Page 9 of The Curse Between Us

Zephyr dreamed of fire.

The shining spires of his palace melted in the inferno, molten silver dripping like tears down marble walls. Inhabitants fled, their screams echoing through corridors crumbling beneath their feet. The great frozen waterfall, frozen no longer, roared as it sent a flood surging through the valley, sweeping away the greenhouses and the frozen ponds, the meticulously curated rock gardens and the delicate ice sculptures within them.

All the beauty of his land, lost.

The images shifted. Familiar faces flashed before him, their features warped with sorrow and rage. His parents, long-dead, appeared with skin tinged silver with cold, snowflakes clinging to lashes that opened slowly to reveal blank white eyes. They reached for him with fingers blackened by frostbite, their mouths moving without sound. But Hadden's voice, deep and resonant, settled over him like a shroud.

"You have betrayed us, Zephyr. This alliance will destroy us all."

Zephyr woke with a gasp, his chest heaving as though he had truly run through the burning palace. He struggled against the fine linen sheets tangling his limbs, his body thrashing in instinctive panic, until a firm hand landed on his shoulder, steadying him.

"Easy." The voice was rough with worry, but unmistakable.

Edric. His husband.

The tension abruptly drained from Zephyr’s body, and he sank back against the pillows, blinking up at Edric’s face. It was tight with concern, his brow furrowed so deeply that it seemed permanent.

“What happened?” Zephyr rasped, his throat raw.

Edric swallowed visibly, then let out a deep sigh. “You fainted,” he said quietly. “I carried you back here, and you’ve been unconscious since.”

A shiver ran through Zephyr’s body, though he was far from cold. “How long?”

“Three days.” Edric bit his lip, the worry carving lines into his already exhausted features. “I was so frightened, Zephyr. I... I thought...” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. It had the disheveled look of someone who hadn’t slept or bathed properly in days. “I’m very glad to see you awake again. How do you feel?”

Zephyr took a moment to consider the question. His head throbbed, a relentless ache behind his temples, and sweat clung to his skin in an uncomfortable sheen. He lifted an arm, watching it tremble with the effort, and frowned at the visible fragility of his body.

“Not well,” he admitted.

Edric muttered something under his breath and reached to the bedside table, grabbing a damp cloth and laying it gently over Zephyr’s forehead. The coolness was a balm, and Zephyr closed his eyes gratefully, letting the sensation wash over him.

“Wait.” His eyes flew open, and he blinked up at Edric. “You cannot--”

“I’m still wearing gloves,” Edric replied swiftly, holding up his hands so Zephyr could see the supple leather protecting them from skin-to-skin contact. “I have no wish to cause you any more pain.”

Only somewhat relieved, Zephyr narrowed his eyes. “But surely there have been others. Healers and such. How did you explain to them that they could not touch me unprotected?”

A faint flush crept over Edric’s cheeks. “I haven’t allowed anyone else into the chamber,” he admitted.

Zephyr blinked. “For three days?”

Edric shrugged, still looking somewhat embarrassed. “I played the part of an overly protective, possessive new husband. Insisted you would be nursed back to health by no one but me.” He laughed, though it sounded more like a sigh. “I must have been convincing.”

“Indeed.” Zephyr studied him, noting the way fatigue clung to Edric like a second skin. The idea that he had not left Zephyr’s side for three days, not even to rest properly, was both terrifying and humbling. He searched for the words to express the enormity of his gratitude and found none that felt adequate.

“Thank you,” he said after a long pause. “Not only for caring for me but for keeping our secret.”

Edric gave him a lopsided smile. “It is my duty, and my pleasure, to tend to my husband.” His smile slipped. “And I confess, I’m afraid I am to blame for your illness.”

Struggling to sit up, Zephyr frowned at him. “Why would you say that?”

With gentle hands, Edric eased him into a seated position. “Perhaps not personally,” he admitted. “But”-- he gestured vaguely around the room-- “this place. My kingdom.”

It took a moment for his words to sink into Zephyr’s fever-addled brain. “You think I am reacting to the climate here?”

Edric nodded reluctantly. “We know our bodies react painfully to one another’s touch. It stands to reason that prolonged exposure to this environment might have a similar effect.”

It made a certain, terrible sense. Already, Zephyr could feel the heat building in his body again, a slow burn beneath his skin despite the thinness of the linen covering him. And--

Looking down, he noted his attire: a soft shirt and loose drawers. He was certain he had been more formally dressed for the council meeting, and if Edric was the only one who had seen him since then--

“Did you”-- he could barely form the words around the lump of embarrassment in his throat-- “disrobe me?”

Edric’s eyes flared wide, and his cheeks turned as pink as the sunset silhouetted in the window behind them. “I did,” he replied. “I thought it would be more comfortable for you. Please forgive the liberty.”

It was not the way Zephyr had imagined being undressed by his husband, but it left his chest feeling wonderfully tight regardless. “There is nothing to forgive,” he said softly.

He wanted so badly to reach out, to pull Edric’s face down toward his and to kiss the worry away from the set of his mouth. Instead, he doubled over as a fit of coughing shook his body, his abdomen clenching with the force of it.

Edric held a glass of water to his lips, and Zephyr drank gratefully. “You must rest,” Edric said, voice thick with quiet command. “Your body needs to heal.”

Nodding, Zephyr sank further down on the bed, closing his eyes. He felt a gentle hand brush his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead, the tenderness of the gesture tangible even through the leather of Edric’s gloves.

“Sleep,” Edric murmured, his voice low and steady. “I will not leave you.”

With that promise echoing in his mind, Zephyr let the darkness take him again.

◆◆◆

When next he woke, it was not to dreams of death and destruction, but to hushed voices drifting through the air like echoes in a cathedral. The sound tugged at Zephyr’s consciousness, anchoring him to reality even as the heavy fog of exhaustion clung to his body. He dragged his eyes open, blinking against the golden flood of morning light spilling across the chamber. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, their gentle descent a stark contrast to the storm of uncertainty raging within him.

He guessed it was morning, though time felt slippery, its passage indistinct. The alcove where the bed lay nestled obscured his view of the room, but he could hear them — voices low but distinct. They were not alone.

“You must let a healer see to him,” came Alec’s voice, steady but laced with concern. It carried the weight of someone who had repeated the same words too many times, only to have them fall on deaf ears.

Zephyr tried to respond, to alert them that he was awake, but his throat, parched and raw, refused to cooperate. The words stuck like thorns.

“Not yet.” Edric’s voice was a quiet storm, low and insistent. Zephyr could almost see him: arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched, eyes burning with defiance. “I can look after him.”

“You’re being absurd.” Frustration sharpened Alec’s tone like the edge of a blade. “Edric, have you considered what happens if he does not recover?”

The room seemed to still. Zephyr’s chest tightened, and he drew a shallow breath, heart hammering. Was that truly a possibility? He knew he was weak, but had he drifted so close to death without realizing it?

“What is there to consider?” Edric’s voice was sharp, brittle.

“The political implications,” Alec answered, his words heavy as stone. “If he dies on our lands, so soon after the treaty negotiations, what will the Eskarvens think?” He paused, letting the gravity of his statement settle like a shroud over the room. When Edric didn’t answer, Alec pressed on. “They will think we had a hand in his death. That it was our plan all along. And I would not blame them for thinking so.”

He was right. Zephyr felt the truth of it settle like ice in his gut. His people, already wary and wounded by years of war, would assume treachery. They would retaliate. Peace, so tenuously held, would shatter like fragile glass.

“Is that all that matters to you?” Edric’s voice cracked through the room like a whip, raw with emotion. “The political implications? We are talking about someone’s life, Alec. Zephyr’s life.”

“Yes. I’m aware of that,” Alec said, voice tight. “But this goes so far beyond one person, Edric. If this alliance crumbles, the war will be even worse than it was before. More people will die. Entire villages, families. If we lose him, we lose our greatest instrument of peace.”

“He is not a tool!” Edric’s control snapped like a bowstring, his voice echoing in the lofty chamber. “Or an instrument. He is a person, Alec.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Zephyr struggled to make a sound, to end the unbearable tension, but he remained voiceless, a captive audience to a conversation he was never meant to overhear.

“You care for him,” Alec said at last, his voice quieter, laced with something like realization. “Truly.”

There was another pause, heavy and telling.

“Yes,” Edric admitted, the word almost a breath.

Alec sighed, the sound weary and resigned. “Very well. Tend to him yourself. But promise me, Edric. If he gets worse—”

“I am just as invested in his well-being as you are,” Edric interrupted, voice like flint. “And for far better reasons.”

Zephyr winced, guilt gnawing at him. He didn’t blame Alec for considering the bigger picture — that was his role, after all — but Edric’s bitterness cut deep. The last thing Zephyr wanted was to become a wedge between them.

“I am sorry,” Alec said, quieter still. “For suggesting that he was nothing but a tool. I did not—”

“It’s alright,” Edric sighed, the fight draining from him like water from a cracked vessel. “This is how you’ve been raised to think. How you’ve needed to think, to bring us to this point. We are all still adjusting to the idea of peace. I know how important this is to you.”

Zephyr finally managed to clear his throat, the small, rasping sound shattering the quiet like a dropped glass. Footsteps rushed to his side, and Edric appeared, Alec lingering a few paces behind.

“Good morning,” Edric greeted, his eyes softening as he leaned over Zephyr. “How are you feeling?”

Zephyr gestured weakly to the cup on the table, and Edric swiftly brought it to his lips. The water was cool, soothing the rawness in his throat. After a long drink, he croaked, “Less thirsty now.”

A smile ghosted across Edric’s face, but Zephyr’s gaze shifted past him to meet Alec’s. Alec’s eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on Zephyr’s face. Zephyr gave him a small, deliberate nod. Alec stiffened, mouth tightening, before he returned the nod. They would speak, Zephyr knew. When he was well enough. And it would not be an easy conversation.

“Is there anything you need?” Edric asked, setting the cup aside. His hand hovered, flexing as though he longed to touch Zephyr but didn’t dare.

“Yes.” Zephyr mustered a wry smile. “I need you to rest.”

Edric opened his mouth to protest, but Zephyr lifted a hand, weak but insistent. “And to bathe.”

Color rose to Edric’s cheeks, and Alec, behind him, failed to hide an amused smirk.

“But who will watch over you?” Edric asked, glancing down at his gloved hands.

“I can,” Alec offered, but Zephyr shook his head slightly. The danger of touch was too great a risk.

“You have a kingdom to run,” Zephyr rasped. “While Edric and I are otherwise occupied.”

Alec inclined his head, respect flickering in his eyes.

“Victor can stand guard,” Edric suggested, voice reluctant.

Zephyr nodded. Victor knew the truth. He could be trusted.

Edric turned to Alec. “Will you send for him?”

Alec nodded, already stepping away. “Rest, both of you. You are needed.”

Once Alec left, silence settled. Without the buffer of Alec’s presence, Zephyr’s mind returned to the conversation he’d overheard. To Edric’s confession.

“You should sleep,” Edric murmured, fussing with the sheets.

Zephyr caught his wrist, fingers weak but steady. “Thank you,” he whispered, words heavy with meaning.

Edric swallowed, squeezing Zephyr’s hand gently. “Get better,” he whispered. “Please.”

Zephyr, already succumbing to sleep, held that plea close as he drifted into dreams.

◆◆◆

The next few days passed in much the same way. Zephyr drifted in and out of consciousness, his waking moments fleeting and fevered, his body caught in an endless cycle of exhaustion. His fever did not worsen, but neither did it abate, lingering like a shadow just beyond reach. Each time he woke, he found himself in the familiar confines of his chamber, the heavy canopy of the bed enclosing him in dim solitude. The moments of awareness were brief, filled with indistinct murmurs and the cool press of a damp cloth against his forehead.

Edric was by his side more often than not, and when he was not, Victor was a steady, reassuring presence. Zephyr was aware, in his hazy state, of the tension that gripped Edric, the way his fingers twitched with suppressed anxiety when he thought Zephyr was not looking. It was a quiet kind of suffering, one that Zephyr recognized well. And yet, they were trapped in this waiting game, hoping each new sunrise would bring a change that never came.

One afternoon, Zephyr stirred from his restless doze to see Edric sitting at the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly together. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, evidence of the sleep he had foregone. His voice, when he spoke, was low but firm. "This has gone on long enough," he said. "I want to bring a healer to examine you. But I will not do so without your permission."

Zephyr swallowed against the dryness in his throat and gave a small nod. He had hoped it would not come to this, but his condition, while not worsening, was not improving either. He had lost track of time, but by his best estimate, he had spent a week in this bed. It was time they consulted an expert.

"Elsie is one of our best healers, and I trust her discretion," Edric continued. "Shall I have Victor request her presence?"

"Yes." The word emerged barely above a whisper, but Zephyr hoped the determination in his eyes conveyed his resolve. He was of no use to anyone in this state—neither to Edric, nor to the Rafrians, nor to his own people. It was a risk, allowing another person to share in the secret he and Edric kept, but if Edric said Elsie could be trusted, then Zephyr would believe him.

As Edric rose to make the arrangements, Zephyr allowed himself to slip back into sleep, comforted by the knowledge that something was finally being done. He no longer dreamed of the destruction of his home—not since the first time he had awoken in this unfamiliar bed. Or at least, he no longer remembered what tormented thoughts passed through his mind while under the fever’s grasp. In that, at least, he considered himself fortunate.

He was uncertain how much time had passed when he heard his name spoken gently. "Zephyr?" Edric’s voice, steady but tinged with something unreadable. "I’ve brought Elsie here to see to you."

With effort, Zephyr pried his eyes open. The room was dimly lit by late afternoon light, and standing beside Edric was a woman he recognized from the council meetings. Elsie, the healer. She was as he remembered—blonde, pretty, with a quiet confidence about her. Her eyes, wise beyond her years, met his with a mixture of professionalism and concern.

"Your Majesty," she greeted softly, dipping into a respectful curtsy.

Zephyr waved a weak hand in the air, finding even that small movement a drain on his strength. "Please," he murmured, "we can dispense with the formalities."

A small smile flickered across Elsie’s face before she resumed her neutral, professional demeanor. "Very well. I am glad to see you awake and aware, but I confess, from what King Edric has told me, I am worried."

Edric made a small sound of distress, and Zephyr turned his gaze toward him. He stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face drawn and pale with worry. "But you can help him," he said, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

There was an awful pause.

"I hope so," Elsie murmured. "Now, if you will permit me to examine you?" She held up her hands, encased in white leather gloves. "I have been properly forewarned and forearmed."

Zephyr glanced at Edric, who gave a reluctant nod, though he still looked unhappy. "Proceed," Zephyr said.

Elsie’s touch was gentle as she lifted his arm, her fingers cool even through the gloves. She noted the tremors in his limbs, the unnatural warmth of his skin. She listened to the beat of his heart and asked delicate questions about his energy levels, his appetite, and his sleeping patterns.

"Do you dream?" she asked at one point, and Zephyr hesitated.

"Yes," he admitted.

Something in his tone must have betrayed him, because Edric moved closer, his presence a comforting anchor.

Elsie nodded. "In these dreams, what do you see?"

Zephyr exhaled slowly. "The destruction of my kingdom. Fire and smoke."

Edric swore under his breath before catching himself. "You didn’t tell me."

"I didn’t wish to relive it," Zephyr said simply, though his fingers twitched against the bed linens at the memory of voices calling out in agony, of Hadden’s condemning whisper: You have betrayed us all.

Elsie’s voice broke through his thoughts. "I had to ask."

"Has it helped?" Edric demanded. "Do you know why he suffers?"

Elsie’s brows knit together. "It is some sort of fever," she said. "But unlike any I have ever seen. Rather than breaking, it seems to come in waves, receding and returning, like a tide." She reached out and gently brushed Zephyr’s damp hair from his forehead. "I hate to suggest it, but—my lord, have you eaten the same food as your husband? Drank water from the same pitcher?"

Edric went still. "Poison?" he whispered. "You suspect poison?"

"It would explain the symptoms." Elsie’s face was grave. "And there may be those within the castle who still harbor resentment toward Eskarven."

Zephyr inhaled sharply, but Edric shook his head, eyes bright with denial. "No," he said. "I refuse to believe it. And even if it were true, we have shared a pitcher of water, though not the same cup. He has barely eaten—broth, fruit, grains. When he has not finished, I have."

Elsie sighed. "Then I am mistaken. But the symptoms are undeniable. His body is fighting against something foreign."

Zephyr and Edric exchanged a look before Zephyr pushed himself up slightly. "You know why you wear gloves," he began.

Elsie raised a brow. "Yes."

"Is it possible that the very air, water, and earth of Rafria is poison to me?"

Elsie considered it carefully. "It is possible," she admitted. "We have never had Eskarvens here outside of battle. If they suffered, it could be dismissed as exhaustion. But combined with what you have told me about your reaction to touch, I would say yes. It is a definite possibility."

Edric turned anguished eyes on Zephyr. "He cannot remain here if it causes him this much pain."

As much as he hated to admit it, Edric was right. The reality that Zephyr had tried so desperately to ignore was undeniable: his condition would only worsen. His heart clenched at the thought. He had no desire to die, certainly not like this, not when he was still so full of dreams and plans. The notion of his life slipping away in such a miserable manner, with his body betraying him more and more each day, was almost too much to bear. But there it was, looming before him, a truth that could no longer be avoided. His survival had never seemed so uncertain.

“I can give you a tonic that will help ease the symptoms.” Elsie’s voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, steady and calming. She stood with quiet grace, smoothing the apron over the soft folds of her gown, her posture a mix of professionalism and warmth. “An herbal blend of my own devising. It will cool you internally, and I will add some ingredients to combat the aches in your head.”

Zephyr could feel the weight of exhaustion settling deeper into his bones, the oppressive grip of his illness dragging him down with each passing second. Her offer, while a small relief, was a temporary balm at best. But he nodded anyway. He wasn’t in a position to turn down help, especially not help from someone so capable. “That would be much appreciated,” he said softly, his voice strained but sincere.

“If you take it as instructed, and do not exert yourself, you may be able to resume public appearances and duties in small doses,” Elsie continued, her voice gentle but firm, as if she had already seen this scenario play out too many times before. “But I do not think it will cure you.”

Zephyr swallowed hard, feeling the sting of her words. He hadn’t expected a cure—he knew that much. But hearing it spoken aloud, hearing the inevitable truth that no matter what they did, the end was inescapable, felt like another weight pressing on his chest. “A temporary solution is better than none at all,” Edric interjected, his voice low, reassuring. He had a way of making even the bleakest situations seem manageable. His hand, warm and steady, had somehow come to rest on Zephyr’s knee, and as he moved it up and down in a soft, unconscious caress, it was as if he were offering more than just comfort. He was offering a sense of normalcy in a world that had ceased to feel that way.

“It will suffice, until we know more,” Edric added, his tone resolute, though Zephyr could detect the strain in his words. Edric was a man of action, of solutions, and seeing him face a problem with no immediate fix seemed to unsettle him more than he let on. Yet, he remained composed, for Zephyr’s sake, even if only outwardly.

Zephyr closed his eyes briefly, taking in a shallow breath. “Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. He reached for Elsie’s hand, squeezing it as best as he could manage, the effort leaving his arm feeling heavy. “For your assistance, and for your discretion.”

Elsie’s smile was gentle, filled with the quiet confidence of someone who had long since accepted the weight of their role. “I know where my loyalties lie,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his with unspoken understanding. “And you are in my care now, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to see you restored to health.”

Turning to Edric, she removed her gloves with practiced ease, her fingers swift as she pressed a fond hand to his shoulder. It was a gesture of camaraderie, but something about it—perhaps the way it lingered, or the tender look in her eyes—made Zephyr’s chest tighten. “I will go prepare the tonic and have it sent up immediately. You did the right thing, summoning me here,” she added, her voice warm with appreciation.

Edric caught her hand in his, pressing a courteous kiss to it, his eyes briefly meeting hers with a look that held something deeper than mere politeness. “Thank you, my lady,” he said, his voice rich with gratitude.

Zephyr watched them, a knot of conflicted emotions rising in his throat. What might it be like, to be the recipient of such a gesture? To be the one on the other side of Edric’s warmth and respect, to feel his hand on his own without the cold, impassable barrier of gloves between them? The thought lingered, unbidden, as he watched Edric’s gaze soften, and Elsie’s smile deepen. He wasn’t jealous—he knew there was nothing between them other than mutual respect. But he couldn’t help the pang of longing that stirred deep within him. He wished, just for a moment, that he could be in her place. Wishing he and Edric could touch, truly touch, without the silent distance they had created between them.

The door closed softly behind Elsie, and Zephyr felt the room shift, as if her presence had been the only thing holding the fragile balance of their conversation together. Edric let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders dropping slightly in a way that Zephyr had never seen before. There was exhaustion there, deep in his bones, even if he refused to show it.

“So,” Edric began quietly, his voice rougher than usual.

“So,” Zephyr echoed, his words a weak attempt at levity. He raised his shoulders in a small, half-hearted shrug. The effort left him feeling drained. “It will be enough, for a time.”

They met each other’s eyes, and in that shared look, something unspoken passed between them. The question neither of them dared to voice hung heavily in the air: For how long?