Page 59 of The Beauty and His Beast

“Of course,” Everild replied without hesitation. “Let’s walk together. It’s a fine day.”

With that, Camdyn kissed his cheek affectionately and took his hand. The retinue followed behind, riding slowly on horseback, while the king and his prince consort walked together under the bright, shining sun, their laughter mingling with the peaceful sounds of the surrounding countryside. The day was clear, the sky a vibrant blue—everything felt right in the world.

The monastery itself, nestled below the hills near the shore, was unlike anything Everild had seen before. It was so different from the grand churches of the Capital, towering and gleaming with white stone and decorated with intricate stained-glass windows. It was also unlike the chapel in their castle, where Camdyn would kneel each morning, surrounded by candles and flowers.

Here, the buildings were simple, constructed from plain gray stone. The stones seemed roughly cut, some left in their natural state while others were roughly broken to fit the shapes of the buildings. The architecture was humble, with domed roofs that created an austere, ascetic atmosphere. It was a far cry from the luxury of the Capital, but there was a quiet peace here—a place for the monks to sleep, to cook and eat, and, most importantly, to pray. A life of simplicity and structure.

The monastery’s yard was equally simple but well-kept. The grass was lush and green, chickens, goats, and sheep wandered about a section of fenced-in land, while many of the monks tended to a sizable garden. Some were harvesting parsnips and spinach, while others covered the crops with soil and straw to protect them from the winter chill.

“What’s that for, Camdyn?” Everild asked, his curiosity piqued as he helped his husband navigate down the small hill toward the yard.

“Oh, thank you, Everild,” Camdyn replied, his voice soft with appreciation. “It’s to protect the crops that’ll still be growing through the winter. It helps keep the worst of the weather off them.”

“I see.” Everild nodded, still absorbing the simplicity and beauty of the place. There was so much he had to learn about this kind of life. He looked forward to spring, when they would be able to plant more. Perhaps flowers this time—bright, colorful blooms like bluebells, primroses, and marigolds. He smiled at the thought, imagining Camdyn laughing among the vibrant colors, chatting with the monks as they worked.

As the cattle made their way back to the pen, David cupped his hands around his mouth and called out in a voice full of mirth, “Look! Look who’s come to visit us! Camdyn’s back!” He paused before adding, “Oh, and here’s the king as well!”

Everild’s laughter bubbled up once again at the monk’s enthusiasm.

The monks paused their work, and one of them—a man taller and slightly younger than the others, with a salt-and-pepper beard but not yet elderly—threw aside his spade and dashed toward them.

Camdyn’s entire body shook as he saw the man approaching. “Cenric,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.“Everild, that’s Cenric.” He was almost dazed. “Oh, I missed him so much.”

Everild, touched by his husband’s obvious love for the monk, brushed a stray curl from his face and smiled. “Go on, then. Go see your father.”

Camdyn’s face lit up with a wide, joyful grin. He seized Everild’s wrist, kissed his palm, and then without another word, he took off toward the monk who had raised him.

The reunion was nothing short of overwhelming. Camdyn practically tackled Cenric with his hug, and the two of them tumbled to the ground, laughing and crying in sheer joy. Cenric held Camdyn’s face in his hands, and Everild heard the monk murmuring softly, “Oh, my boy, my little boy…”

Tears spilled from Camdyn’s eyes as he smiled through his laughter. “I thought maybe I’d never see you again,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “When I left—and then, when I didn’t get any word from you in so long, I thought maybe you’d forgotten me—but then I did get your letters, and we wrote to each other, but I still missed you, and Everild said we should come and see you, and I wanted it to be a surprise—Did we surprise you, Cenric?”

Cenric chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. “Yes, oh, my goodness, yes, you have. What a wonderful surprise. The best surprise I’ve ever had.”

“I love you,” Camdyn whispered into Cenric’s robes.

Cenric squeezed him tighter, his eyes red-rimmed with emotion. “I love you so much. Always remember that.” He looked up at Everild, gratitude shining in his gaze. “Thank you, Your Majesty. For bringing Camdyn back to visit.”

It was an incredibly intimate moment, one that made Everild feel like an intruder. He wanted to give them space, to let them have this reunion without his presence. But Cenric’swords pulled him back. He cleared his throat, speaking softly. “It wasn’t entirely altruistic.”

Cenric furrowed his brow in confusion. “No?”

“No,” Everild replied, his voice steady but filled with affection. “My husband is the best of people. There’s never been anyone in my life as kind, as gentle. And he loves you. Admires you. I wanted to see you with my own eyes. To meet my father-in-law.”

Cenric, unable to respond through his emotions, simply nodded and closed his eyes, pulling Camdyn ever closer. But Camdyn, with a soft smile, looked at Everild and said, “Everild, I told you you’re a romantic.”

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The rest of the monks greeted Camdyn enthusiastically, rushing from their chores to wrap him in tight embraces or ruffle his hair in affectionate delight. There was laughter and chatter as they made their way toward him, voices raised in a kind of joyful commotion, and Everild found himself smiling at the scene. The Abbot, a kind-hearted elderly man, embraced Camdyn warmly, the look of joy on his face evident as he welcomed each and every member of their party with open arms, his welcome hearty and sincere. His tone was filled with affection, and there was no mistaking the deep respect he held for Camdyn.

The monastery, small and humble, wasn't quite what Everild had expected, but its charm and simplicity felt like a balm after the long journey. Everild had always known that the monks didn't have much in terms of material wealth, and he was concerned that their retinue might be too much for them to manage. He feared the monks would have to dig intotheir winter supplies just to appear as good hosts for royalty, stretching their resources thinner than necessary.

“We’ve our own provisions,” Everild told the Abbot, his voice low and sincere. “Don’t concern yourself about sharing your resources with us. Please, we don’t wish to impose.”

The elderly man, however, shook his head vigorously, his face kind but resolute. “Nonsense, Your Majesty. It is harvest time, and God has blessed us with Their bounty. The mast in the forests, the eggs from the hens, the milk and cheese from the cows, goats, and sheep. The crops from the garden, the fruit from the orchard, the fish from the sea. There is always plenty, always. And how could we scrimp on hospitality when you’ve all gone to the trouble of bringing Camdyn to us once more? Don’t worry. We are very glad to have you here. All of you.”

Despite the Abbot’s assurances, Everild had them camp away from the monastery, unwilling to disturb the monks’ daily routine. They set up tents near the outskirts of the grounds, where the peace of the countryside seemed to settle around them like a soft blanket. Everild watched as Camdyn, with his familiar, easy grace, fell back into old habits with ease. He started sweeping the stone path clean, his movements light and rhythmic, as if he had never left. He tended to the garden with the same care he had once shown, kneeling to pull weeds with an unhurried attentiveness that made Everild’s heart swell. Camdyn didn’t rush; he simply enjoyed the process, the simplicity of it, the connection to the earth beneath his hands.

And then, without missing a beat, Camdyn joined the monks in their prayers, his voice blending seamlessly with theirs in the sacred rhythm of their hymns. Everild stood a little ways off, his eyes closed as he listened, and he could pick out Camdyn’s voice from among the rest. It was always there, a steady presence that gave him comfort in a way no words ever could.

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