signaling that he was decent, Zephyr turned back.

Edric stood before him, looking endearingly rumpled. His hair was mussed from pulling his nightshirt over his head, and the heavy white nightshirt itself hung loosely from his shoulders, the fabric flowing gracefully down his broad frame and leaving a tantalizing patch of skin exposed at his collarbone. Zephyr’s breath caught in his throat, and he suppressed a bolt of lust that threatened to overwhelm him. He forced a tight smile as he changed into his own sleepwear, giving Edric the courtesy of turning away.

When they were finally settled, Zephyr pulled back the thick, soft covers of the bed, motioning for Edric to climb in. They both moved carefully, as though any sudden movement might break the delicate balance of the moment. Once they were beneath the blankets, Zephyr rolled over to face Edric, marveling at how close they were. The proximity was almost unbearable—a comfort, a tease.

Everything Zephyr wanted was so close, just within reach, and yet it was still so far from his grasp.

“Goodnight, Edric,” Zephyr whispered, the words slipping out in a voice more vulnerable than he had intended. “In the morning, we will explore my land together.”

Edric’s lips curled into a soft, affectionate smile. “Goodnight, Zephyr.”

The words felt like a promise, a gentle acknowledgment of everything they had yet to navigate between them.

Whether it was the mere fact of being back in his own kingdom, or the simple comfort of Edric beside him, Zephyr could not say. But that night, with Edric near, he slept better than he had in years.

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