Page 37 of The Beauty and His Beast

Cenric’s entry was the very last.

Icould fill another book with my memories of your childhood and our time together. Each day with you was a gift from God. But I fondly remember a time when you could only fall asleep in my arms.

All of my love, always.

Camdyn shut the book with a snap, the sound sharp in the quiet room, before his tears could splatter the pages. He let out a shaky breath, feeling the sting in his eyes as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. It was a silly thing, really, he thought, sniffling. There was nothing to cry over. Cenric was fine. Hearty and healthy, and they would now get each other’s letters in a timely, uninterrupted manner. It wasn’t as though the pain of separation would vanish instantly, but at least there would be communication now, real communication—something he hadn’t realized he needed so desperately.

And the brothers at the monastery had given him such a lovely, wonderful, beautiful gift. His heart swelled with gratitude. That they had put this together for him, with so muchcare and attention—it filled him with joy. But at the same time, it made him ache, a deep, aching longing in his chest for the life he had left behind, the life he missed so fiercely.

He wanted to—he heaved a sob and buried his head in his arms, crying in earnest on the polished mahogany desk, his fingers curling around the edges of the letters. It was silly and stupid, because he and Everild had even planned a trip to the monastery, but that could be ages away, and right now, all he wanted was to stand in the chapel where he had grown up, the one that echoed with the voices of the monks, where he’d learned to pray and where Cenric had first taught him to sing hymns. He wanted to kneel in front of the altar and feel the cool stone beneath his knees, to listen to the faint hum of bees just outside the window. Or perhaps he wanted to forage for oak galls again to make the night-black ink for their manuscripts, something he hadn’t done in far too long. Or he just wanted to sit beside Cenric, to share a quiet moment with the man who had been his only parent, and say, “I’ve gotten your letters, finally, and I love you, too, of course, I love you so much, you’re the only parent I’ve ever had and I miss you all the time.”

It wasn’t a rational thought, but it was one that he couldn’t push away, not now, not after reading Cenric’s words, after feeling his love and care from miles away, across pages worn with time.

He had to write him back, that was clear. He’d thank Cenric for his advice, for his stories, for his patience, and love. He needed to tell him how much his letters had meant, how deeply they had comforted him. He could start right now—well, as soon as he could stop crying and let the blur of tears fade enough so he could see clearly. But it wasn’t just a letter that needed to be sent. Camdyn’s thoughts wandered to the monks, to the way they had worked together on this beautiful prayer book. He should send them something too, something special.Not just to Cenric, but to all of them, a gift they could all enjoy. He thought about it for a moment—maybe candied citrus peels, from the kitchen’s stock of limes, lemons, and oranges. Pretty, colorful, and sweet, and Camdyn was fairly certain they would keep on a long trek, provided the parcel didn’t get damp. He sniffled again and wiped at his eyes, already imagining the scent of the candied fruit filling the air, the bright flavors bringing a little piece of home to the monks at the monastery.

A nice wooden box to hold the candy, wrapped in a sturdy cloth that could be reused for a sewing project, or—

“Camdyn?” He looked up to find Everild standing in the doorway, concern etched across his face. “Aldaay told me he gave you your letters. Have you—received bad news?”

Ah, he had worried his husband again. Camdyn shook his head, trying to stop his lip from quivering. “No, I just.” His voice faltered as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “I just really miss Cenric, and it was so nice to read his letters, and then—my wedding present—“

He pushed the prayer book toward Everild, the weight of it heavier than he had realized. Everild took it from him, admiring the cover briefly before paging through the book with care. He made an approving noise at the quality of the copied hymns and prayers, the attention to detail that had clearly gone into it. But when Everild reached the final section of the book, his expression softened in a way that Camdyn hadn’t expected.

Everild’s smile was gentle, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made Camdyn’s heart ache all over again as Everild read Cenric’s entry. “You were a very sweet child, Camdyn.”

Camdyn let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I think it’s my absence that has sweetened their memories. I was a terror, to be sure.” The memory of his younger self, running wildwith boundless energy, made him chuckle in spite of the tears still threatening to spill.

His husband snorted, his voice full of warmth and affection. “Impossible.”

Camdyn stood, crossing the room quickly to embrace Everild, his arms wrapping tightly around him. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I didn’t mean to have you come find me.”

A thought occurred to him, a shift of panic as the time seemed to rush back into focus. “Wait, why did you—what time is it? Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Everild, I completely missed the petitioners—“

“It’s fine,” Everild assured him, his tone soothing as he gently stroked Camdyn’s back. “You were reading your letters. And you don’t need to keep me company in the great hall every day.”

Camdyn pulled back slightly, looking up at Everild with a soft frown. “I like to, though. I want to help you when I can.”

Everild kissed his forehead, the pressure of his lips warm and reassuring. “You help me plenty. It’s all right to take some time to yourself.”

Everild’s arms were always so warm, so comforting. Camdyn snuggled against him, resting his head on his chest. “I think—I’ll tend the garden a bit, and then—and then I’ll write Cenric back. I’d like to give him and the other monks a gift. Do we still have citrus fruits in the kitchen?”

Immediately, Everild answered, “If we don’t, then I’ll get them for you. However much you need.”

Camdyn thought for a moment, running his tongue over his bottom lip in concentration. “Well, maybe a bag of each—oranges, lemons, and limes.” He paused, nibbling at his lip. “And we’ll need quite a bit of sugar—mmph!”

Everild pressed their lips together in a firm, lingering kiss, a promise in the softness of it. “See to the onion sprouts.Then write your letter. I’ll have Aldaay add your ingredients to this month’s expenses. We’ve a meeting tonight, anyway.”

There was a grumble in his voice at this last statement, a clear sign that he didn’t look forward to more time spent poring over accounts with Aldaay. But Camdyn only giggled, running his hands over Everild’s chest, enjoying the feel of his closeness. “I’ll wait up for you. Since I missed our time together in the great hall today.” Feeling a little bold, he added with a teasing smile, “I’ll take a hot bath, and then I could—I could wear my pearls for you. Just, um—just the pearls?”

He gasped as Everild gave his bottom a playful squeeze and pulled him in for another kiss, his lips warm and insistent.

Then, as quickly as the kiss had started, Everild abruptly turned and began marching out of the library, his movements purposeful. Camdyn blinked, dazed and still a little breathless. “Where are you going?”

“To Aldaay,” his husband growled, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sooner I finish with these accounts, the sooner I can see to you.”

???

The garden grew well. Camdyn had high hopes for their crop of onions. He planned to make soup or a savory tart. He thought he could surprise Everild with a special dinner one night.

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