I Woke Up Married to the Cursed King

He’d been avoiding thinking about Edmund.

Not deliberately. There was always something else — the solstice, the uncle, the sending, the recovery. Something more urgent demanding his attention.

But Edmund was still here.

Warm. Efficient. Always exactly where he needed to be. Bringing the morning post and the evening tea and appearing in corridors at the specific moment when appearing was most useful.

The thread had been snagging for months. Since the very beginning. And every time it snagged he’d filed it and moved on to what was more urgent.

Nothing was more urgent now.

He sat at the desk and looked at his notes.

Edmund had arrived in the palace — according to the records he’d finally pulled — when Caelian was eight years old. One year before the sending was placed. Two years before Aldric’s confirmed visit.

Edmund’s family had been listed in the original employment records. A family from the south. Parents, two siblings.

He’d had Rowan’s historical research to thank for pulling those records before Rowan left.

He read them again.

Edmund’s family — the real Edmund’s family — had reported him missing when he was twenty-two. They’d been told he’d taken a position at the palace and had written twice asking about him. There was a brief acknowledgment in the palace records that Edmund was employed and well. After that, nothing.

No further correspondence from the family.

No record of Edmund returning home. Ever. In twenty-two years of palace records.

He looked at the employment record.

Twenty-two years.

He looked at the date.

Edmund came to the palace the year before Caelian turned ten, Elian thought. The year before the curse was placed.

He looked at the ages.

Edmund would be forty-four now, Elian thought. If he were still — if he were the real Edmund.

He sat back.

The thread he’d been not pulling for months was right there.

He still didn’t pull it.

Not yet. Not without Sable. Not without something more definitive than twenty-two years of employment records and a missing persons report that nobody had followed up on.

But he was looking at it now.

Really looking.

He went to Veira that evening.

"Edmund," he said.

Yes, Veira said.

"How long have you been watching him?"

Since you first asked me to watch the palace carefully, she said. Which means since before I was fully anchored. Since the beginning.

"And?" Elian said.

He’s old, Veira said. In the way things that aren’t what they appear are old. Not human-old. Something-else-old. She paused. I’ve been careful. I haven’t pressed. Whatever is in him — it’s aware of me the way the Varek is aware of me. Careful not to engage directly.

"The Varek," Elian said slowly. "They’re aware of each other. They’re careful with each other."

Yes, Veira said. They’ve coexisted in this palace for twenty years. They’ve learned each other’s edges.

Elian thought about that.

The Varek and Edmund, he thought. Two things in the same palace for twenty years, each aware of the other, each careful not to engage.

What does that mean, he thought. Are they coordinating? Are they the same? Are they separate entities with separate purposes who happen to be in the same building?

"They’re not the same," Elian said. "The Varek and Edmund. They’re separate."

Yes, Veira said. I’m certain of that. Two distinct presences.

"But connected," Elian said. "Somehow."

I think so, Veira said. But I don’t know how.

Elian looked at the shrine.

That’s what Sable is coming back to tell me, he thought. That’s what she found in the eastern records. Something about the connection between them.

"Six weeks," he said.

Five weeks and five days, Veira corrected.

"Fine," Elian said. "Five weeks and five days."

He went back inside.

He watched Edmund serve the evening tea with the warm efficiency that had been part of the palace furniture for as long as anyone could remember.

Edmund looked up and met his eyes briefly.

Warm smile. Professional bow. Gone.

Elian looked at the door he’d gone through.

I know you’re not what you appear to be, he thought. And you know I’m watching. And we’ve been existing in this palace together for months, both knowing.

The solar eclipse, Elian thought. That’s when this ends.

He picked up his tea.

He drank it.

He went to find Caelian.

He didn’t tell Caelian about Edmund.

Not yet. It wasn’t confirmed. And the specific kind of revelation that Edmund might be required more than a theory — it required something he could say with certainty.

But he held it.

Quietly. Carefully.

The way he held all the things that weren’t ready yet.

He was good at that.

He’d been doing it for months.

Five weeks and five days.

He’d tell Caelian then.

He’d tell him everything then.

Every single thing.

He had a list already forming.

It was a long list.

He was looking forward to being done with it.

He pulled the employment records the next morning.

All of them. Every staff member who had been at the palace for more than ten years. He cross-referenced against departure records, family contact records, anything that showed a before and after.

Most were unremarkable. People who had come and stayed. Some who had come and gone. Normal palace turnover.

Edmund’s record was not unremarkable.

The real Edmund had been twenty-two when he arrived. From the southern provinces. One of three sons of a minor landowning family. References from a lord two counties over, good references, the kind that got you a palace position.

And then — nothing. No family visits recorded in the visitor logs. No leave taken to return home. No correspondence received at the palace from his family beyond those first two letters.

For twenty-two years.

A man who had simply — stopped having a life outside the palace.

People who love their work stay at work, Elian told himself. Some people just — commit fully. It doesn’t mean anything necessarily.

He believed himself about thirty percent.

He kept reading.

He found something else.

A notation in the medical records — the palace kept basic health records for staff. Edmund had been seen by the palace physician once, fourteen years ago. A minor illness. The physician’s note described him as healthy, younger looking than his age, no chronic complaints.

Younger looking than his age, Elian thought. At forty-four, a man who had come to the palace at twenty-two, the physician noted he looked younger than expected.

He sat with that.

He thought about twenty-two years of perfect efficiency. Of always being in the right place. Of warmth that never varied and timing that never failed.

A person doesn’t do that, he thought. A person has bad days. Has off timing. Has moments when they’re somewhere else.

Edmund has never had a bad day.

He closed the folder.

Added it to the file.

Five weeks and three days.

Sable needed to see this.

He wrote to her again.

Come back as fast as you can, he wrote. I have things I need to show you.

He sealed it.

Sent it.

Went back to work.

The ordinary work of a man who knew something was very wrong with his butler and couldn’t act on it yet.

He managed it.

He was getting better at managing things.

That evening at dinner, Edmund poured the wine.

Elian watched his hands. The specific efficiency of someone who had been doing this for twenty-two years.

How old were you really, Elian thought. The real Edmund. When you stopped being yourself.

Edmund moved on to Caelian’s glass.

Caelian thanked him without looking up from what he was reading.

Edmund’s face registered the appropriate warmth.

Elian watched.

It’s good at this, he thought. Whatever it is. It’s been doing this for a very long time.

He picked up his wine glass.

Drank.

Set it down.

He did not look at Edmund again for the rest of dinner.

He didn’t need to.

He already knew what he’d see.

A warm, efficient face.

A half-second delay in the eyes.

Five weeks and three days.

He could wait.

He was very good at waiting.

He asked Caelian about Edmund the next morning.

Carefully. Not the real question — not yet. Just background.

"Edmund," Elian said. "How long has he been at the palace?"

Caelian looked up from his papers. "Since I was a child. Before that, even — I think he was already here when I was born." He paused. "Why?"

"Just thinking about tenure," Elian said. "Who’s been here longest."

"Edmund is the longest-serving member of the household staff," Caelian said. "By a significant margin." He went back to his papers. "He’s essentially part of the furniture."

Elian looked at his tea.

Part of the furniture, he thought. Yes.

"Has he ever asked for leave?" Elian said. "To visit family? Take time away?"

Caelian thought about it. "Not that I can recall. He’s mentioned family occasionally — in passing. I’ve never thought much of it." He looked at Elian. "Is there something specific?"

"No," Elian said. "Just thinking."

Caelian returned to his work.

Elian sat with the tea.

He’s mentioned family, he thought. The thing that took Edmund’s place has mentioned family. Casual references. Enough to explain the lack of contact without triggering curiosity.

Very thorough, Elian thought. Twenty-two years of very thorough.

He picked up his pen.

He had work to do.

Five weeks.

He could hold five weeks.

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