Page 12 of The Beauty and His Beast

Camdyn slowly opened his eyes and found himself not in his cell, curled up on his straw-stuffed mattress and coarse blanket, but lying on a large, soft bed, wrapped in warm furs with strong, muscular arms circled around him.

Everild.

They were pressed so close that, though the room was still dark, Camdyn saw the outline of his husband’s face, his features. His brows were furrowed; he looked serious even in sleep. Camdyn watched his body rise and fall with each breath he took. When he leaned in and kissed Everild on the cheek, his face lost some of its tension. He snuggled back into Everild’s arms and just listened to him breathe for a little while.

Sometime later, there was a tentative knock on the door. Camdyn glanced at Everild, who was still sleeping soundly, before crawling from the bed.

He pulled on Everild’s discarded black velvet shirt and answered the door. It was one of the servants, who clearly expected Everild from his straight, stiff posture and the way he first stared directly above Camdyn’s head.

“My Lord, I—” The man stopped in confusion. Then his eyes drifted down to Camdyn, and his face went beet red. He spluttered apologies. Camdyn felt his own face grow warm. What a sorry sight he must be—hair mussed from sleep and clad only in an oversized shirt and white stockings—not very becoming for a great lord’s husband.

Self-consciously tugging the shirt down, Camdyn asked, “Yes, sir?”

He remembered a moment too late that he wasn’t supposed to refer to the servants as “sir” or “ma’am” or, according to his father, even by their own names. They were to be talked at, not talked to. But, well, Camdyn had referred to everyone who visited the monastery by those titles. If they were really nobles, they found his attempts at social graces charming and gently corrected him. If they weren’t aristocratic at all, they always found his attempts at politeness amusing.

But this man instead stared at him, red-faced and wide-eyed. Perhaps here, to the people working in the castle, it was a rude thing after all. He would have to ask Everild after he figured out what the man at the door wanted. “Um, is—do you need my husband? I can get him—”

The servant shook his head frantically. “No, no! Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to, ah, interrupt. I merely intended to find out if either of you were in need of anything. Breakfast, perhaps? We could have something sent up from the kitchens.”

“Oh, we could eat in the bedroom?” Camdyn asked. The man nodded. What a surprise! Camdyn had thought they would have to eat in the great hall again. Was that what the small table in the middle of the room was for? “That would be lovely, thank you very much. If it’s not too much trouble, could I also get, um, some clothes and hot water for a bath? Enough for myself and my husband, please.”

At the mention of clothing, the man glanced down at Camdyn’s stockings and then immediately stared straight ahead. “Yes, of course.”

“Thank you,” Camdyn said again.

Once back inside the room, Camdyn opened the curtains just a little to let some sunlight seep into their bedchamber. He carefully crawled back onto the bed so as not to wake Everild and lay down at his side.

His husband woke soon after, blinking away the sleep and squinting at the sunlight. When he saw Camdyn looking at him, he smiled and reached for a kiss, which Camdyn happily provided.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

Everild rubbed his eyes and grunted in affirmation. Then he seemed to really look at Camdyn. “What—is that my shirt?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, I put it on to answer the door.”

His husband opened his mouth to speak, his face taking on the same red color as the servant, but he was interrupted by another knock on the door. Camdyn leaped up. “That must be breakfast! I asked for water for a bath, too. Here, I’ll—ah!” He yelped as Everild grabbed him and pulled him back down into the bed, covering him up to the chest with blankets. He looked a little frazzled.

“Enter,” Everild barked as the knock on the door became more insistent and Camdyn squirmed in his arms.

The servants laid new sets of clothes on their bed with low bows, studiously avoiding looking at either him or Everild. Another pulled aside the curtain in the corner of the room that led to another small space containing the bathtub. Steady streams of men hauled buckets of boiling water to pour into it. After setting breakfast on the table, the servants filed out with another set of low bows, except for the very last to leave, ayounger man who shut the door with a grin and said, “Hope you continue to enjoy yourselves, my lords.”

Camdyn thought that was very kind of him to say, but Everild flushed and grumbled as he finally let Camdyn up, mumbling something that sounded like, “Wise-ass.” As Everild searched for his pants lying crumpled on the floor, Camdyn dived into their breakfast.

There was a loaf of freshly baked white bread with a large slab of butter pressed into the shape of a hen—which delighted Camdyn to no end. There were also scrambled eggs flavored with herbs and slices of melon sprinkled with salt to bring out its sweetness. To drink, there was tea, floral and sweetened with honey, and Camdyn was especially glad for that because he didn’t think he could stomach any more wine after last night.

He slathered the bread with butter and devoured slice after slice. It was so much softer than the brown bread they baked at the monastery. Everild, he noticed, ate with much more enthusiasm than he had at their banquet. In between bites, he reached under the table and affectionately patted Camdyn’s thigh.

His husband insisted that he enjoy the bath by himself while he set about cleaning their bedchamber—clearing the plates and getting rid of the towels and the wine bottles left from their wedding night. A bit disappointing, but there was still tonight, and Camdyn had never had the chance for a bath quite as luxurious as this, so he complied without too much complaint.

The tub took up most of the space in the small adjoining room. Camdyn thought it could probably fit three people. It would most certainly have room for both him and Everild with a little wiggle room. At the monastery, he had only washed with lukewarm buckets of water and a rag and harsh, handmade soap that left his skin pink. The tub, he noticed, was made of stone. Did the material keep the water hot for a longer period of time?The rest of the room was made up of shelves filled with stacks of white soap carved with pretty patterns and various scented oils that didn’t seem to have been used much at all. Camdyn sniffed at one and found it warm, like cinnamon and black pepper and sandalwood and something pleasant and heated that he couldn’t quite place.

After placing a few drops into the water, Camdyn took off Everild’s shirt, peeled off his stockings, and cautiously lowered himself into the tub. It was like nothing he had experienced before. The hot water felt as if it went past his skin and seeped into his bones, releasing every little ache and tension he had held. It might have been unseemly, but he couldn’t help but release a loud moan of pleasure.

Outside of the room, he heard a crash that sounded suspiciously like plates clattering to the floor. “Everild? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” his husband answered, his voice hoarse.

“Do you need me?” Camdyn asked. Upon hearing Everild vehemently state that no, he was perfectly fine and to stay where he was, he settled back into the bath. He felt a bit like he was steeping himself in tea with the nice, hot water, all scented with spices. The thought made him giggle.

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