Page 51 of The Beauty and His Beast

“I worried it would be very boring for you,” Everild admitted. “It’s a long ceremony. We’ll be walking for some time, and then we’ll have to stand in the church—if you get tired, tell me, please. I’ll have someone bring a chair for you.”

“Of course,” Camdyn lied. As if he would ever dare to interrupt his husband’s coronation. Everild was sweet but so silly sometimes. Though he hadn’t thought of how long they’d be standing—Everild’s leg, the one he had injured during the war, sometimes ached. If standing proved to be too much for him tomorrow, then Camdyn would hold his husband’s hand and have Everild lean on him a little, to ease the pressure on his leg, and no one would know.

He sat through the rest of the meeting quite pleased with himself: he was Everild’s support in a myriad of ways. His consort, his husband, his lover, his friend, occasionally someone who offered counsel but always one to lend a sympathetic ear.

When they returned to bed for the night, Everild reached for him again. Camdyn caught his hand, kissed his fingers, and asked, “Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

Everild sighed. “Let’s do something more fun. I can count the freckles on your thighs.”

“The freckles will be there later,” Camdyn said sternly, “But Udele told me that you’ve been upset, and I saw your face when you were holding court. You looked so unhappy, Everild. I can’t stand to see you unhappy. I want you to tell me. Please?”

His husband always gave him what he wanted. Everild pulled the blankets over the both of them and held him close. “I didn’t want this. The kingship. But I took it. I know I can protect people. I’ve always been good at that.”

That was an encouraging statement. His husband so rarely admitted his strengths and virtues. Camdyn kissed his bearded cheek. “Oh, you are, my love. You take such good care of me and keep me safe, and you’ll do the same for everyone in the kingdom.”

Callused fingers gently massaged his shoulder. “But I. I don’t know that I. This court life, Camdyn. It was never for me. I’m not a man for all this pomp and circumstance. This palace. All gilded and lively. My cousin fit in it. I don’t.”

Camdyn said fiercely, “No, you’re not a man for courtly ceremonies and parties and favorites. And that’s not important. Not at all. You’re brave and loyal, and everyone knows that you’ll care for them. Defend them. I was on the roads, I know—They might have bowed to your cousin because he was the king, but they cheer you because you are a good man.”

Everild kissed him, a few errant tears rolling down his cheeks. They got lost in his beard. For a time, neither of them said anything. As Everild sniffled quietly and wiped his eyes, Camdyn added, “To be honest, Everild, I don’t really feel like I fitthis place either. I’m all out of sorts. But—but I’m with you again. We’ll do our best together. Won’t we?”

“Of course,” his husband rasped.

They indulged in a few more kisses before sleep overtook them.

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In the morning, the attendants brought Camdyn sleeveless silver robes, their soft fabric shimmering in the sunlight that streamed through the palace windows. The bodice of the robes was low against his chest, cut to accentuate his form in a way that felt both regal and delicate. Skillfully embroidered patterns of flowers and leaves wove through the fabric, catching the light as though the designs themselves were alive. At first, Camdyn thought there were colorful glass beads sewn into the bodice, glinting like little stars, but upon closer inspection, he realized that the leaves and vines were actually small emeralds, their deep green color rich and striking. The flower petals, too, were no mere decoration, but finely cut sapphires and amethysts, each petal catching the light in an almost ethereal way, making the bodice look as though it were adorned with precious gems plucked from a magical garden.

The bottom half of the robes was made of fine, thin silver silk that seemed to flow like liquid moonlight as he moved. The fabric draped over him so lightly that it almost felt like a second skin, catching every shift in the air. When he walked, the fabric rippled gently around him, shimmering as though the very moonlight had been woven into it, its delicate movement mesmerizing.

There was a slit in the side of the robes that revealed his pale leg, and the sandals he wore were a work of art inthemselves. Made from dark blue ribbons of silk, they were wrapped around his feet and calves with perfect precision, the soft fabric gliding over his skin, and adding an elegance to every step he took. The cloak that draped over his shoulders was pinned together across his chest so gently that it almost felt like it was a part of him. It was sheer enough that he could still see his collarbone through it, a subtle and elegant feature that made him feel exposed, yet beautiful. As he turned toward the mirror, Camdyn felt a blush rise on his cheeks at the sight of himself—he had never seen himself like this, not with such finery, not with such grace.

For the second time in as many days, Camdyn thought back to a time when he had been nothing more than a novice. He had been so different then—unsure of himself, of his place in the world. And now, in these robes, adorned with the trappings of royalty, he felt as though he were stepping into a new version of himself, one he had never imagined. It was a strange and humbling thought.

He slid on his shimmering opal ring, feeling its cool weight settle on his finger. The attendants, noticing this final touch, were absolutely delighted. They showered him with praise, admiring his curls, his fair skin, and how the robes complemented his features perfectly. They cooed over him, their voices full of admiration as they complimented his appearance, but there was only one man whose opinion truly mattered to him.

Camdyn thanked them for their help, his voice warm and polite but with an edge of impatience. He wanted to see Everild, to receive his judgment. The attendants bowed, leaving him with a final, lingering glance, before they escorted him to the king’s quarters. They were separate from their shared bedchamber, which felt confusing in its own way. But then, everything about this royal life seemed to be full of contradictions.

When they reached the door, Aldaay was busy adjusting Everild’s cloak, his hands deftly making the final touches. Camdyn cleared his throat, catching the attention of his husband. Everild looked up from his task, his gaze locking on Camdyn’s figure. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of Camdyn in the robes, and for a moment, he simply stopped and stared, as though struck by something unexpected.

It was the same warm, affectionate expression that had been on Everild’s face the night they had wed, full of gentle wonder and deep affection. At that moment, Camdyn felt his heart swell.

“Do I look presentable, Your Majesty?” he asked, his voice laced with a teasing note, but there was vulnerability there, too.

Everild’s response was immediate and filled with warmth. He laughed softly, the sound like music to Camdyn’s ears. “You’re a vision,” he said, his voice full of admiration.

Camdyn flushed with pleasure, a heat rising in his cheeks. Everild’s approval meant everything to him.

Aldaay, now finishing with the brooch on Everild’s cloak, turned his gaze to Camdyn with a smile. He seemed satisfied with his work, nodding approvingly. “He cleans up fairly well, don’t you think?” he asked, his tone light and friendly.

Everild blushed slightly, standing straighter under Camdyn’s scrutiny. But he need not have worried, for Camdyn’s heart only swelled with affection as he took in the sight of his husband. Everild was resplendent.

His tunic and pants were simple, unadorned but expertly crafted, dyed in a deep, inky black that made him look even more striking. Black was a color that always seemed to make Everild stand out, his presence commanding and magnetic. But it was his cloak that truly held attention. It was a lush, dark green, embroidered with an oak tree in gold thread—an intricate symbol of a strong and flourishing reign. With his strong jaw and nose, his neatly trimmed beard, his height, and his powerful physique, Everild had always possessed impressive, noble features, but today they seemed especially accentuated, as though the very fabric of his cloak were highlighting the strength and majesty within him.

Without thinking, Camdyn rushed to him, unable to keep his admiration to himself. “My handsome husband,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against Everild’s cheek. “My king.”

Everild’s hands found their way to Camdyn’s hips, his touch grounding and intimate. “I only want to be worthy of you,” he said, his voice a soft rasp, filled with sincerity.

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