Page 28 of The Beauty and His Beast

Aldaay cackled from his corner, amused by the whole affair. “Hard to argue about God and church with a former novice, eh?”

Camdyn shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “Ah, well. I learned from the best. No one can argue quite like a group of monks. Especially when it’s about food…”

???

Once the well-regulated chaos of the post-wedding feast ended, they fell into an easy routine, and the days became a steady rhythm of familiar tasks.

Each morning, Camdyn rose before dawn to attend the early prayers at the chapel. The stillness of the early hours andthe quiet of the empty halls gave him time to center his thoughts and connect with the faith that had long been a part of him. By the time the bells rang for breakfast, he was back in their bedchamber, where Everild awaited, already up and preparing for the day. They shared their morning meal together in the warmth of the chamber, the bustle of the castle still distant, as the sun’s first light crept over the horizon.

After breakfast, Everild turned his attention to the daily duties of ruling. He carefully reviewed the guard reports from the previous day, making notes and ensuring that everything was in order. There was always something to discuss with Aldaay, who often joined him for updates on the surrounding lands, the state of their holdings, and any potential threats. Once those matters were settled, Everild took his customary walk around the castle’s perimeter. The sound of his boots echoing through the corridors, his sharp eyes inspecting the walls and gates—ever vigilant, ever aware of the weight of his responsibilities.

Meanwhile, Camdyn immersed himself in the tasks that occupied his days. He spent long hours in the library, studying texts on a variety of subjects, from history to botany. His curious mind was insatiable, eager to learn and grow in the new world he found himself a part of. But his interests didn’t stop at books. When the weather allowed, he would practice his horsemanship with Willow. Riding through the open fields, he honed his skills, becoming more confident in the saddle each day.

The afternoons were dedicated to receiving petitioners. The great hall became a place of both opportunity and tension, as those who sought Everild’s ear came with their requests, their complaints, or their proposals. Camdyn, always by his side, offered silent support, his presence a calming influence on his husband’s sometimes short temper. With every gentle smile, every soft touch of encouragement, he steadied Everild as thepetitions unfolded—knowing when to speak and when to remain quiet, allowing his husband the space to lead.

After the last petitioner had left, the couple separated for a short time. Camdyn would head to the garden, which they had tilled and planted together, despite the lack of growth. His patience was unwavering, though he did joke that perhaps the earth was a bit stubborn. "We just need to give it time," he would say with a wink, trying to lift Everild’s spirits. Meanwhile, Everild would catch up on the mountain of reports that Aldaay continued to compile—details of trade, politics, and local affairs that demanded his attention.

As evening drew near and Camdyn returned from his gardening efforts, a smile on his face despite the hard work, Everild would have a warm bath waiting for him. The simple pleasure of relaxing together after a long day was a cherished part of their routine. Dinner followed, a quiet affair with just the two of them. They would share their thoughts on the day, talk about their plans for the future, and simply enjoy the comfort of each other’s company. When the meal was done, they would undress and fall into bed, tangled together under the covers, whispering of dreams and hopes for tomorrow.

It was bliss. It was more than Everild could have asked for. For the first time in his life, he felt truly at peace. And for Camdyn, the soft, unhurried pace of their life together was everything he had dreamed of since the day they met. There was no greater joy than this—a shared life, built on love and understanding.

Yet, despite this contentment, there was still one issue that lingered in the back of Everild’s mind: the lack of letters from the monastery.

For weeks, they had heard nothing. No letters from Camdyn’s father, who had only sent one letter—an apology addressed to Everild alone, blaming a misunderstanding forthe emotional turmoil he had caused. Everild had burned it without a second thought, unwilling to keep a letter that did not acknowledge the pain it had caused. He could not bring himself to entertain the idea of mending ties with someone who had treated his husband so cruelly.

But Camdyn seemed undeterred by the lack of communication from his father. He found solace in the letters from his sisters, particularly Aoife’s frequent updates about Young Aoife’s antics, which never failed to make him smile. The letters from his brothers, however, seemed less than inspiring. “Gibson and Kenelm have hired a tailor for me,” he remarked one day, casually as he sat at Everild’s desk to pen a response. “That’s Kenelm’s wedding present—another set of clothes. I think I’d rather see a milliner, though. A hat for garden work would be nice.”

Everild chuckled at the thought, agreeing that a hat for the garden would indeed be a practical and thoughtful gift. He made a mental note to add it to the growing list of things he intended to buy for Camdyn, a list that seemed to grow longer with every passing day. The thought of surprising his husband with something new, something special, filled him with warmth.

Still, the lack of news from the monastery gnawed at him.

“I’ve sent Cenric a letter every chance I’ve gotten,” Camdyn confessed one morning over breakfast. His eyes were downcast, the uncertainty of the situation weighing heavily on him. “I thought perhaps I’d have received at least one by now. But then, it is so far away…”

Everild placed a hand over his, his voice steady and reassuring. “It is. But you’ll get them all at once. That’s how it always is. More than likely, they’ve just gotten stuck somewhere along the way. Bad weather, or a blocked path. Soon enough, you’ll be drowning in them.”

Camdyn looked up at him, a small smile playing at his lips. “Really?” His voice held a hint of hope. “I just have to keep waiting, then.”

???

But nearly another week after that conversation, there were still no letters for Camdyn, who had grown increasingly homesick and anxious. Each morning, he would look hopefully at the pile of mail, only to be met with disappointment as the letters for him never came. The days began to drag on, and the weight of the silence pressed heavily on him. After the servants who brought them both their breakfast and the mail bowed and exited the room, Camdyn stared despondently at the food on his plate, lip quivering, as if even the simple task of eating had lost its appeal.

“Do you think maybe something’s happened?” he quietly asked Everild, his voice barely above a whisper. His untouched plate of bacon and eggs sat in front of him, but he had no appetite. “Cenric could’ve gotten sick, or—or maybe he’s injured—“

Everild sighed, leaning forward, trying to offer some reassurance. “I’m sure he’s fine, Camdyn,” he said, though he wasn’t sure himself. Still, it was important to ease his husband's troubled heart.

But despite his words, Camdyn’s eyes filled with tears, and his voice broke with the weight of his own worries. “Then—then maybe he’s just forgotten about me,” he whispered, the vulnerability in his words like a dagger to Everild’s chest.

“No one could ever forget about you,” Everild said softly, brushing away a few errant tears that rolled down Camdyn’s cheeks. “Just wait a little longer, Camdyn. You’re going to make yourself sick with worry. I know it feels like it’s been so long, butI’m sure you’ll hear from him soon. The monks are so far away. They must be delayed for some reason.”

“I’m sorry, Everild,” Camdyn said, voice choked. “I’m happy here with you, I promise, it’s just—“ He trailed off, not sure how to put into words the ache he felt.

“You don’t need to be sorry for missing your parent,” Everild said gently, his heart aching for Camdyn. He reached out to take his husband’s hands in his, squeezing them lightly. Then, as if trying to lift the weight of Camdyn’s sorrow, he offered, “We don’t have to wait for a letter. We can arrange to visit the monastery and see him. If that would ease your mind.”

Camdyn wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and for a moment, it seemed like a glimmer of hope flickered in his expression. “Oh, Everild, that would be—but it’s so far away, though.” He looked uncertain, unsure whether it would be worth the journey.

“Nothing’s too far or too much for you,” Everild said firmly, truthfully. He smiled at Camdyn, trying to give him the strength to face the uncertainty. Then, he added with a soft chuckle, “Have a good cry if you want. It’s okay. You’ve been holding so much inside. Don’t bottle it up.”

Camdyn chuckled too, though his eyes were still red-rimmed. He buried himself in Everild’s chest, finding comfort in the embrace. The warmth of Everild’s arms around him felt like the only place where he could truly be himself, free from the weight of the world.

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