Page 16 of The Beauty and His Beast

“Come now, Everild. It’s not as though we’re putting a spear in his hand or anything. He’ll be at the back of the party. All he’ll do is follow and watch. It’ll be fun—way more exciting than anything they ever had at the monastery.”

Everild gritted his teeth. “I want this done.”

“So eager for the chase? I jest, cousin. I know all you want to do is crawl back into bed and on top of your young man. We’ll catch our quarry and then you and I will have a nice talk, and back to your chambers you’ll go.” He turned to Camdyn and Dustan and called out, “A royal hart for my new royal cousin. A fitting gift, eh, Camdyn?”

Camdyn sat tense and uncertain on the stallion. Softly, he responded, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Dustan smirked. “You’ve married the Beast to a little mouse, not a lamb. How quiet he is! But I bet a skilled man can get you to sing and shout in the bedroom, hm?” His tone was different than the night before—the low croon implied not just Dustan’s usual vulgar harassment but implication, suggestion. Camdyn, trapped on the horse, could do nothing but hold on tightly to the reins and avoid the man’s gaze, embarrassed.

Everild let out a low, guttural warning. Even Wilburg, who had joked about marrying Camdyn himself while drunk and who just teased Everild about their bedroom activities while sober, balked at the discomfort on Camdyn’s face. “Dustan,” he said, “Enough. You’re upsetting Camdyn.”

“Your Majesty. My apologies, Camdyn. I only jest.”

It was a damnable lie. The way Dustan’s eyes fixated on Camdyn’s lips and followed the low cut of his silk shirt made Everild glad that his husband would be at the rear of the hunting party. He would be separated from Everild, yes, but he would also be far, far away from Dustan’s gaze. Everild glared at him as he and the king continued to ride toward the assembly.

Camdyn managed to sidle up next to him. The anxiety on his face hadn’t abated. “Most of the horses in the stable are here—poor Seilide—she’s been left out.”

Everild said, “Don’t worry. She and Willow will keep each other company.”

“I like her. Willow.”

“So do I.”

His husband was still frowning. Everild wished he could kiss him again, but he didn’t want Camdyn to tumble off the horse just for a peck on the cheek. Instead, he asked, “Ready?” and upon receiving a nod, they made their way to the waiting group.

“Everyone’s staring at me,” Camdyn mumbled. “Can they all tell I’ve no idea what I’m doing?”

Everild paused before saying, “It’s because you’re so beautiful.”

That brought a bright blush to his husband’s face. “Oh, please. You flatter me, my lord—“

“I don’t flatter. It’s the truth.” Never had even a thimbleful of charm or fawning words spilled from Everild’s lips. He was solid like a fortress’s walls, strong as a yoked ox, and blunt as a rusted knife—and he always would be. It made the king laugh, made the other nobles sniff or stammer, but Everild had always found himself warmly welcomed among the foot soldiers.

Those men whose hands had been calloused by years of hard work at their trade long before they’d ever held a sword. The sound of their laughter, the campfire’s smoke curling around them as they passed along rationed mugs of beer—it was one of his few good memories from the war.

Camdyn didn’t seem to know exactly how to respond to this, but his blush deepened and he finally gave Everild a small smile. “If you say so,” he said.

If Camdyn wasn’t aware of his charms, then how did he explain the attentive treatment from the two young attendants? As they traveled through the forest, waiting for Udele’s hounds to scent the hart, he heard Camdyn shyly ask questions and the two men all but fall over themselves to answer.

“What is it we’re hunting?”

“A hart, my lord—a full-grown stag.”

“Fully warrantable.”

“Massive, Udele said, and a full ten tines.”

“O-oh?”

“That’s the number of points on its antlers, Lord Camdyn. When you hunt red deer, you’ll only want a hart of ten or more.”

“Why?”

“That’s just sportsmanlike, my lord.”

“No honor in anything less.”

Camdyn said, “Forgive me. This can’t be very fun for you, to watch over me like this. Thank you for putting up with me.”

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