Page 6 of The Curse Between Us

It took surprisingly little time to plan the wedding, which, on the surface, seemed like a monumental task. The urgency of the alliance and the pressure from both sides to cement the union quickly left little room for ceremony. Of course, Edric and Zephyr had good reason to want the marriage made official as swiftly as possible—it would solidify the peace they were striving to build and send a powerful message to both their peoples. Yet, despite the necessity of it, Zephyr couldn’t help but feel that there was something missing. A part of him wished they had more time to let the whole affair settle in, to allow the event to feel more momentous, more... real.

But there was no point in indulging such thoughts. The marriage, after all, was a union of convenience—nothing more than a carefully calculated political maneuver. It would serve both their kingdoms well, and that, as far as Zephyr was concerned, was the only truth that mattered. The sooner he and Edric were wed, the sooner Zephyr could return to Eskarven and take up his rightful place on the throne. It was a practical, even necessary step.

At least he could take solace in knowing that Pierce had matters well under control in Eskarven. The letter Herbert had helped draft had been reviewed, revised, and sent off with a messenger from the temple, guaranteeing their safety in enemy territory. A few days later, they received a reply, sealed with Pierce’s personal crest, and the contents offered a measure of reassurance. Pierce was delighted to hear Zephyr was safe and would stand as regent until his return. The letter made no mention of the political climate at the Eskarven court, which made Zephyr uneasy. It was the sort of omission that sent a chill down his spine. Yet, despite his concerns, there was little he could do but wait. Soon, messengers might be able to pass more freely over the mountains, and perhaps then they could establish a more regular correspondence.

Just a few days ago, the thought of such free passage had seemed like an impossible dream. The thought of communicating openly with his homeland, without fear of interception, without the looming threat of death for betraying the fragile peace—such things had been unimaginable. But now, as strange as it felt, Zephyr was beginning to believe that he and Edric were on the right path. The alliance, though it came with its difficulties, would bring lasting peace. It would change everything for both kingdoms.

Still, not everyone shared his optimism.

In the immediate aftermath of Zephyr’s appearance at the temple, an emergency council session had been convened. He and Edric had sat together at the large table in the council chamber, perched on the highest level of the castle, and listened as one speaker after another voiced their objections. Their arguments all boiled down to the same point: the alliance was unnecessary, even dangerous. The only real argument against it, however, was the weight of tradition. It was this, rather than any valid objections, that seemed to irk the council members.

Edric had been patient as always, listening with an air of diplomacy and grace. When the last speech ended, he simply raised an eyebrow and said, “I have respect for our traditions, of course. But I have more respect for our people, both present and future.”

Those words hung in the air, and the council fell silent. The sharp objections turned to reluctant muttering, the passionate pleas fading into mere suspicion. A number of glances were thrown Zephyr’s way, laden with distrust, but it was too late. The argument was won, if not by reason, then by sheer force of conviction.

Once the session had ended, and the council members had retired, leaving only Edric, Zephyr, Herbert, and Alec in the chamber, Herbert had shaken his head sharply. “It isn’t peace they are opposed to. It is peace that puts us on equal standing with Eskarven.”

Zephyr had winced at the harshness of Herbert’s words, but he couldn’t deny their truth. If Rafria had emerged victorious in battle, as they had during the great war with Abyss, the council members would have been far more willing to speak of peace, but only if it meant Eskarven’s subjugation. That, it seemed, was what they truly wanted—dominance, not equality.

“They will have to learn to live with their disappointment,” Edric had replied firmly, and that had been the end of it.

Now, three days before the ceremony, Zephyr was being fitted for the garments he would wear on his wedding day. It was a strangely intimate process, one that both unnerved and amused him.

The Mistress of the Wardrobe, a cheerful woman named Skye, immediately put Zephyr at ease with her warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Zephyr,” she said, dipping into a deep curtsey. “Oh, such wonderful coloring you have! You will be a delight to dress.”

Zephyr returned the bow and offered her his most charming smile, though his mind was elsewhere. He understood the necessity of having new finery for the wedding, but there was one serious problem with the whole affair: the act of being measured and touched by another person could prove disastrous.

Zephyr took a breath, trying to keep his voice casual as he leaned in slightly, lowering it to a confidential tone. “Thank you,” he said, keeping his smile in place, “but there’s one thing I must mention before we begin.”

Skye’s expression shifted to one of interest. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

Zephyr’s tone became conspiratorial as he spoke, hoping the request would sound as reasonable as possible. “You see, we have a custom in Eskarven that once a person is betrothed, they must not be touched with bare hands until the wedding night.” He allowed himself a slight hesitation, hoping to sell the notion. “It’s important, and I wouldn’t want to make your work difficult, but... do you have gloves you might wear while we work? And, if possible, incorporate them into the ceremonial garments as well?”

Skye blinked in surprise but nodded eagerly. “What a fascinating custom! We truly know so little about each other, don’t we?”

Zephyr smiled, though he couldn’t help but feel that the lack of knowledge worked in his favor. With any luck, no one would question the strange custom once the ceremony was underway. How he and Edric would explain their reluctance to touch after the marriage itself was another matter entirely, but that was a problem for another day. For now, he had a more immediate concern: the fitting.

Skye darted across the room, rummaging through a chest of drawers before emerging with a pair of soft, satin gloves and a triumphant smile. “Will this do?”

Zephyr felt an immense wave of relief. “Perfectly,” he replied, inwardly sighing as he accepted the gloves. He had been dreading the thought of inadvertently causing her pain, but this was one obstacle that had been easily avoided.

She circled him, her eyes narrowing with concentration as she took in his form. “You have a good figure,” she said approvingly. “You and the king are nearly the same height. A pleasing match, I think. But for the wedding, we’ll need contrast, not similarity.”

Zephyr tilted his head, curious.

Her eyes swept over him thoughtfully. “Your people,” she said, tapping a gloved finger against her chin, “you don’t wear many colors, do you?”

“No,” Zephyr replied. “Grey, silver, white, black, and blue, mostly.”

“Ah, yes,” Skye said, her gaze now appraising in a professional, almost clinical manner. “It’s a lovely palette, but we’ll need something to make you stand out.”

She moved to her desk, picking up a piece of parchment and sketching quickly. Zephyr waited, silently admiring her focused energy, but not daring to interrupt her process. After a few moments, she let out a satisfied sigh and turned the sketch toward him.

“Black leather for the trousers,” she explained, tapping the page with her pen. “Tight.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a wink. “You have excellent thighs, Your Highness, if I may say so myself. In a purely professional capacity.”

Startled into laughter, Zephyr drew closer to the mirror, inspecting the ensemble Skye had laid out for him. The trousers were a deep, glossy black leather, tucked neatly into high boots adorned with rows of buttons that ran down their sides, giving them an almost military precision. The style was sleek, undeniably regal, yet practical enough to convey the strength and determination of their purpose. Zephyr couldn’t help but imagine how these garments would feel when he finally stood before the crowd, making his vows to Edric. It was a fitting representation of his journey—one that was both deeply personal and yet entirely political.

For the upper part of his body, the shirt was made of white linen, cut with an elegant, almost ethereal drape. There was a slight, subtle texture to the fabric, so fine it was hard to detect unless you looked closely. The collar and cuffs were delicate, with faint lines of silver embroidery that gave the impression of intricate design without overwhelming the fabric. Fortunately, Rafrian formal wear covered the arms entirely, unlike the more casual outfits that often left them bare to the elements. This was particularly important to Zephyr, who could not bear the thought of being exposed under the harsh sun, especially in front of so many onlookers.

And as he had requested, gloves covered his hands, a necessary precaution given the Eskarven “tradition” he had insisted upon. These gloves, black leather, were adorned with small buttons that matched the ones on his boots, adding a cohesive touch to the ensemble. Skye had been diligent in making sure every detail was accounted for, ensuring that no part of the outfit seemed out of place.

"White for the shirt," Skye explained with the enthusiasm of someone who truly loved their craft. "With silver embroidery to match the buttons on the boots. Black leather for the gloves." She paused, glancing at the ring on Zephyr’s hand. It was a simple piece, but one of great personal significance. A silver band with a sapphire gemstone, a gift from his mother before he left Eskarven. "And," she continued, "if I can find such a thing in the royal treasury, a silver and sapphire pendant to match this."

Zephyr felt a tightness in his chest as he looked down at his hand. The ring was more than just an accessory. It was a reminder of who he was and where he came from, a symbol of the burden he bore. His mother’s legacy. And now, he was about to take part in an alliance that would shape the future of both his people and Edric’s. The gravity of it all settled heavily on him.

“It’s lovely,” Zephyr said softly, almost to himself. And it was. Simple yet striking. The outfit spoke to the part of him that longed for Eskarven, for the life he had left behind, for the people who depended on him. And yet, it was also a representation of the future, one that he had chosen to build alongside Edric. He swallowed roughly, lifting his gaze from the page to meet Skye’s eyes. “Thank you.”

She returned his smile, her expression softening with a trace of sympathy. "It is my pleasure, Your Highness," she said warmly, sensing the quiet conflict in him. "Now," she waved him back toward the center of the room, "let’s get you properly measured so I may begin my work. A contract for a royal wedding, and with such short notice! What a thrill this is."

Zephyr couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. Despite the weight of the occasion, Skye’s energy was a welcome distraction, a reminder that not everything about this union had to be burdened with politics and diplomacy. Skye, at least, seemed unperturbed by the idea of his marriage to Edric. It was reassuring, in its own way. Despite the grumbling of a few vocal opponents, there were others who would support them, who believed in the peace they were striving for. It was a small, but important comfort.

As Skye worked, draping bolts of cloth against his frame, tightening them in places and loosening them in others, Zephyr stood patiently, enduring the precise measurements and muttering under her breath. The sunlight pouring through the windows bathed the room in a soft golden hue, but it was making Zephyr feel faint. The warmth was beginning to get to him, and the headache that had been lurking at the edges of his consciousness now began to throb in earnest at his temples. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let it show, and held himself upright, despite the growing discomfort.

"How do you plan to dress King Edric?" Zephyr asked, his voice soft but curious, hoping the question would distract him from the painful pressure building in his head.

Skye glanced up at him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Now, don’t you want to be surprised by the sight of your betrothed? I can’t tell you that, Your Highness," she said with a wink, clearly enjoying the mystery of it all.

Zephyr chuckled softly, the sound strained, though he did his best to keep his composure. "This entire betrothal is a surprise," he muttered under his breath. What kind of surprise it was—well, that remained to be seen.

Skye’s refusal to divulge any details about Edric’s wedding outfit didn’t deter Zephyr for long. She was more than happy to share what to expect during the ceremony, and despite the differences in tradition, he found that the process wasn’t so unfamiliar after all. The customs might have differed in some ways, but the essential structure of the ceremony was the same. There would be vows, of course, and formal declarations, and the joining of their two kingdoms would be symbolized through the exchange of rings and other ceremonial gestures. The setting would be drastically different, with the grand halls of Rafria far more opulent than the simple stone temple in Eskarven, but Zephyr found himself breathing easier as Skye spoke. It seemed that, despite the cultural differences, there was no chance he would make a fool of himself, no chance he would inadvertently embarrass Edric—or himself—during the ceremony.

The reassurance, however small, helped steady his nerves. There would be a thousand eyes on them during the ceremony, but for now, in this quiet room with the sun warming his face and the gentle hum of Skye’s voice as she worked, he allowed himself to breathe just a little easier.

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He and Edric had not seen much of one another over the past few days, Zephyr having been confined to his chambers under the orders of Herbert, who had insisted on the necessity of keeping Zephyr in isolation for his own protection. "For your own safety," Herbert had said, his tone flat and devoid of any apology, as though Zephyr’s confinement were merely a matter of fact. "Once the marriage is finalized and the alliance is cemented..."

The thought of being able to move freely about the castle after the wedding day was one of the few things Zephyr looked forward to. It was a small consolation in an otherwise tense and suffocating situation. He wasn’t accustomed to the idle hours spent in one room, however grand it was. Even though the chambers were well-appointed, the sheer silence and isolation had begun to wear on him. It felt like being trapped, and the anticipation of the wedding had only made the time feel longer.

Now, standing at the window as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Zephyr found a fleeting sense of calm. The warmth of the fading day gradually softened into a mild breeze that filtered through the open window, lifting his hair from his forehead and allowing him to breathe a little easier. There was a soothing stillness to the world outside, as if the evening itself held a quiet promise. For a moment, he could pretend that everything was normal, that nothing beyond these walls was complicated or pressing. But the thought didn’t last long.

A light tap at the door startled him, and he instinctively dropped his hand to his hip before remembering, once again, that he had no weapon there. The reflex had become almost automatic. It wasn’t as if there was any real danger, but the absence of a weapon was a constant reminder of how disarmed he truly was in this foreign place.

"Come in," he called out, his voice a little louder than he intended. He half-expected it to be one of the guards, perhaps Eileen or Victor, who had been assigned to keep watch over him in rotating shifts. He appreciated their visits even if they served only to remind him of his strange position—caught somewhere between being a welcome guest and a prisoner under constant surveillance. But to his surprise, it wasn’t one of the guards who entered the room.

It was Edric, and he closed the door firmly behind him with a quiet, almost hesitant click. Zephyr felt a brief surge of concern, his mind instantly racing through potential reasons why Edric might be here, alone, at this hour. He stepped forward, instinctively seeking to close the distance between them. "What is it? Has something happened?" His voice carried a trace of worry that he couldn’t fully mask.

Edric blinked at him, his brow furrowing in confusion, before he shook his head. "No. Not as far as I know. I just…" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "We’ve barely seen each other these past few days. And tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow is our wedding day," Zephyr finished, his voice soft. He gestured to the table, urging Edric to sit, before taking the seat across from him himself. As much as he wanted to reach out, to close the gap between them, there was a weight in the air that held him back. His hands folded neatly in front of him on the wooden surface as he met Edric’s gaze. "Are you having second thoughts?"

Edric’s eyes widened, his expression full of surprise at the suggestion. But beneath it, Zephyr could almost feel the subtle flicker of hurt. "No, of course not," Edric replied quickly, but Zephyr could detect the hesitation, the underlying uncertainty in his voice. "Are you?"

If nothing else, Zephyr thought, they ought to be honest with each other. He had already admitted his doubts in private to himself, but it was another matter entirely to voice them aloud. He shrugged, a slight, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Second. Third. Fourth. Fifth, I’ve lost count." The words came out more casually than he intended, but the discomfort was clear. The truth was, he couldn’t deny it. There had been countless moments where he had wondered if they were truly doing the right thing. Yet every time, the answer was the same: they had no choice. "And I always arrive at the same conclusion: we are doing the right thing."

Edric’s tense posture slowly relaxed, his body language shifting as he let out a long, deep breath. "Yes," he said quietly, his voice soft with acceptance. "I believe we are." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Though I still find myself nervous."

The admission caught Zephyr off guard. There was something deeply vulnerable in Edric’s words, something Zephyr hadn’t expected. It felt like Edric was offering a piece of himself, uncertain of how it would be received, yet trusting enough to let it go. Zephyr’s heart clenched in his chest at the realization, and for a brief moment, he longed to reach across the table, to take Edric’s hand as a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken weight they both carried.

"Would you have been nervous," Zephyr asked abruptly, the question surprising even him, "were it Marsh you were marrying and not me?" The thought had crossed his mind more than once, but he hadn’t dared to voice it until now. For all that he was part of this marriage by necessity, he had never stopped to consider how Edric might have imagined a different future—one that hadn’t involved him at all. For Zephyr, at least, his own wedding day had always been a vague, hazy thought, and while it was taking form in unexpected ways, it wasn’t as if it had replaced any other significant dream.

To Edric’s credit, he considered the question carefully, his brow furrowing as he weighed his response. "No," he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. "But it would not have mattered in quite the same way. It would have been strategic, and expected, and comfortable for the both of us. There would be nothing to be nervous about."

Zephyr felt a strange pang in his chest at Edric’s words. "Surely you would have preferred that," he said, unable to stop the bitterness creeping into his tone.

Edric shook his head, his expression firm. "No. There would have been nothing to be nervous about, because there would have been very little at stake." He looked at Zephyr then, his gaze steady. "I am not mourning the loss of what might have been, Zephyr, I swear to you."

It should have been a comfort. A reassurance. But it only made Zephyr’s guilt swell, knotting in his stomach. "How could you not?" he whispered, his gaze falling to his hands. The hands that, for all their strength, could never touch Edric without causing them both immense pain. "At least you and Marsh would have been able to have a physical relationship." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but they were the truth. The one thing he feared most about this marriage was the cruel impossibility of touch.

Edric’s response was immediate, his posture shifting as if to assert something deep and personal. "Do you think that matters so much to me?" His voice was low, a little rough. "Or is it that it matters so much to you?" He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he moved away. "Are you asking my permission to take a lover once you return to your land? Is that what this is?"

Zephyr’s eyes widened in shock, the words striking him harder than he expected. He shot to his feet, his arms crossing over his chest instinctively. "Of course not!" he hissed, his voice sharp with indignation. "I would not dishonor my vows—or you—by doing such a thing." A thought struck him then, and he paused, his gaze narrowing in sudden suspicion. "Is that what you want?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Did you mean to ask me the same thing?"

Edric dropped his head into his hands, the weight of the conversation visibly pressing down on him. After a long, drawn-out sigh, he lifted his head, his gaze fixed on Zephyr. "No," he said, his voice muffled by his frustration. "You were the one who raised the matter of physical contact."

The room fell into a heavy silence as they stood facing one another, the tension thick and palpable. Slowly, Zephyr’s breathing began to steady, and his mind cleared from the haze of anger and confusion. It hadn’t been the best way to handle the conversation, but it was an important one nevertheless.

Edric seemed to come to the same conclusion, his posture softening as he took a step forward, his expression shifting into one of weariness. "Have we just had our first quarrel?" he asked, his voice tentative, as if unsure how to break the tension that had settled between them.

Startled into laughter, Zephyr moved closer as well, a sense of awkward tension easing between them. “Yes,” he said, his voice lighter than it had been. “I believe we have.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Edric continued, his tone thoughtful, yet tinged with the kind of weariness that came from grappling with difficult truths. “We know next to nothing about one another, Zephyr, and up until now, we’ve been polite strangers to each other. If we are to make this work—both the marriage and the alliance—it would be best to show our true selves, would it not?”

Zephyr leaned back slightly, considering Edric’s words. There was wisdom in them, even if the realization made him uncomfortable. This marriage, this union that was supposed to secure peace and solidify an alliance, had been conceived from duty, not affection. The politeness they had shared over the past days had been an armor, both protective and distancing. But now, there was something else, a shift in the air between them. The unspoken had been given voice, and now they were left to deal with it.

“Indeed,” Zephyr agreed, nodding slowly. He sank back into his seat, his posture more relaxed now that the first tension had been broken. He propped his chin on his hands, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “In the interest of honesty, then, Edric, let me say this: I will not take a lover, no matter the state of our marriage. And I would expect the same of you.”

Edric’s response was simple, but it held the weight of understanding. He dropped a gracious bow, his gaze steady and sincere. “Yes,” was all he said, but in it, Zephyr could hear an unspoken promise.

The silence stretched for a moment before Edric’s eyes brightened, his face taking on a more determined expression. “And now that the matter has been settled and we have efficiently fought and resolved our first argument,” he said with a slight smile, “I will ask you what I came here to ask you tonight: is there anything I can do for you, Zephyr, to make this easier for you?”

The sincerity in Edric’s voice struck Zephyr with its unexpected depth. He had come here not to further the tension, but to offer something—anything—that might ease Zephyr’s burden. For a fleeting moment, Zephyr thought of requesting something simple, something that could put the moment to rest, like asking for a moment of peace or some small comfort. But in the end, there was nothing he could think of that would be enough, nothing that would fix the unease that had settled deep within him.

“No,” Zephyr said slowly, his words carefully chosen. “Your visit has been comfort enough.”

At that, Edric’s expression softened, the intensity in his eyes giving way to a gentle smile. “Very well, then,” he said, and with one final bow, he turned for the door.

But as he reached the door, he paused, his hand resting lightly on the wooden surface. There was something about the moment, a quiet understanding that lingered, that held him there for just a second longer. He looked over his shoulder at Zephyr. “Until tomorrow, Zephyr.”

“Until tomorrow, Edric.” Zephyr answered him with a bow of his own, watching as Edric gave one last look over his shoulder before stepping out and closing the door softly behind him.

The room seemed colder without his presence. The air felt denser, as though Edric had carried the warmth of the conversation with him, leaving Zephyr alone to wrestle with his own thoughts. It was a peculiar feeling, this emptiness. For once, he did not welcome the chill that now seemed to fill the space.

Zephyr sighed, rubbing a hand across his face as if to shake off the lingering tension. He moved to the candles, blowing them out one by one. The soft glow of the flames flickered out, and the room was cast into a deeper darkness. The night was quiet, almost too quiet, and the weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on his chest.

He quickly changed into the light linen nightshirt that had been provided for him, the soft fabric a contrast to the tightness in his chest. He climbed into the bed, the sheets cool against his skin, but no matter how comfortable the bed might have been, sleep did not come easily. His mind raced, replaying the conversation with Edric in fragments, trying to decipher the layers of meaning in the words they had exchanged.

The weight of the wedding tomorrow, the alliance, the expectations, and the uncertainty of it all seemed to press down on him, keeping him wide awake long into the night. It was as though every question, every doubt, every emotion that had been buried beneath the surface was rising up, refusing to be ignored any longer. How much of himself could he afford to give? How much of Edric’s trust could he place in the uncertain future that lay ahead?

The thought of tomorrow, of the wedding, and all that it would entail, seemed both too distant and too close at once. Zephyr sighed again, shifting restlessly under the sheets. It was a long time before sleep finally claimed him, and even then, his dreams were filled with a swirling mess of images—some comforting, others unsettling—until the quiet of the early morning finally settled over him.

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