Page 27 of The Beauty and His Beast

The memory of those moments still brought a wave of fury over Everild. His fists clenched under the table, his jaw tightening as he fought back the impulse to lash out. Just the thought of it nearly sent him into another fit of rage. “Think I should’ve been kinder?” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Let him abuse my husband more before sending him away? That sorry excuse for a man was lucky Camdyn had been too upset at the time to explain exactly what happened, or he wouldn’t have left the castle alive.”

Aldaay, ever calm and pragmatic, had never been one to cower before Everild’s anger. He sighed deeply, sensing the depth of his lord’s fury. “I wasn’t saying you should’ve been tactful,” he said. “You could’ve broken every finger in that bastard’s body for all I care—but it would’ve been better to do it out of sight. An absolute asshole that man is, but a powerful one, and you dragged him out the castle gates by the scruff of his neck like a naughty kitten—right in front of everyone. He’ll view that as a humiliation. There could be reprisals.”

Everild snorted dismissively, his fury still bubbling beneath the surface. “Then let him come,” he growled. “Next time I see his face, there won’t be enough of him to feed to the hogs.”

Aldaay only nodded, his face betraying little emotion but his eyes sharp with understanding. “Just be aware, my lord,” he replied, his voice low but firm. “Not everyone conducts their business face-to-face, as you do.”

The weight of Aldaay’s words lingered in Everild’s mind long after the conversation had ended. His anger subsidedsomewhat, but the tension in the air remained, like an unspoken threat. While Everild would never back down from protecting Camdyn, Aldaay’s advice reminded him that the political world they now lived in was a far more dangerous game, where subtlety and strategy were as important as strength and rage.

???

But the next two weeks passed with neither complaint from Camdyn’s father nor any messages from the king save the one sent when Everild’s cousins and their myriad of servants returned to the capital.

It read:

To my one true and loyal Everild,

I regret how our last meeting ended, but I understand the day’s excitement took a toll on your (very short) temper. I do feel most terribly for your lovely husband’s accident. He is very sweet, and I know you adore him most ardently (did I not make a fine choice for you, my friend?).

But you must realize that my decision is final. There is no more fitting heir than you, cousin. Gerald has already informed the rest of the advisors at the capital and we’ll make a formal announcement upon my return.

And worry not. I’ll deal with Dustan. He won’t be pleased, I know, but he’ll come around. We all might have grown apart, in our adulthood (isn’t that how it goes?) but he is still our cousin and I am certain he will see reason, just as you will the next time we meet. It will be a real discussion, no injured spouses and no spitting blood at me. Unsightly but not unusual with you, Everild.

I know better than anyone it’s not the bark one has to fear from you, but the bite.

Until we meet again,

Wilburg

He had yet to tell Camdyn about his newfound status as the king’s heir, but his husband had been so busy acclimating to his new home and the day-to-day responsibilities of maintaining a castle and charming its inhabitants—from the guards to the kitchen staff to the scullery maids—in addition to organizing the charity feast. Everild had refused to burden him with such a revelation at a time when he was already stretched so thin, adjusting to the demanding roles that came with their new life. The castle had many moving parts, and Camdyn’s enthusiasm for the feast was admirable, yet Everild could see the weight of it all beginning to settle in his shoulders. Camdyn had a quiet strength about him, but Everild was determined not to add any more stress to his life. Not yet, at least.

To be perfectly honest, though, Camdyn did not seem particularly stressed. In fact, Everild marveled at how his husband carried himself with such grace amidst the chaos. He had quickly grown adept at preparing food, so much so that he was grudgingly allowed into the cook’s domain, where he worked alongside the staff with an enthusiasm that often left the head cook grumbling but also begrudgingly impressed. Camdyn woke up well before dawn each day, assisting the cooks, taking inventory, and ensuring that everything was in order. His passion for food was clear, and it seemed to delight him in a way that Everild had not expected. A collection of staples and dry goods began to form—cured meats, containers of grain, beans, and legumes, dried fruits, and woven rush baskets, which would soon be filled with fresh bread. Some of the dishes from their wedding banquet were also in the works, bringing with them memories of the night they had vowed to never let go of eachother. It was in these small moments, Everild realized, that their bond was strengthened.

Every day, Camdyn came to him with a shy request for something—cheese, beef, goose, oranges, violets. Everild had granted every single one, and he cherished the delighted smile that Camdyn gave him each time, a smile that brightened even the darkest corners of the castle. There was something about those moments that made everything feel right in the world, like they were creating something beautiful together, bit by bit. Even when the demands of their new life seemed overwhelming, these simple acts of care reminded Everild that they were building something worth fighting for.

One afternoon, as they sat together in the castle’s library, Aldaay remarked dryly, “Some people buy their husbands pretty jewelry, but four whole cows and eight sacks of oranges will do just as well, I suppose.” He’d been reviewing the castle’s expenses, and the numbers were starting to pile up in a way that would make most advisors anxious.

The comment made Everild pause. He hadn’t thought much about the more extravagant gifts he could give his husband, but the idea of jewelry suddenly sparked his imagination. “Do you think Camdyn would like a necklace?” he asked, the thought of his husband adorned with something more than just the simple, finely made clothes he already wore capturing his attention. Aldaay groaned and rolled his eyes in response, but Everild could not shake the image of Camdyn in court robes, gemstones sparkling from around his neck and encircling his wrists. He would look ethereal, like something out of a dream.

Everild filed the idea away for another time. Maybe, when the charity feast was behind them, and after his husband’s hard work had been celebrated, he would surprise him with such a gift. It would be a symbol of how much he treasured the manwho had come into his life like a bright light, someone who had made even the coldest corners of the castle feel warm.

The only hiccup in their plans came after Everild had officially procured the local church as the venue for the charity feast. Outside, they would have a package of goods for each of the visitors—dried meat, loaves of bread, and fruits—and inside, tables would be laden with food for the guests to pile upon a trencher and enjoy with their own silver tankards filled with wine. “You’ve made allies of the city’s silversmiths, at least,” Aldaay had remarked, noticing the elegant tankards and other silverware that were now being prepared. However, a group of irritated nobles sent a worried letter to Everild, explaining their concerns that the masses would not respect the sanctity of the church. They feared the holy site would be left in shambles after the feast.

Everild had been more than ready to dismiss their complaints. “Let them eat shit,” he’d muttered under his breath, his patience wearing thin. But after Camdyn chided him for his language, he reluctantly agreed to meet with the group of nobles.

A few days later, they gathered in the great hall to discuss the matter. As Everild received respectful, if somewhat fearful, greetings, the group of nobles seemed completely charmed by Camdyn when he arrived with a tray of sweetmeats and wine. One of the men kissed his hand, his eyes shining with admiration, expressing how overjoyed he was to finally meet Camdyn in person. The kiss lingered for a moment too long, before the man kissed Camdyn’s hand again.

And again.

It was only when Everild let out a low, guttural growl that the man hastily returned to his seat, clearly unnerved by the dangerous glint in Everild’s eyes.

The nobles’ arguments mirrored the contents of the letter they had previously sent. They praised Camdyn’sgenerosity and piousness—of course, they couldn’t help but mention his beauty as well, several times—but insisted that he was unaware of the dangers he was about to unleash upon one of God’s houses. They feared an overcrowding of ill-mannered, unwashed masses would desecrate the sacred ground.

Camdyn, however, only stared at them, his expression incredulous. “What is the Church but a sanctuary for those in need?” he asked, his voice steady and clear. “Would you rather have it be an empty, pretty building than one that gives succor to the people? Items can be replaced, and structures can be repaired, my lords, but people’s lives cannot. Is it not your duty as great men to use your resources to ease the lives of others?”

The nobles, gently admonished by this beautiful, devout young man, were left speechless. Slowly, they gave their blessing and, at Camdyn’s insistence, left with the tray of sweetmeats as a gesture of goodwill.

Once the last of the nobles had disappeared from sight, Everild allowed himself to grin. “You handled that very well, Camdyn.”

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