Page 18 of The Beauty and His Beast

“Maybe by the creek?”

If he got lost near the creek, would Camdyn stay along the water? Or would he have attempted to find the rest of the party? He might’ve gotten turned around and gone deeper into the forest, but eventually, the trees grew so densely that it was impossible for a horse to pass between them. No, he was smart. He would have stayed near the creek. It was the easiest identifier.

The king’s booming voice broke his line of thought. “Everild, what are you doing over there? Come congratulate me on this kill. You’ll have venison for days.”

“Camdyn’s lost,” Everild rasped.

His cousin frowned. “What?”

“My husband is lost.” The harshness of his voice and the anger in it made the two young attendants flinch and had the rest of the hunting party turn toward them, concerned.

Dustan tilted his head to the side and watched Everild’s growing panic. “Calm yourself. Look, there’s his horse now.”

A hush fell over the group. The warhorse trotted into the field, sniffing at some of the dogs and the carcass on the ground, completely unperturbed and unconcerned that it was missing its rider.

“Oh, God, no,” Everild managed.

???

Udele had suggested that he find something of Camdyn’s for her hounds to scent, but there was nothing. Everild had failed to think to bring anything else—not a token, a favor, or a scrap of clothing. And there was nothing left on the damned horse, not even a scrap of silk—just an empty saddle that broke Everild’s heart into pieces. He stared at it for a moment longer, as though he could somehow will it to change, to reveal something he could use, but the reality was inescapable: Camdyn was gone, and he had nothing to search with.

He rode through the forest alone, consumed with a deep, gnawing sense of anger, desperation, and dread. He pushed his horse forward with frantic urgency, each step matching the pounding of his own heart. The trees blurred around him, the shadows whispering threats he couldn’t quite grasp. His thoughts were as tangled as the woods, and all he could focus on was the hollow fear churning inside him—the fear of what he might find on the forest’s unforgiving ground.

The stallion had not fallen with Camdyn. It could not have. It couldn't have. The thought wouldn’t leave him. The horse was unharmed, its coat still shining, unmarked by blood or dirt. Everild had seen men crushed to death by their own steeds—warhorses that reared in panic and threw their riders, sometimes landing back on top of them, crushing them beneath the weight. He had seen soldiers whose mounts had trampled over them, shattering their backs in a brutal dance of chaos. But in the same breath, he had seen men thrown from panicked horses, their bodies like ragdolls, limbs twisted and lifeless, heads cracked open against rocks. And though they had been larger men, trained for battle, Camdyn was so small, so fragile in comparison. The terror twisted Everild’s insides, gnawing at him with a constant, growing panic.

If—if Camdyn was dead, then please, God, let it have been quick. The thought of Camdyn, broken and alone on the harsh ground, his small body trembling, soaked in pain, his last breath escaping in frightened sobs—Everild couldn’t bear it. The image tore at his mind, the mental picture so vivid, it was as if it was happening before his eyes.

Everild turned his head to the side and vomited violently, the breakfast he’d shared with Camdyn only hours ago rising up in his throat—the bread and butter, the eggs, the sweet, floral tea. He wiped his mouth and eyes with shaking hands, forcing himself to stifle the sob that fought its way out of his chest. It felt like punishment, cruel and unyielding. He had been foolish, thinking that their marriage could ever work, that Camdyn could live long and happily with him. How had he allowed himself to hope, to dream of a future?

When Everild reached the creek, a new thought assailed him. Could Camdyn have fallen into the water, drowned in the current? The creek wasn’t deep, but if he had been knockedunconscious… The thought of his husband’s body carried away by the water made his stomach lurch again.

Desperation fueled him as he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting, “Camdyn!” His voice cracked and echoed through the trees, but there was no reply. He would ride up and down the entire creek if he had to, comb through every inch of this cursed forest for his husband. He would—

Then he saw him. A small figure hunched against a tree, still and unmoving. Everild’s heart stopped for a moment, the air leaving his lungs in a rush of terror. He approached carefully, each step heavy with fear, unsure of what he would do if he found his husband cold and lifeless, but then—then he saw it. Camdyn’s chest rose and fell, steady and alive.

“Camdyn!” Everild’s voice was hoarse, full of relief, yet laced with the remnants of panic.

The young man’s eyes shot open in surprise, and upon seeing Everild, his face lit up. “Everild! You found me!” he exclaimed, but then he winced in pain as Everild pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Everild whispered, holding him carefully, as if afraid Camdyn would shatter at the touch. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—Where are you hurt? What happened?”

Camdyn gingerly held his side with one hand. “I fell,” he explained, his voice soft but steady. “When we got to the creek, the horse didn’t want to wade through, and he reared back. I fell off—sort of landed on my side. Everyone was so focused on the hunt, I don’t think they even noticed. So, I just waited here for you. And you found me!” He smiled, but it quickly faded when he tried to step forward for a kiss, only to be gently pushed back by Everild’s firm hand. Everild’s breath still reeked of sickness, and Camdyn’s brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

His husband’s face fell, and he asked softly, “Oh. I’m sorry. Did I—did I ruin the hunt after all?”

“No.” Everild shook his head sharply, feeling the tightness in his chest ease a fraction. “No, it’s just…” He hesitated, his words stumbling over one another. “When I thought you could be badly hurt, I—I was sick.” He gestured to his mouth, embarrassed by the weakness he had shown. Camdyn’s eyes widened, his face filled with guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Everild!” His voice cracked, and tears gathered at the edges of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I tried—I really tried—”

Everild’s heart ached at the sight, and without thinking, he pulled Camdyn into another hug, holding him close, careful not to squeeze him too hard. “Will I always be the cause of your tears?” he asked softly.

Pressed against his chest, Camdyn mumbled into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re not,” he said firmly, though his voice wavered. At Everild’s soft scoff, he added, “No, you’re not. This… this is all so new. Everything is so new, and I—I just don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t know how to be a good husband to you, but I’m trying. I just need to learn.”

“You could never disappoint me,” Everild said, his voice firm with conviction. He placed his hands on Camdyn’s hips, tilting his head so he could look into his eyes. “This is new to me, too. We’re learning together. How to be married. Okay?” When Camdyn nodded, giving him a shaky, yet hopeful smile, Everild pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I’m a little glad I missed it,” Camdyn murmured. “I didn’t want to see the stag get killed.”

Small mercies. Everild kissed the top of Camdyn’s head, his fingers brushing through the soft, curly brown hair. “We’ll go back to the rest and show them you’re alright,” Everild said, his voice quieter now. “I’ll talk to the king. And then we’ll leave, and we’ll have the physician look after you. And I’ll have the cooks prepare dinner for us. Whatever you want.”

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