Page 15 of The Beauty and His Beast

Everild and Willow carefully examined her hooves and teeth, inspecting her with practiced eyes. She stood patient and still, and as they continued, she sniffed curiously at the hem of Everild’s shirt, nibbling at it with a soft huff.

“What’s her name?” Everild asked, intrigued by the mare’s placidity.

“Seilide, the brother said. Sweet-natured creature,” Willow replied with a knowing smile.

“The horse or the brother?” Everild asked dryly, his tone flat.

Willow raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Ah, that man’s not very fond of you, my lord. He interrogated me most fiercely about your character. I told him that if he paid me a gold piece, I’d tell him all he needed to know.”

“And?” Everild prompted, his curiosity piqued.

Willow shrugged casually, pulling a shiny gold coin from her pocket and rolling it down her knuckles. Her eyes locked with his, and her voice dropped low. “I said that ever since the king told you that you were to be wed, you’ve run yourself ragged trying to make this place a peaceful, comfortable home for your husband. Don’t know if he believed me, but he gave me the coin all the same.”

She paused, her gaze intense. “But you remember that, Everild. Even before you laid eyes on Camdyn, all you cared about was his happiness. He’s lucky to have you.”

Everild was about to respond, but he held his tongue. Willow had a way of turning everything around, and in truth, it was really the other way around. But he’d never been able to argue with her—only her wife could. So instead, he cleared his throat and gave her a small nod. “Have Seilide ready for Camdyn when he arrives. I have to go to the assembly.”

Willow petted the mare’s flank gently. “Fine, fine. Go ahead. You’ve got to prepare the gift that the king so generously imposed upon you.”

Everild shrugged once more, as he had done so many times before. It was always the same. His cousin would propose a course of action, and Everild was left to follow through. But this time, this hunt, would be different. It would be the final time, the last time. His role as a husband had to supersede any duty he had to his cousin, king or not.

Udele, Willow’s wife and the castle’s huntswoman, was already out in the field with two of her hounds, a small army of servants at her side—servants from Everild’s household, Dustan’s, and the king’s. She waved Everild over as the rest of the group ate from a spread that appeared to be leftovers from the wedding banquet. There was chicken, its skin still crisp, and thick stew with chunks of beef, chopped carrots, and apples, the juices sopped up with loaves of fresh white bread.

“There’s my lord now,” Udele called with a wide grin, her long brown hair haphazardly braided and pinned to her head. There were bags under her bright blue eyes, evidence of the long hours she had already worked, but she still managed to maintain her usual cheerful demeanor. “Found a hart. Great, big beast. Ten tines. The rest of my hounds are all in position, my lord. Soon as the king and all get here, we’ll be ready.”

Everild grunted in acknowledgment. “Good.” Then, with a half-sigh, he added, “Willow’s angry. About the hunt.”

“I told her to expect something like this,” Udele said with a knowing look. “The king’s always been fond of the hunt. Ever since he was a boy. Trying to relive the olden days, I suppose. Remember how the three of you used to play in these woods? Your mother thought you’d be eaten by a bear.”

Everild chuckled softly, the memory of those carefree days flashing before his eyes. They had searched the woods for hours, Dustan, Wilburg, and him, convinced that somewhere in the dense forest there was a bear waiting to be hunted. They had used charcoal and parchment to map out their explorations, certain that a bear would appear, but it never did. They had been children, naive and foolhardy, and perhaps it had been a blessing that they hadn’t encountered one.

That was a lifetime ago, long before the war.

With a snort, Everild turned to his attendants, who were all gathered near the field, looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and spoke with quiet authority. “My husband’s not used to riding. Never been on a hunt, either. I’ll need two of you to stay with him while—”

But he was interrupted by two young men pushing their way to the front of the group. They both looked eager, their faces flushed with youthful enthusiasm. One of them shoved another man aside, causing a hunk of chicken to drop from the man’s hands. It fell to the ground and was immediately snatched up by Udele’s hounds, who were quick and alert.

“I’d be happy to do it, my lord—” one of the young men said eagerly.

“Please, allow me—” the other one chimed in.

Everild frowned, his expression faltering as he observed the ease with which these men volunteered to watch over Camdyn. There was something both comforting and unsettlingabout it. Comforting in that his husband would have people to look after him, but unsettling because Everild couldn’t shake the feeling that something more lay beneath the surface.

Before he could speak, one of the older hunters laughed at his bemused expression and elbowed Udele in the ribs. “Rough times ahead for our lord, eh? Stressful life, to have such a pretty helpmate.”

Udele smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah, I don’t know about that. My life’s been pretty easy ever since I married Willow.” She gave Everild a comforting pat on the shoulder and chuckled to herself, knowing that some things were just too complicated to explain with words.

???

It turned out that Everild’s life was meant to be stressful after all, because when Camdyn finally arrived, he was not only in the company of both the king and Dustan, but the horse he was riding was not Seilide. Instead, it was a stallion with a coat white like bleached bone and pitch-black eyes, nearly seventeen hands high. Everild had ridden that horse into battle once and then never, ever again.

He cursed, mounted his own horse, and moved to confront the king. Dustan and Camdyn were a little ways behind him, side by side. Camdyn looked nervous. Had Dustan been accosting him? Everild would put an end to it, if so. But right now, the biggest danger was the stallion and Wilburg’s stupidity. Everild stopped his horse right in front of his cousin’s; the animal reared back in surprise. Wilburg pulled on its reins and shot Everild a quizzical look.

“That’s not Camdyn’s horse.”

The king scoffed and shook his head. “No, of course not. Dustan told me that stable master of yours wanted him to ridea nag. You’d probably get more use turning that thing into stew. You can’t honestly tell me you want that young husband of yours on a flea-bitten beast like that. Look how pretty he is—and who gave him the dark blue shirt? My compliments to them. It goes so nicely with his complexion.”

“I want him safe,” Everild growled. “That nag is slow and gentle. The one you’ve put him on is for a skilled rider, for battle—he won’t be able to control it.”

---