Page 14 of The Beauty and His Beast

Camdyn chewed on his lip, a habit when he was nervous or unsure. “Can I still pray?”

Everild’s hands stilled for a moment, surprised by the question. “What?”

“Before the hunt—do I still have time to pray? That’s what I do—always did—in the mornings.”

Everild blinked, caught off guard, but quickly understood. His husband had spent so many years in a monastery, where devotion and ritual were everything. Of course, Camdyn would still want to honor that part of himself, especially on a day that felt as momentous as today.

With a soft smile, Everild stood and moved closer to Camdyn, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. He enjoyed the feeling of Camdyn’s eyes fluttering closed, the soft sigh that escaped his husband’s lips, the warmth of his skin. Everild’s heart fluttered with tenderness. “Of course,” he said. The real hunt wouldn’t begin for a while; everyone would still be at the assembly, gathering and speaking with one another, getting ready for the day ahead. But even if they had to wait for Camdyn, it didn’t matter. The hunt was for them both. “Aldaay will show you to the chapel.”

Camdyn frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You’re not going to come with me?”

Everild froze. That simple question felt like a blow. How could he explain to Camdyn that he had not stepped foot in his chapel since the day he returned from the war? How could he explain that the idea of returning there made his insides twist, made him feel like he might be rejected? He couldn’t bear the thought of walking into that holy place only to feel it reject him as it had before, spitting him out into the hall, leaving him exposed and unworthy. Even when he’d been overcome by guiltand desperate for forgiveness, he couldn’t bring himself to go. The memories of the battlefield—the screams, the blood, the cries of the dying—were always with him, always lurking behind his prayers, mocking him for ever thinking that he fought in God’s name.

But before he could say anything, Camdyn looked at him with a deep understanding that took Everild by surprise. Camdyn was perceptive and he seemed to sense the weight of Everild’s silence. He gently took Everild’s hands in his, his expression softening. “Then I will just pray for you, husband,” he said with a tenderness that nearly broke Everild’s heart. With a peck on the cheek, Camdyn added, “You don’t need to be alone in this.”

Everild’s chest swelled with a mixture of pure bliss and quiet adoration. How could one person bring him such peace? He wanted to hold onto this moment forever, to savor this connection between them. But deep down, a part of him feared it was fleeting. This tenderness, this joy that Camdyn radiated—how long could it last? Everild was so used to pushing people away, to being the one who gave and gave until there was nothing left. He was selfish, but in this moment, he would take what Camdyn offered. All of it. And he would give as much as he could in return.

Before Camdyn could step away, Everild pulled him back, wrapping his arms around him, pressing him into a kiss that was deep and lingering. A kiss that felt like an affirmation of everything that had brought them together—like the wedding vows that had bound them, like the way Camdyn had melted against him on that day. When they finally pulled apart, Everild could see the faint flush on Camdyn’s face, spreading from his cheeks down to his collarbones.

“I’d like to meet with our stable master and huntswoman before this all starts,” Everild said, his voice low, still heavywith the emotion that lingered from their kiss. He squeezed Camdyn’s hips gently, feeling a rush of affection. “If I prepare your horse for you, would you be able to meet me at the field near the forest?”

Camdyn blinked, still looking a little dazed, but nodded. “Oh, yes! Of course, Everild. I know where the stables are. And I can ride a little bit. Don’t worry.”

They shared one last kiss before Camdyn hurried out the door, his smile wide and genuine.

Everild stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him go with a strange ache in his chest. Was it really this easy to keep Camdyn happy? To see him smile like that, so free and full of life—it was more than Everild could have hoped for. But as much as he wanted to believe it would be this simple, he knew better. After they had indulged his cousin’s whims with the hunt, Everild and Camdyn would finally have time to themselves. Time to grow together, to become the partners they were meant to be.

Everild began to think about the future—about the things he could do for Camdyn to make this place feel more like home. He could prepare the garden, for one. It might be too late in the season to grow anything now, but there would be time to plan for the next year. He could plant vegetables—beans, peas, carrots, turnips, spinach—and flowers—bright, colorful blooms that would make Camdyn’s heart smile. Daffodils, sunflowers, chrysanthemums—flowers that reminded him of warmth and light.

In time, he hoped Camdyn would flourish here, just as he had always dreamed.

???

The stables were brimming with the horses of his guests—well-bred, finely groomed beasts, their coats gleaming in the sunlight. Their nickers and neighs echoed through the air, rising in pitch as the animals shifted restlessly. Everild could hear them even from a distance, the sound growing louder as he approached. A hearty voice broke the quiet as he neared the stables.

“There’s the newly wedded lord, come to grace me with his presence. How’s your young husband?” Willow, the stable master, called out from where she stood in front of one of the stalls. She was a tall, hardy woman, her frame built for work, with short blonde hair streaked with gray and eyes that shone with the piercing intensity of a hawk. Her expression softened into a grin, showing an old familiarity that only time and shared history could forge.

Willow had served in Everild’s mother’s household since she was a girl, caring for the horses, and had followed her mistress to the castle upon her marriage to Everild’s father. She had taught Everild how to ride as a child, a skill that had proven invaluable over the years. Even now, as Everild stood there, he knew without a doubt that she would be an excellent teacher for Camdyn as well.

Everild smiled at her, a rare moment of ease, and asked, “How’s your wife?”

Willow’s grin widened, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Finding you and yours a hart to hunt. A bit of fair warning would’ve been nice before my love was ripped right from our bed to trek for stags, though, eh?”

Everild’s smile faltered slightly as he sympathized. “My own bed’s been disrupted for this.”

“Hah!” Willow burst into loud, barking laughter. Her voice carried through the air like the crackling of a fire. “The king’s generosity knows no bounds. He couldn’t rest till he gaveevery couple in this household a case of longing in his quest for butchered venison.” Her laughter rang out again, a hearty sound that filled the stables. But then, as quickly as it had come, her humor faded, and she grew sober. “Ah, Everild, forgive me, I completely forgot. Will you be alright?”

Her tone softened, and the warmth in her eyes turned to something more concerned, as if she could sense the unease that simmered beneath Everild’s calm exterior.

He shifted uncomfortably, but his thoughts turned inward, recalling the brutal truth of what the hunt represented. Near the end of a hunt, when a beast was surrounded and utterly exhausted, it would stop, gathering every last ounce of energy to defend itself with desperate, wild abandon, trying to break through the hunters.

It was a scenario Everild knew too well, and one he had witnessed far too often during the war. He had seen the same wild-eyed, drained look on soldiers as they fought for their lives, shaking and panicking, their movements chaotic and desperate. The comparison had become hauntingly familiar. Eyes rolling in terror, bodies fighting to stay upright, gasping for breath. There was so little difference between the two, in fact, that Everild could no longer see one without picturing the other.

Hunting had lost its appeal for him years ago, and the thought of it still stirred something dark in him. He had no taste for it now. But the king’s demands were what they were, and appeasing him would allow Wilburg and his companions—Dustan, Gerald, and the rest—to finally leave his land and return to the indulgent comforts of the king’s palace.

It seemed like a small price to pay: a single day of discomfort for the sake of peace, quiet, and his husband’s company. Everild shrugged, dismissing his thoughts. “I can manage one hunt. Where’s Camdyn’s horse?”

His husband’s eldest brother had gifted Camdyn a horse as a wedding present. At first glance, the bay-colored mare might have seemed like a slight. She was a little long in the tooth, her coat and mane unremarkable, and she wasn’t very tall. But Everild realized quickly, as soon as he laid eyes on the mare, that Gibson had made a shrewd choice. Camdyn wasn’t an experienced rider, and the mare’s temperament reflected that understanding. She was a placid creature, calm and gentle in a way that spoke of years of careful training.

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