Page 44 of The Beauty and His Beast

The archers, a silent line of tension, notched their arrows, each of them aiming at a single target.

Dustan’s face twisted in frustration, a strange mixture of a growl and a whimper escaping him. “You think you’re going to make a good king? You were slow of speech when we were children, and now you can barely say a few sentences without spitting blood. Think people will cheer for the fucking Beast?”

“A ruler is for their people,” Everild replied, his voice steady, unwavering. “My duty is always to protect them, whether they like me or not.” The former king had done nothing but sate his own hunger for power. Dustan was no different, but he was worse, crueler. Everild had learned that much long ago.

He thought of Camdyn again, his words from days past echoing in his mind: “My husband says that I’m a good man, so I’ll be a good king. He might have too much faith in me. But I’ll do my best to be better than the last one. And I already know that I’m a better man than you.”

With that, he gave the signal. Udele whistled, and the dogs returned to her side, their task complete. “Don’t hit his face,” Everild ordered. “His body will hang in the Capital’s square along with anyone who helped him.”

Dustan’s expression shifted, a flicker of disbelief flashing in his eyes. He was silent now, his anger muting into something more dangerous: resignation. He glared at Everild, his jaw clenched, the sound of his breath a low, guttural growl.

The archers fired in unison.

???

The villagers slaughtered a pig for Udele’s hounds to feast on and another for Everild’s retinue. It was a generous gesture, one that surprised Everild. He was taken aback by their hospitality, especially given the harshness of the winter. "You needn’t have done that," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with surprise. "I don’t want to take away from your winter stores." The weight of his words lingered in the cold air, but the headman merely flashed him a toothy grin, his eyes gleaming with a quiet satisfaction.

"Well, we’ll be able to buy up plenty of supplies with the bounty from the wolf’s head, won’t we?" The old man’s words were said with a kind of cheer, as if the community’s needs and the victory were one in the same.

Everild nodded, still processing the gesture. "Of course. I won’t forget your help." His voice held a sincerity, but there was a shadow of uncertainty behind his words, as though he didn’t quite know what to make of their generosity. He paused, before continuing with a more pressing question. "You wouldn’t happen to know where your former lord fled, do you?"

The headman’s smile faded slightly as he looked towards the bloody sack that contained Dustan’s lifeless body. "Hoping to add to the display?" he chuckled, his voice rough with age and experience. He waved off Everild’s query with a wry expression. "Apologies, Your Majesty. If we’d known your plans, we wouldn’t have burned him in the manor."

Everild, his mind still racing from the recent events, wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The idea that Dustan’s body was now little more than a charred relic, destroyed before it could be properly dealt with, weighed heavily on him. It was almost as if the world had been stripped of any pretense of order. Instead of voicing his discomfort, Everild shifted his focus. "Should I appoint a new lord for you all?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of his new role.

"Go right ahead, go right ahead," the headman responded, with a casual wave of his hand. "If we don’t like them, we’ll take care of them ourselves, eh?" There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes, a deep-seated pride in his community’s self-reliance.

Yes, Everild thought to himself, Aldaay would get along well with these people. They were resourceful, unbowed by the weight of authority. He almost felt a flicker of hope, wondering if perhaps there was a path forward for his fractured kingdom.

As evening fell and the sounds of the village quieted, Udele found Everild sitting alone next to Dustan’s body. He was lost in thought, staring down at the remains of the man who had once been his cousin, his family. Udele lowered herself onto the ground beside him, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she, too, understood the gravity of the moment.

"Mourning your cousins?" she asked, her voice gentle, yet filled with a quiet knowing. Everild let out a snort, half-amused, half-sad. "You all loved each other once," she added, her words carrying the weight of nostalgia. "It used to be the three of you running down those castle halls."

"When we were very small," Everild conceded with a sigh, his voice soft and distant. "When we were happy, and curious, and all we ever wanted to do was play." The memories came rushing back—before the war, before the betrayal, before Dustan had murdered the king, before everything had shattered. "Perhaps I’m mourning the children they once were." He looked down at the ground, lost in thought.

The image of them—two bright-eyed children—still clung to his memory. Dustan with his dark hair, and Wilburg with his blond locks, both of them always by his side, both of them carefree and innocent, dressed in tunics stained with the juices of wild berries they’d pick near the castle. They would tumble on the grass, laughing and shrieking, their voices rising in the air. How had they gone from that to what they had become?

Dustan had grown cruel, intentionally callous, aggressive in his brutality, and Wilburg, despite his jovial nature, had only ever cared for his own pleasures, his laughter echoing even as others suffered for his amusement. The war had done something to all of them, something that they could never undo.

And then came the war—ruthless and unforgiving. It had stripped the flesh from Everild’s body and the ease fromhis mind, leaving him scarred, mentally and physically. It had taken away any remnants of the love he had once felt for his cousins. They had thrived in battle, found joy in it, while Everild had longed for peace, for an end to the endless violence that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He hadn’t wanted the throne. He had never wanted this life. All he had wanted was a quiet place to rest, away from the screams, the bloodshed, the constant fear.

"We killed each other," Everild murmured, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Dustan murdered the king, and then I had Dustan slaughtered." He let out a bitter laugh, one that lacked humor. "Did you ever imagine this would happen when you watched the three of us explore the woods together? That we’d die at one another’s hands? That one day I’d be the last?" He shook his head, as though the weight of his words was too much to bear.

Udele was silent for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she spoke softly, her voice steady. "Only God knows what’s in store for anyone, Everild. I can’t say I ever expected this would be one of our hunts, but—" She paused, furrowing her brow, as though searching for the right words. "You’ve always been a good lad. You’ve only ever tried to do what’s right. They thought you a warrior for your strength and size, and I daresay you were more than decent at it, but—you know the reason you get along with that pretty husband of yours? You’re both gentle creatures. Made for nurturing and caring and defending others. So, no, I can’t rightly say that this is where I thought I’d be sitting one day, but it is so, and I’ll gladly follow you wherever you continue to lead me, Your Majesty."

Everild chuckled weakly, trying to mask the sorrow in his heart. "Have you been talking to Camdyn?" His voice cracked slightly, strained from the emotions churning inside him. He hiccupped, wiping at his eyes, and managed a small, painedsmile. "He’s always telling me ridiculous things like that." Udele’s hand, worn and weathered, gently rested on his shoulder as he hung his head, unable to stop the tears that flowed freely.

A storm of emotions raged within him. Udele’s words were too kind, her trust in him too much, far more than he felt he deserved. He was the king now, but he never wanted to be. His family was gone, and somehow, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel more sorrow than he did. Throughout the kingdom, Dustan’s allies—those who had fought alongside him, who had reveled in the brutality of the war—were being hunted down, dragged from their manors and castles, and executed. And yet, as each one fell, Everild felt a sickening satisfaction that he didn’t know how to reconcile with his conscience.

He missed his husband. The ache in his chest was a constant, gnawing reminder of the life he had left behind. All he wanted was to return to Camdyn, to see his garden, to sit with him in peace, to talk about everything and nothing at all, to hold him and feel his warmth, to sleep beside him, to kiss him, to feel like something in this broken world could still be right.

It was thoughts of Camdyn that finally stopped the tears. The pain in his heart didn’t fade, but his mind cleared, a sense of clarity settling over him. There was still much to do, and he couldn’t do it alone. He needed Camdyn at his side. Above all else, he was Camdyn’s husband, Camdyn’s lover, Camdyn’s friend. No crown, no title, no throne could replace that bond.

“Udele,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "Go back home. Kiss your wife. Then have them send Camdyn to the Capital. I need to prepare for the coronation, and I won’t be crowned king without my husband at my side."

Chapter Ten

There was very little time to mope. The demands of the castle left Camdyn with little room to dwell on his loneliness. As Everild’s absence stretched on, Camdyn found himself carrying more and more of the responsibilities, both his own and his husband’s. The burden was not easy, but he was determined not to disappoint Everild. He had learned quickly that being in charge of the castle meant more than just managing the staff. He had to make sure that everything ran smoothly—from overseeing the duties of the servants and staff to ensuring that meals were planned and the inventory of supplies was kept up-to-date. These were the tasks he was accustomed to. But now, with Everild away, there were even more duties to handle. With Aldaay’s assistance, he received the previous night’s reports from the captain of the guard, listening closely to any issues or concerns. Then, after reviewing the security of the castle, he would walk the perimeter to inspect the walls, checking for any potential weak points that could be exploited. It was a daunting task, but it gave him a sense of purpose.

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