Page 2 of The Curse Between Us

Edric gazed down at his father’s ashen face, a cold lump forming in his throat as he realized how unprepared he truly was for this moment.

The royal family of Rafria had always understood the harsh truths of their existence. War was their constant companion, and the cycle of life and death among their rulers was as inevitable as the changing seasons. Edric had known, for as long as he could remember, that one day his father would succumb, and when that day came, Edric would ascend the throne, assuming he still had life within him.

But this—this was nothing like what he had imagined. Watching Caldwell’s face lose its color, hearing the labored breaths that came with each shallow inhalation, felt far more overwhelming than anything Edric had anticipated.

“Bring more wood,” Edric commanded, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar in the stillness of the room. The attendants, who had been silent observers, responded without hesitation, rushing to comply. “Raise the fire higher.”

One of them started to speak, but Edric’s icy gaze stopped them before they could utter a word.

“He’s too cold,” Edric muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand hovered over his father’s, then recoiled, stinging with the coldness he hadn’t expected. Caldwell’s skin was like ice—far colder than anything Edric had ever touched. The bluish tint creeping across his father’s lips and the frost forming in his silver hair were unmistakable signs that death was near. The fire, hastily built by hands unused to such tasks, seemed utterly inadequate in the face of the unrelenting chill that had taken hold of the king’s body.

Caldwell, King of Rafria, was slipping away, and Edric could do nothing to stop it.

How fitting, Edric thought bitterly, that his father’s stubbornness would drag out the inevitable. The king had always been a man of unyielding will, and he was holding on, resisting the power of Icelight, the legendary blade of Eskarven kings, far longer than anyone had expected. It was a blade that rarely spared its victims.

The attendants added more wood to the fire, its flames rising higher, but Edric barely noticed, his thoughts consumed with the cruel helplessness of the situation. The heat from the fire was suffocating, an oppressive contrast to the unnatural coldness of his father’s body. Rafria was a land of perpetual warmth, but even the sunlight and warm breezes could not reach them now. And the fire, though fueled by all the effort in the world, couldn’t provide the warmth Caldwell so desperately needed.

A throat cleared behind him, breaking the stillness. Edric turned wearily but didn’t lift his gaze from his father’s face. “What is it?”

“Your brother wishes to speak with you,” a soft voice replied.

Edric looked up at Eileen, her expression calm and understanding. She would not disturb him unless it was important. Alec, too, would never do so without grave cause.

“I’ll stay with him,” Eileen said, her voice gentle. “We’ll let you know if—”

The words hung in the air, unspoken but understood. There was no hope. The only way his father’s condition could change now was for him to die.

Edric rose, his throat tight. “Thank you,” he murmured, his hand briefly touching her shoulder. “They’re in Herbert’s office?”

“As always.” A fleeting trace of humor, so rare in these dark moments, softened Eileen’s lips into a small, tight smile. Edric tried to return it, but the attempt felt hollow.

The corridors of the castle were cool, a welcome relief from the heat of the chamber he had just left behind. He moved swiftly, ignoring the sympathetic stares and hushed whispers that followed him as he passed. Alec’s message must be urgent—something of great importance, or he wouldn’t have called Edric away from their father at such a critical time. The battle with King Hadden weighed heavily on Edric’s mind, and he realized he had yet to discuss it with his brother. He had been stuck here, in the castle, while Alec and Caldwell had gone to the battlefield, fighting for their kingdom.

The rules had always been clear: only two members of the royal family could fight in any given battle. One had to remain behind, ensuring that their family wouldn’t be decimated in a single blow. For years, Edric and Alec had been the ones to fight, but today, Caldwell had insisted on leading the charge against King Hadden’s smaller force.

And now, it had cost him his life.

Edric’s jaw clenched as he reached Herbert’s office. The door stood ajar, and he pushed it open without hesitation. Inside, Herbert and Alec sat close to one another, bent over a pile of documents, but Edric’s gaze immediately shifted to the third person in the room.

The stranger stood before Edric, dressed in the simple garb of a Rafrian commoner, yet Edric could sense the dissonance immediately. There was something in the way he carried himself, the way his dark hair clung to his brow with sweat, that screamed of foreignness. His face—sharp and striking, with clean-cut lines of cheek and jaw—was a marked contrast to the softer, rounder features typical of Rafrians. Bright blue eyes locked onto Edric’s, and in an instant, his heart skipped a beat. He knew exactly who stood before him.

“Zephyr,” Edric breathed, the name slipping from his lips in astonishment.

Zephyr, the youngest son of the Eskarven royal family. Or perhaps, after the day’s battle, the only surviving son. Edric’s mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. It seemed Zephyr had been captured alive on the battlefield, dressed now in Rafrian clothing—likely to avoid recognition—and brought here, standing before Edric.

The Prince—no, King?—Zephyr stood with a fluid grace and gave Edric a bow that was respectful, though not deferential. "Prince Edric, thank you for coming."

Edric, still reeling from the sight of the man before him, felt his body tense. He turned to face Alec, his younger brother, who had been watching the exchange with unusual interest. “What exactly is going on here, Alec?” Edric’s voice betrayed the flicker of confusion, and perhaps, even distrust.

Alec met his brother's gaze, his expression unreadable. "Hopefully," he said carefully, "the negotiation of a peace treaty between Rafria and Eskarven."

The word "peace" hung in the air like an impossible dream. It was small, simple, and yet so profoundly unimaginable. Edric had known nothing but war with Eskarven for as long as he could remember. The death of his mother had only solidified his father’s resolve to continue the endless conflict. Once, Edric had blamed the Eskarvens entirely for her death, his heart consumed with the need for vengeance. But over the years, that rage had cooled into a resigned understanding that the war had cost both sides dearly. And today, on this very day, both kingdoms had paid a heavy price.

Edric cleared his throat, his voice firm but tinged with a bittersweet sense of obligation. He nodded to Zephyr and gave a respectful bow in return. "My condolences on the loss of your brother," he said, his words feeling hollow but necessary. The trappings of diplomacy were required, even in such a dire moment.

Zephyr inclined his head slightly, his expression somber. "Thank you," he replied, his voice steady. Then, after a moment of silence, he asked, "And how fares your father?"

Edric’s heart tightened. He cast a quick glance at Alec, whose face betrayed nothing, but the shadow of understanding was evident in his eyes. They both knew the truth. The king—their father—was slipping away. "I do not think he will last much longer," Edric said, his voice unsteady. "Unless..." He paused, uncertainty flickering in his chest. "Unless there is something you can do?"

Zephyr shook his head, the regret in his expression genuine but not easily hidden. "Unfortunately, no," he replied softly.

Herbert, who had been silent until now, finally interjected. His tone was brisk, cutting through the tension in the room. "That is why you’re both here." His sharp eyes scanned both men. "Unless King Caldwell makes a miraculous recovery, very shortly, you will both inherit the crowns of your respective kingdoms. And, unless my intelligence is incorrect—which, I assure you, it rarely is—you are both receptive to the idea of cessation of hostilities between Rafria and Eskarven."

Edric could not suppress the skepticism that rose within him. He narrowed his eyes at Herbert, a man known for his calculated actions and sharp wit. "And how, exactly, did you acquire this intelligence?" he asked, suspicion lacing his words.

Herbert merely shrugged, unaffected by the scrutiny. "In the usual manner," he replied with a casual air, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Then, he glanced at Zephyr, a sly grin spreading across his face. "You were a bit harder to watch, but we found ways."

The revelation that the Rafrians had been spying on Zephyr did not seem to phase the Eskarven prince. In fact, Zephyr seemed almost amused by the acknowledgment. "You've been waiting for this moment for a long time, haven’t you?" he asked, his voice low, with a knowing look.

"Yes," Alec answered with quiet certainty. "My father never listened to reason. I always knew that there would be no chance for an alliance under his reign. But you, Edric," Alec turned to his brother, hands spread in a pleading gesture, "you have a chance to change things. To end this war. To stop the endless and unnecessary cycle of death and destruction."

"Some would argue with you calling it unnecessary," Zephyr’s voice interrupted, his tone quiet but firm. He had been listening intently, and now all eyes turned toward him. "There will be those in my court who will demand vengeance for my brother’s death, and I am certain there will be those here who will call for the same in your kingdom, regarding your father."

Edric’s gaze hardened. He knew Zephyr spoke the truth, but the reality was crushing. "By the end of the day, they will both be dead," he said flatly, his words heavy in the silence of the room. "And that will be the end of it."

Alec nodded slowly, his expression solemn. "They died at each other's hands. A fitting end." He glanced at Zephyr, searching for some sign of reaction, but Zephyr remained composed, his face unreadable. Despite the circumstances, despite his status as a prisoner, Zephyr’s calm demeanor only deepened Edric’s respect for him.

Zephyr shifted slightly, his eyes returning to Edric. "So," he said, his voice deliberate, "we agree to cease the fighting. And then what? I must return to my kingdom to take up my throne, or it will be claimed by one of my many cousins. And if that happens, you will find yourselves negotiating all over again."

Herbert shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It isn’t that simple. If we just let you go, it will be seen as a sign of weakness. The court would never accept it."

Alec leaned forward, his hands folding in front of him, his voice quiet but determined. "It’s a radical change we’re proposing. The people will need something to convince them."

Edric’s stomach clenched as he began to piece together what they were implying. His heart sank as he realized the truth. His voice was flat when he spoke. "You’re saying he has to remain here."

Herbert nodded quickly, though his tone was soft. "Just for a few months. Long enough for both kingdoms to adjust to the new order."

Edric frowned, his mind racing. He recalled the history lessons of Rafria and Eskarven, the ways in which both kingdoms had always prided themselves on their traditions. "But, Zephyr," he said, turning to the Eskarven prince, "you have to be crowned in your own hall, do you not?"

Zephyr met Edric’s eyes, surprise flashing across his face, but he nodded in agreement. "Yes," he confirmed. "If I am not crowned, my authority will mean nothing."

Herbert tapped the blank sheet of parchment before him, a self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Not entirely accurate," he said, before turning to Zephyr with a knowing grin. "You will write a letter to your court, delivered by our messengers, bearing your seal. You will appoint a regent in your absence—perhaps one of your cousins. As Crown Prince and heir apparent, your authority will still stand. Once enough time has passed for both of our lands to grieve our fallen kings, you may return to Eskarven and claim your throne, with Rafria standing as your ally."

Edric let out a low whistle as the full weight of the plan slowly settled into his mind. "Herbert, you've thought of everything," he said with a hint of admiration. It was rare that anyone could surprise him, but his chief strategist had managed to do just that. Edric couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the man he had plucked from the Royal University years ago. Herbert had proved invaluable, especially now when the future of both kingdoms rested in their hands.

Zephyr, however, did not look convinced. His brow furrowed, and a flicker of frustration crossed his features. "It’s unclear," he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. "If this treaty is to be one of equal standing, why must I remain here?" He shot a brief, uncertain glance at Edric, then quickly looked away again, as though he didn't want to expose too much emotion. "It displays a lack of faith in me, in my word, and in my people."

Alec, seated beside Edric, immediately spoke up, his voice firm, yet carrying a hint of empathy. "It’s not meant to," he said, his posture tense as he leaned forward. "But Zephyr, you were taken prisoner. During a battle that we won. As much as we wish to be in the future, we are not on equal standing yet." His words were calm, but there was an undeniable weight behind them. The truth of the situation hung between them like a heavy curtain.

Edric observed the exchange in silence, his mind working through the complexities of what Alec had said. Zephyr’s expression remained distant, his hands steepled in front of him as he pondered. Finally, after a long moment of deliberation, he spoke again, his voice resigned but unwavering. "I do not like it," he said, his gaze focused on something far beyond the room. "But if my temporary absence will bring peace to my kingdom, then I will suffer it as patiently as I can."

Edric nodded slowly, relieved at Zephyr’s maturity and willingness to compromise. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "We will do our best to ensure your suffering is as mild as possible." He offered a small, appreciative smile.

A flicker of a grin tugged at the corner of Zephyr’s mouth, and Edric found himself responding in kind. It was strange—unnerving even—to be sitting here, calmly discussing a peace treaty with someone who had been his sworn enemy for most of his life. Yet, in this moment, Edric found himself thinking that, had circumstances been different—had they not been born on opposite sides of the great mountain range that separated their kingdoms—they might have been good friends.

The brief moment of camaraderie was broken by Alec clearing his throat. Edric turned to face his brother, sensing the tension that suddenly coiled in the air. Alec’s posture had changed, and Edric immediately knew that his brother was about to present something he wouldn't like.

"Of course," Alec said slowly, his voice measured, "there is one other thing that would go a long way in ensuring acceptance of the treaty."

Edric raised an eyebrow, already dreading what was to come. "Like a sacred vow?" he asked, his voice laced with a note of skepticism. He turned toward Zephyr, who now wore a similarly puzzled expression. "Yes, we could certainly have a priestess witness the signing, if you think it would be beneficial."

Herbert grimaced at the suggestion, his fingers drumming against the desk in a rhythmic, impatient motion. "That isn’t exactly what Alec was referring to," he said, his tone turning a little sharper. He folded his hands neatly on the table before him and looked at Edric with a knowing expression. "A sacred vow, yes, but of a very specific type."

Zephyr’s eyes widened, and Edric could feel his pulse quicken in anticipation. "What do you mean?" Edric asked, his voice betraying a hint of confusion.

It was Alec who answered this time, his voice soft but firm. "Marriage, Edric. We mean a marriage vow."

Edric’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. The suggestion, though entirely practical in the context of political alliances, was something he had never anticipated. His mind raced as he glanced at Zephyr, who seemed just as taken aback as he was, though—Edric noted with some relief—not displeased.

Still, a thought bubbled up in Edric’s mind, and he voiced it without thinking. "You forget, Alec, that Marsh and I have a long-standing arrangement in place."

Alec shrugged, an offhand gesture that seemed almost dismissive. It struck a chord with Edric, and he glared at his brother, his irritation rising. "We’ll talk to him. Marsh knows his duty, and he will do what’s best for the kingdom."

Edric’s frustration flared. "Are you saying that I won’t?" His voice was low, but the sharpness of it was unmistakable. "I have a duty to the kingdom, but I also have my own honour to protect."

Alec’s expression hardened. "There was never any formal declaration," he said with a shrug, his tone growing sharper. "And Edric, you can’t pretend that you and Marsh share some grand romance. His family is well-situated, influential. An alliance between you was always going to be political, pragmatic. This,"—he waved a hand toward Zephyr—"is far more practical."

The cold logic of Alec’s words stung, and Edric felt the sharpness of them cut through his chest. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, Zephyr broke the silence. "Might Prince Edric and I have a moment alone?"

Alec and Herbert exchanged a glance, one that spoke volumes, but they both rose from their seats. "We’ll be just next door," Herbert said with a curt nod. "Please, my lords, remember that this is not merely about you. The future of two kingdoms depends upon this treaty." With that, Alec gave Edric one last wary look before exiting the room, leaving the two princes alone.

The door clicked shut behind them, and Edric found himself facing Zephyr, his heart beating uncomfortably fast. He swallowed roughly, unsure of what to say. The room felt suddenly small and intimate.

Fortunately, Zephyr spared him the need to break the silence. "Who is Marsh?" he asked, his voice neutral, but his eyes curious.

Edric winced, knowing he owed Zephyr an explanation. "One of the royal guards," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "And a good friend."

Zephyr nodded slowly, but his gaze remained distant. "You said there was an understanding between you," he continued. "Do you love him?"

The question, blunt and direct, would have caught Edric off guard had it come from anyone else. But with Zephyr, it seemed strangely disarming. Edric hesitated, then answered with a quiet honesty. "No. I care for him, and as I said, he’s a good friend. But Alec was right. The proposed alliance was always more political in nature. And it has never been made formal."

"So there would be no broken hearts, nor broken words, if you were to end it?" Zephyr pressed.

"No," Edric confirmed, feeling a weight lift from his chest. "It’s not like that."

There was a moment of silence, and then Edric found the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at him. "And you?" he said, his voice quiet but probing. "Do you have an intended, back home in Eskarven?"

Zephyr’s eyes flickered, and he took a deep breath before answering. "No," he said softly. "There have been discussions, of course, but Hadden was unwilling to entertain any of them seriously. I believe..." His voice trailed off for a moment, and Edric saw him swallow hard. "He thought himself invincible, and so the matter of succession never interested him much."

Edric nodded, processing Zephyr’s words, then raised an eyebrow at him. "So. Is this something you would suffer, for the sake of your kingdom?"

To his surprise, a flush crept onto Zephyr’s cheeks, coloring them a shade deeper than Edric would have expected from someone who came from the frigid lands of Eskarven. Slowly, Zephyr’s gaze swept over Edric, his dark lashes fluttering. "I do not believe I would need to suffer," he said, his voice a soft murmur.

Edric’s heart raced at the implication, but he pushed the feeling aside. He had a more pressing concern. "Would they see it as an insult?" he wondered aloud, his mind spinning. "The two of us marrying, when for so long we have been enemies?"

Zephyr shrugged, his movements graceful and fluid. It drew Edric’s attention to the breadth of his shoulders beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and Edric found his thoughts momentarily distracted. "Our kingdoms have been enemies," Zephyr corrected. "You and I have not."

Edric couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping him before he could stop it. The seriousness of the situation wasn’t lost on him, but somehow, in this moment, it felt almost absurd. "True," he conceded, his lips twitching into a smile. "But we know nothing about each other. We’ve only just met. What if we should grow to despise one another? We could not end the marriage and risk the dissolution of the treaty."

“No,” Zephyr said softly, his voice carrying an air of quiet finality. “We could not.” His eyes met Edric’s, the intensity of his gaze piercing, but there was no hint of the storm raging beneath his calm exterior. He held Edric’s stare for a long, drawn-out moment, as though weighing his words carefully. “And yet, we must not be expected to remain together at all times. Once I am released to return home and be crowned, we will both be occupied with the rule of our own kingdoms.”

Edric nodded slowly, his mind working through the implications of Zephyr’s words. He felt an overwhelming sense of realization settle over him. Alec and Herbert—his two trusted advisors—had thought of everything. The plan, as uncomfortable as it felt, was clearly mapped out with precision. “So. It’s meant to be a temporary arrangement, then. To appease the people until things have calmed, and then we will go our separate ways.”

Zephyr gave a sharp, almost bitter little laugh, the sound carrying the weight of everything that had brought them to this point. “Perhaps the occasional visit for appearance’s sake,” he mused. “A marriage in name only.”

“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 small window. 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 meant to 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.”