Page 25 of The Beauty and His Beast

His words made Camdyn shiver, and yet… “But, what about, um. What about your pleasure, Everild?”

“I’d take pleasure in just watching you.”

That answer seemed a bit of a dodge. Camdyn pulled back and frowned.

A sigh. “My own hand. Or, I’ll show you what I like. Just as you’ll tell me what you like. Right?”

“R-right.”

Camdyn snuggled into the crook of Everild’s neck, arms wrapped around his waist. His husband continued his gentle ministrations, his touch especially feather-light around Camdyn’s bruised left side. They were pressed together so tightly that Camdyn could feel Everild’s heartbeat against his own chest, its steady, strong rhythm a balm to Camdyn’s jittery pulse.

He was very nearly asleep again when his earlier concern had flashed through his mind. “Everild, did you have Edwin examine your throat? I don't want you to hurt your voice.”

A guilty look had crept onto Everild’s face. “I am supposed to be having tea with honey.”

“Have you had any of that today?” At his husband’s silence, Camdyn firmly pushed him off and admonished him. “Everild! You have to take care of yourself! Were the kitchens still open? We’ll have your tea.”

“Only if you eat breakfast,” Everild grunted.

“Fine,” Camdyn said, “Fine. But I wanted to see you drink that tea.”

“Yes, my lord," Everild murmured.

???

The hall looked drastically different without the usual bustle of wedding guests, the lively musicians filling the air with their melodies, and the countless piles of food adorning every surface. It was eerily quiet, nearly empty, a stark contrast to the vibrant celebration just hours earlier. Only a handful of servants remained, quietly cleaning the tables and utensils, their soft movements the only sound that filled the space. Camdyn, feeling utterly out of place in the sudden stillness, attempted to hide his face in Everild’s side. His eyes were still swollen and red from the tears that had flowed earlier, and he was certain that he looked absolutely terrible. Indeed, as he glanced around,he noticed a few of the servants casting furtive glances his way, their expressions fraught with worry and concern.

If Everild noticed the stares, he paid them no mind. Instead, he focused all his attention on Camdyn, determined to offer him some comfort. The two of them sat side by side, just like they had during their wedding banquet, a moment of shared intimacy amidst the surrounding emptiness. As they waited for the table to be set, Everild pulled their chairs even closer together, until their knees brushed and Camdyn was able to rest his head gently against his husband’s broad shoulder. The simple act of closeness, of shared space, provided Camdyn with an unexpected sense of solace.

The events of the day—particularly the confrontation with his father and the emotional toll it had taken—had drained Camdyn of much of his energy, leaving him feeling depleted. But as his eyes fell upon the food that Everild had had prepared, a small flicker of cheer sparked within him. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was warm and comforting in its simplicity, just like the meals he’d had during his time at the monastery. The thought of such humble, nourishing food brought him a sense of calm.

There was plain oatmeal, served with a choice of savory salted fish or sweet, spiced baked apples. The bread, freshly baked and aromatic, was a comforting sight—brown and hearty, studded with grain, and soft, fluffy white loaves that seemed to promise warmth with each bite. And then there was the butter, rich and golden, pressed into delicate flower molds and arranged around the loaves like a small field of wildflowers. The sight of it was so beautiful that Camdyn couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt as he plucked one of the butter flowers to spread on his slice of brown bread. But when he tasted it, all thoughts of guilt vanished. It was utterly delicious.

“Good?” Everild asked, his voice warm with concern.

“It’s good!” Camdyn replied with a small smile, watching his husband down yet another mug of tea. “Was it too bitter, Everild? Did you need more honey?” He reached for the honey jar and stirred another spoonful into Everild’s tea, frowning slightly as the older man tried—and failed—to hide his distaste.

“Just not fond of tea,” Everild grumbled under his breath.

Camdyn leaned toward him, his expression softening. He placed a gentle kiss on Everild’s cheek, brushing his lips against the roughness of his husband’s stubble. “Keep drinking, please. Your voice sounds better already,” he murmured.

Everild’s lips curved into a teasing smirk. “How about a kiss for each sip, then?”

He was teasing, of course, but Camdyn found it to be good motivation. When he nodded enthusiastically and said, “Yes, of course,” a surprised yet pleased expression crossed Everild’s face. The older man grinned, and the two of them shared a quiet moment as Everild continued to sip his tea. Soon, all that remained on Camdyn’s tongue was the sweet taste of honey and the earthy bitterness of the tea. The steady rumble of Everild’s contented hum vibrated through his chest, a sound that soothed him as they shared this small, intimate ritual. After the last drop had been consumed, Camdyn, feeling a wave of happiness, decided that a small celebration was in order. He leaned forward and peppered Everild’s jaw with soft kisses, giggling at the tickle of his husband’s beard against his skin. The warm, comforting sound of their laughter filled the air before Everild pulled him onto his lap, kissing him deeply, his mouth a soothing balm to Camdyn’s overburdened soul.

A sudden, awkward cough shattered their reverie. One of the servants had been watching them, his eyes wide with nervousness, as though he feared that Everild might sweep the table clear with a single motion and press Camdyn downonto it right then and there. Perhaps that was why the servant hesitantly asked, “May I clear your plates, my lords?”

They pulled apart quickly, both of them flushing with embarrassment. Camdyn looked down at his lap, feeling his face burn as he nodded shyly. He couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious, unsure if their behavior had been entirely appropriate. Everild, sensing his discomfort, placed a gentle hand on his knee, offering silent reassurance.

As the servant began to collect their plates, Camdyn’s mind wandered back to something from the wedding banquet. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward his husband. “Everild? Do you remember what we discussed during the banquet? You said that we could have a feast for the poor—food to hand out to them. Could we still do that?” he asked, a note of hopefulness in his voice.

Everild looked surprised by the question but then nodded his head, his expression softening. “Of course we can.”

Camdyn’s eyes lit up. “Then… Could I help bake the bread? If the head baker doesn’t mind? I’m good at baking bread. They taught me, at the monastery.”

His husband placed a much more chaste kiss on Camdyn’s curls, his lips pressing softly against his hair. “They’ll be happy for your help. We’ll talk to them later. You still need to meet the rest of the staff, after all.”

Camdyn nodded, the reality of his new life settling in. He would have to meet all the staff members and learn everyone’s names and faces in order to manage the day-to-day activities within the castle. There was much to learn, and much to do. But he couldn’t help but feel that this life—this responsibility—might not be all that different from his time at the monastery. There would be tasks like taking inventory, cooking, cleaning, caring for the animals, assisting travelers, and helping to settle disputes. Brother David had often misplaced things and had atendency to blame whichever creature was nearest, be it the cat or the abbot himself. Camdyn chuckled softly at the memory of those moments, but his thoughts were soon interrupted by Everild.

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