Page 5 of The Curse Between Us

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 had rehearsed 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 arms wide 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.

“But we did not need to,” he added, his voice steady and resolute.

The words landed with force. There was no turning back now. The crowd shifted uneasily, unsure of what was coming next.

“This war with Eskarven has drained our land of its people and its energy for too long,” Edric continued, his voice growing stronger. “It has taken from all of us: friends, children, parents, siblings, all manner of loved ones. We have allowed it to consume us as completely as that fire will consume my father’s body, and today I say to you, no more.”

A breathless silence followed, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“It is no easy thing,” Edric continued, “to change a state of existence that has defined us for so long. And we could not do it alone.”

He exhaled slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what he was about to say would change everything.

“During the fighting yesterday, Prince Zephyr of Eskarven was taken prisoner and brought back to the castle. Under the advice of Chief Strategist Herbert and Prince-General Alec, he and I have come to an agreement that will secure peace between our lands.”

There was a split-second of silence as Edric’s words settled in, the weight of his announcement hanging in the air like a thundercloud. And then, as if the dam had broken, the crowd erupted into a chaotic swirl of conversation, questions, disbelief, and hushed murmurs. Some of the older nobles, their faces lined with the experience of years on the battlefield, were clearly outraged. The very idea of forming an alliance with Eskarven, their long-time enemies, seemed preposterous, even traitorous. Their voices rang out like sharp daggers, each syllable tinged with disdain.

But what struck Edric the most, as he scanned the sea of faces, was the other expression—the one that stretched across the faces of the younger ones, those with children of an age to fight, and even those battle-worn veterans who had only just returned from the front lines. It was relief. He could see it in the way their shoulders relaxed, in the way their eyes softened, as if a weight had been lifted from them, the weight of impending war that had haunted them for years. For some, it was the realization that they would never again be called to march into battle, to risk their lives in an endless war that had drained them all, emotionally and physically.

Edric let the chatter run its course, his eyes flicking from face to face, reading the unspoken words in the lines of tension, the flickers of hope, the disbelief. He didn’t try to quiet them yet, knowing that the moment would come when they needed to hear him, and when they did, he would need to make his words count.

“Please,” Edric held up a hand, his voice steady and firm. It took a moment, but gradually, the crowd’s noise began to subside, their eyes drawn to him, waiting. “I know this must come as a shock, but I assure you, I have all of your best interests at heart. I do not enter into this alliance lightly.” His gaze swept over the gathered nobles, meeting the eyes of those who had lived through the horrors of the war. He could see the skepticism, but he also saw a flicker of hope, buried deep.

“But what about Eskarven?” someone called from the back, a sharp voice cutting through the murmurs. “How can we trust them?” The question echoed in the air, and Edric felt its sting. Trust was fragile, a commodity that had been in short supply for years, especially with a neighbor like Eskarven.

Edric opened his mouth, ready to respond, but then he paused, considering the weight of the moment. If they were going to do this, they might as well do it properly. He needed to show them that this was not a reckless decision, not a naive gamble on his part, but a strategic and deliberate choice. His eyes scanned the crowd, then found Alec in the sea of faces. Alec, ever the strategist, understood immediately. He caught Edric’s gaze and gave a subtle nod, followed by a quick gesture with his left hand—a flash of the gold-and-topaz ring he wore there.

“A fair question,” Edric replied, his voice calm and measured. “But not, I think, one which I am qualified to answer.”

At that moment, the crowd began to part as a small group made its way toward the altar. Marsh, tall and imposing, led the way, clearing a path with the ease of someone accustomed to commanding space. Behind him was Eileen, her usual animated demeanor replaced by a somber expression that matched the gravity of the situation. But it was the figure following them that caught Edric’s breath.

Zephyr.

Edric’s heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of him. Zephyr walked confidently toward him, as if the courtyard were a stage meant for his presence alone. Despite being surrounded by Rafrian nobles, faces that only days ago had looked upon him with hostility and suspicion, Zephyr held himself with an unmistakable assurance. He wore the traditional garb of Rafria, though the colors and design were distinctly his own—white and silver, colors that shone almost as brightly as the sun itself. His dark hair was left bare, and he moved with the fluid grace of someone who, though not yet crowned, carried himself as though he had already taken on that mantle.

Behind Zephyr, Victor strode with a scowl on his face, his hand resting possessively on the hilt of his sword, as though daring anyone to challenge the prince’s right to be here.

Edric forced himself to breathe, his mind racing. This was it. The moment he’d been preparing for. He gave a polite nod as Zephyr drew level with him, and though his voice remained steady, Edric couldn’t hide the tightness in his chest as he spoke. “Well met, Prince Zephyr,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper in the quiet courtyard.

“Well met, King Edric,” came the reply, and the words rang out with a sharp resonance that made the air hum, as if they too carried weight beyond their simple syllables. Zephyr made a short bow to Hadley, the High Priestess, before turning to face the crowd. The courtyard had fallen silent, every eye fixed on the two of them, waiting for the next move.

“You asked how you might know that my people will not betray you,” Zephyr’s voice cut through the stillness, strong and unwavering.

No one spoke in reply, the tension too thick for anyone to challenge him. “As King Edric stated,” Zephyr continued, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, “it is a fair question. Our kingdoms have long been at war, and it is difficult to imagine anything else. But we have done so, your leaders and I. We have dared to imagine something different, something better. And now, we will dare to make it a reality. But for that, we need all of you.”

Zephyr’s words were measured, deliberate, and though they were not shouted or demanded, they carried the force of a command. In that moment, Edric felt the full weight of what they were about to embark upon—their kingdoms had been enemies for centuries, and yet here they were, standing side by side, ready to carve out a new future. Zephyr spoke like a ruler, and if Edric had any doubts about their plan, they would have vanished with Zephyr’s impassioned plea.

“We need your trust, and your willingness to put aside hate,” Zephyr continued, his voice rising ever so slightly, as though each word was a call to action. “Your loyalty, and your dreams of what you could become in a world where you do not live in fear of war. I will ask the same of my people, and together, we will build that world.”

Zephyr turned toward Edric then, and in that moment, it was as if the world narrowed down to just the two of them. All of the doubts, the fears, the weight of history, seemed to fall away as they locked eyes. It was time for the final part of their plan.

“And as a symbol of the new relationship between Rafria and Eskarven,” Zephyr said, his voice steady and unyielding, “King Edric and I have agreed to marry.”

Edric’s breath caught in his throat at the finality of Zephyr’s declaration. It was the moment they had both been working toward, the ultimate gesture of unity between their kingdoms. But it was also a deeply personal commitment, one that neither of them could take lightly. The tension in the courtyard was palpable, the crowd holding its collective breath as they processed the announcement.

It would have been the perfect moment for Edric to step forward and take Zephyr’s hand, to seal their promise with the gesture of unity. But they could not. Not yet. So, instead, Edric and Zephyr turned to face one another and bowed deeply, the most respectful courtesy one could make between two monarchs. It was a symbolic gesture, one that transcended their individual titles and roles, a promise made in the face of a shared future.

When they rose again, Edric found himself looking directly into Zephyr’s eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. There, in the depths of those blue eyes, Edric saw it—the same hesitation, the same apprehension, but also something more: a thrilling excitement, a shared understanding of what they had just committed to, and the incredible responsibility it now entailed.

In this moment, as they stood together before their people, Edric knew that they were united—not just by blood, not just by duty, but by something deeper, something that neither time nor history could erase.