Page 29 of The Beauty and His Beast

But just as the tension in the room began to ease, a knock on the door interrupted them. The voice of one of the guards called from outside, “Lord Camdyn’s brothers are here with the tailor for his fitting.”

“Oh, no, I forgot,” Camdyn said, furiously wiping at his face, trying to hide the signs of his tears. “I look a mess.”

“Do you still want to see the tailor today?” Everild asked, his voice gentle.

“It’s fine. I just need a moment to get myself together.” Camdyn stood up, his hands still trembling slightly as he made his way to the washbasin.

Everild nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “Take your time. I’ll keep them occupied.”

Camdyn quickly hurried to the washbasin with a towel, trying to compose himself while Everild turned his attention to his brother-in-laws. Gibson and Kenelm stood just outside the door, their faces tight with impatience, already seeming irritated by the delay.

“Where’s Camdyn?” Gibson asked, his tone sharper than usual. His impatience was palpable, and it sent a flare of irritation through Everild’s chest.

There was something accusatory in his voice that set Everild’s teeth on edge. “Where’s the tailor?” Everild asked, trying to keep his tone even.

Kenelm glanced nervously from Everild to his brother. “Setting up. Aldaay found us an empty room near the—“

Gibson interrupted him with a huff, impatience thick in his voice. “You’d do well to collect him. The tailor’s waiting. Hourly rates, that man. Very skilled.” He shot Kenelm a glare that Everild couldn’t quite interpret. It was a look that carried more weight than it seemed on the surface. But being commanded to gather his own husband in his own home had Everild’s temper flaring.

He growled under his breath, “Camdyn’s getting ready. If it’s that much of an issue, then let me talk to him. I’ll pay him double for the extra time.”

“No, no, this is a gift, there’s no need for that,” Gibson argued, as if the very notion of extra payment was beneath them.

“Then what are you complaining about?” Everild shot back, his patience thinning.

An awkward silence fell over the passageway. Gibson’s anger mirrored Everild’s own, and the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. Kenelm placed a hand on Gibson’s shoulder and gave him a meaningful look, trying to defuse the situation, though it only seemed to make Gibson more stubborn. One of the two guards posted outside Everild’s bedchamber door cleared his throat, as if to signal the growing discomfort of the moment.

A moment later, Camdyn appeared, lightly dressed in a long, loose dark green tunic that ended just a little past his knees, a pair of brown leggings, and slippers. His hair was tousled, and it was obvious that he had been crying—his eyes were still slightly red and puffy—but despite the evidence of his sadness, he smiled when he saw his brothers.

“Good morning, Gibson. Hello, Kenelm. It’s nice to see you both—“ he greeted them, trying to sound cheerful, though the effort didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gibson frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing in on Camdyn’s appearance. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing, just—something silly,” Camdyn said quickly, though his voice faltered slightly.

“You were crying,” Gibson insisted, his voice full of disbelief, almost as if it was impossible for Camdyn to have a moment of weakness.

Camdyn flushed pink with embarrassment, and Everild’s temper flared once more.

“He’s fine,” Everild growled, stepping in to protect his husband from further unnecessary questioning.

Kenelm agreed, though he seemed more concerned with the situation than his brother. “Yes, you look well, Camdyn. Butwhy don’t you change into something more appropriate? Get your boots, at least.”

Camdyn’s face fell, and Everild cursed both men under his breath. Camdyn hesitated, then spoke softly, “I just thought it’d be better to wear something comfortable.”

“Well, still, perhaps some trousers and a shirt? Just to have the tailor see what you already have,” Kenelm suggested, as though it was a simple, harmless request.

Everild snapped, his patience finally breaking. “Thought you were worried about the time. Now you want him to change? The tailor’s making a new wardrobe. It doesn’t matter what Camdyn’s wearing to the appointment.”

An odd smile crept onto Gibson’s lips, as though he found the situation amusing in some way. “He’s right. Kenelm, take Camdyn to the tailor. I want to have a chat with our brother-in-law.”

Camdyn frowned, sensing the tension in the air, but Everild shook his head firmly. “Go, Camdyn,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. His husband bit his lip but nodded, linking arms with Kenelm, who led him down the passageway.

Gibson cleared his throat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned to Everild. “Well, Beast. We have much to discuss.”

???

Once inside the bedchamber, Gibson’s face transformed with fury. His expression twisted so violently that he looked like a demon. The resemblance to Camdyn’s father was striking, a haunting echo of a man who had long cast a shadow over their lives. Everild stood rigid with tension, irritation bubbling within him. The man before him had been nothing but rude and abrupt, and now, in this moment, it was Gibson who was angry about something. The resemblance between father and son clearlywent beyond mere appearance, it seemed—both had that same aggressive demeanor.

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