Page 47 of The Beauty and His Beast

However, as they neared the Capital, Camdyn’s excitement shifted to nervousness. He had known of the executions—Redmane and his supporters had been killed and hanged in the square as proof that Everild had brought justice to the kingdom and dealt with the would-be usurper and his allies. This was the law of the land, Camdyn knew, but still—the thought of those bodies hanging, bloated and dark, their remains picked over by scavenging birds—he had felt sick just imagining it.

“Aldaay?” Camdyn called out, his voice hesitant. “Will—will Redmane and the others—will they still be in the square?”

Aldaay turned to him, raising a brow at his question. His normally hard features softened in response. “No, Camdyn. The square will be clear and cleaned by the time we get there, I assure you.”

Camdyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Aldaay.”

And just as Aldaay had promised, the Capital’s square was teeming with people, but the stones had been scrupulously clean. They practically gleamed in the sunlight, polished and free of any traces of decay. Fresh rushes and flower petals were strewn about the area to cover any lingering scent of death, and though many of the people stood in the square where bodies had once hung, none seemed to mind. Perhaps this was just the way things were in the Capital—crime, punishment, and justice had been part of life. The most worrisome thing that had ever happened at the monastery had been monks occasionally slacking off in their chores, or the constant disappearance of candied chestnuts from the kitchen pantry (which Camdyn had never known anything about, of course).

But this—this was very different from the monastery. Now, Camdyn stood in the heart of the kingdom’s capital city. It was vast—absolutely enormous—its skyline dotted with towering buildings carved from wood and stone, some rising three stories high. It was teeming with people, and Camdyn thought of an ant colony, bustling in a maze of streets, all filled with a kind of energy and purpose. And they were all there for one reason: to see his husband. To see the newly crowned king, Everild, and to see Camdyn standing by his side.

It was a new era for the kingdom, yes, but it also felt like a chance for a do-over for their wedding ceremony. Camdyn and Everild would be together once more, and now, everyone would see the greatness of the man Camdyn loved so deeply. He thought he could burst with joy at the idea of sharing his husband with the world.

It was overwhelming. It was amazing.

Just a short time ago, Camdyn had been a novice—no more than a simple monk, living a life of quiet reflection and service. How had he ended up here, in the midst of a kingdom,surrounded by thousands of people, and about to witness such a monumental moment in the history of their reign?

Aldaay gently shook his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Camdyn? Are you ill?”

Camdyn hadn’t even realized that he was crying. He hastily wiped his eyes, embarrassed. “I’m fine. I’m just—tired from the journey. I want to see my husband as soon as possible, please.”

The advisor nodded with understanding. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long now.”

???

Everild’s castle was old; he had told Camdyn once that it had been in his father’s family for generations. It was a remarkable structure. It was home. But next to the palace—Camdyn thought three of their castles could fit inside it. This was where the previous kings and queens had lived. His husband’s forebears.

The palace was surrounded by tall, stone walls on an island in the middle of a lake. There was a strip of land that bridged the palace to the mainland, the entryway gated and guarded. It was a brilliant color—all of it was built from red sandstone, from the battlements to the keep to the chapel, and even though it was such an enormous building, it was still bustling with people. Camdyn could see the guards patrolling the walls, hear the conversations of the stable hands, and smell the smoke from the kitchen’s fires. But even with its lovely exterior and all its activity, the palace still seemed—

It still seemed lonely.

This was where all the former rulers—Everild’s ancestors—had lived, and this was where they had died, in the heart of their nation, cut off from the people by a lake and a heavilyguarded drawbridge. This was where one of Everild’s cousins had murdered the other. Inside the walls was the place where the former king had died.

This was where Camdyn and Everild would live, now.

He hoped there was a garden.

They had barely stepped foot inside the castle before Camdyn had been ushered off to the baths by a team of officious-looking men and women intent on making him presentable at court. Up the stairs, through the halls, and to a room that was nearly as large as his and Everild’s entire bedchamber. The marble tub was so large it could fit a handful of people.

In fact, that seemed to be the intention. While a hot, perfumed bath had sounded extremely appealing, Camdyn had balked when one of the attendants had idly mentioned that they would bathe him. “No, that will not be necessary, I assure you,” he had cried.

The group had paused in collecting various bath oils and soft towels to stare at him. “You’ll—bathe yourself, Your Royal Highness?” one of the women had asked. She had sounded as if Camdyn had just suggested he had no need for a horse because he knew how to fly.

“I did learn a few things at the monastery,” Camdyn had tried to joke, but the attendants had merely exchanged glances and nodded, as if his very strange insistence on not being seen naked in front of a group of strangers was explained. They had been satisfied, however, when he had requested that they bring him a set of clean clothes.

One of the men had said, “Oh, worry not, Your Royal Highness. We’ll bring you an entire wardrobe to choose from.”

That had seemed like a bit much, Camdyn had thought, floating in the middle of the bath. He had spread-eagled. His limbs hadn’t even come close to the rim of the tub. The scented oil had been nice as well—fresh and floral, coloring the water alovely lavender. It just seemed a bit much. The room had been too large—the tub, the shelves filled with perfume and oil and colorful soaps, the white fur rug at the foot of the bath. He had missed the coziness of his and Everild’s bath, where the two of them could soak in the steaming water and cuddle against the warm candlelight, kissing and touching one another.

He had stepped onto the fur rug and dried himself off with one towel, covering himself with another, waiting for the attendants to return with his clothing.

They had seemed equally perplexed that he wanted them to set the outfits aside and leave so he could dress himself. But the prince consort’s orders were not to be questioned.

They had exited with deep, low bows.

To Camdyn’s dismay, none of the tunics had been ones he would have picked out for himself. They had been gaudy, bright, patterned things. He had preferred his clothes to be a single color in a simple shape, perhaps embroidered along the neckline or the hem. These had been all trim and lace and frills, as colorful and bright as his opal jewels. He would have looked ridiculous in them—no way to greet his husband after more than a month apart.

But then he had spied a decent one and sighed in relief. It had been a deep, dark red. Camdyn had felt his complexion was better suited to blues and greens, but he had liked the solid color. The tunic had still been rather suggestive, in his opinion—the neckline had been lower than he’d liked, and while the sleeves had been loose and the length appropriate, the waist had been quite cinched. Compared to the others, though… He had shuddered as he had pulled the tunic on over his head. The material had been lighter than he had expected, but it had been pleasant against his skin.

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