Chapter 41: A Curious Cure

"Is it the curse? Is it incurable?"

Cherion offered a smile that felt more like a grimace, his lips twitching awkwardly. Behind his tired eyes, he was mentally leafing through the frantic, frantic research he’d conducted over these past nights.

Magic in this world wasn’t some ethereal, romantic mist that made people look graceful while casting spells. No. It was more like a badly maintained plumbing system. Everyone was born with their own set of pipes, valves, and mysterious leaks, and Cherion’s happened to be the White Vein. Basically, it was magical bleach that cleaned up what needed cleaning. At least he got something useful out of the deal.

He thought back to the text he’d read:

The Abridged Introduction to The Anatomy of Curses

. The book was a cheerful little read that basically divided blood-magic into three distinct flavors of misery based on the caster’s specific brand of malice: Execution, Puppetry, or Agony.

Execution was the quick and dirty version. It stops the heart instantly, but it’s a suicide mission for the caster. A desperate move for assassins with nothing to lose. Puppetry was more insidious, hijacking the nervous system to turn a man into a fleshy, breathing remote-controlled slave.

But Agony? The category Zarius was currently rotting in? That was reserved for the kind of pure hatred that survives generations.

The entire point of an Agony curse wasn’t to put a powerful man in the ground, it was to make him desperately wish he were already there. Death was too quick, too merciful, and far too expensive for the caster to afford. Instead, the spell was a psychological torture device.

It didn’t kill. It just ruined.

Zarius absorbed this, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrests. "So," he murmured, "one obvious conclusion is that whoever did this... they didn’t want my head. They wanted my shame. They must truly, deeply hate me."

"Beyond measure, it seems," Cherion agreed, his throat tight. He hesitated, then cleared it, clutching the ancient, leather-bound book to his chest. "But I... I did find a way. A method to purify your body. To actually scrub the system clean."

Zarius’s face lit up, a genuine spark of hope flickering in his dark eyes, a sight that made Cherion’s stomach do a nervous flip-flop.

"It’s... uh, the method is kinda weird," Cherion mumbled, heat creeping up his neck. He flipped the book again, the pages crackling under his shaky fingers. "So, about the transfer of healing energy.... it needs, uh... a lot of skin contact... like, really close contact. The book says... hugging works, maybe even kissing... but, uh... apparently, the most ’efficient’ way is... well... you know... adult stuff. Sex. Yeah. Internal fluids. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t write the book. It’s magic, okay?!"

The silence that followed was so thick you could have carved it with a steak knife.

Cherion felt like he might actually spontaneously combust. He was screaming internally, hurling every curse word he knew at the original author of this world. Of course. Of course this was an ABO-style romance novel logic.

Why wouldn’t the cure involve a potion? A spell? The author just had to go there. But Cherion? Cherion was a modern man with at least some shred of dignity left! He wasn’t just going to... jump into bed for ’medical reasons.’

Cherion shoved the book toward Zarius like it was a live grenade. "Here! Read it yourself! I’m not making this up!"

Zarius blinked, taking the book cautiously as if it might bite. Cherion’s hands hovered like he was ready to snatch it back if the words got any closer. "No, seriously, you think I want this? I didn’t write it!"

Zarius snorted, a twitch of amusement creeping into his otherwise grim expression. "You’re telling me that the book wants me to do it with you...?"

"Yes! Exactly! The book! Not me! Not me, Your Grace! I would never..." Cherion flailed, nearly smacking Zarius. "I... I just read what’s written! I don’t invent sexualized healing rituals! That’s not how I roll!"

He looked over at Zarius. The Duke had pulled his hand up, covering the lower half of his face, his ears a shade of crimson that rivaled a ripe pomegranate.

"But!" Cherion blurted out, perhaps a bit too loudly, his hands waving frantically. "But hey, we can’t just blindly trust these old books! They’re probably written by some wildly lonely fifth-century scholar! It says skin contact, right? Holding hands should do it! A handshake... no, even fist bump works too! Physics, right?"

Cherion watched Zarius carefully, his eyes narrowing as the Duke’s expression shifted from stunned to... thoughtful.

Oh no. Please tell me he’s not seriously considering it. He can’t be thinking, "Well, that’s an option." He won’t just... okay, let’s not even say it... he won’t say, "All right, let’s just have sex and see if the curse goes away."

Okay, but if that’s the "most potent, absolute method," maybe... maybe it does work. But just once? Just one time? What if it doesn’t? Do we have to... do it over and over? Forever? Until either we turn into magical sex maniacs or the curse finally gives up?

Then Zarius spoke, calm and utterly deadpan, and Cherion’s mental chaos hit a hard stop.

"Right," Zarius replied. "Holding hands is the best choice. Your hand... wasn’t the worst thing I needed to hold anyway."

Do I feel... grateful? Offended?

Okay, let’s be grateful.

Cherion leaned forward almost instinctively and grasped Zarius’s hand. He held it tight, as if everyone’s fate depended on his grip.

Zarius froze, blinking at him. "Wow," he said slowly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You really... are eager, huh?"

Cherion let go immediately, flopping back in his chair like he’d just survived a minor explosion.

"I just can’t wait to get rid of this sinister curse, Your Grace," he called out, his voice cracking slightly. "Really. That’s the only thing on my mind. Don’t go thinking about anything else, okay? Not a single other thing!"

Zarius slowly stood, still holding the book like it was both fascinating and mildly dangerous. He gave Cherion a long, appraising look, one eyebrow raised, the other twitching just a little.

"Alright," he said. "Let’s... go to my chamber to test it out, shall we?"