Page 20 of The Beauty and His Beast

Wilburg’s face flushed a deep, angry red. “Well, really now, Everild. You’d plunge us into a succession crisis? A civil war? You’d splinter the kingdom, bring bloodshed back to our shores? You’d do that to our people? You’re the best choice for the future of this land, cousin. I thought you’d be happy. I thought you’d thank me.”

The boiling rage inside Everild erupted like a storm. “Should’ve thought of that before making me your heir, then, you fucking moron,” he roared, his voice thick with fury. “As selfish and stupid as you’ve always been. Not once in your life have you thought of anyone but yourself. The future, the people—you just don’t want your reign to end with you as a footnote in history. The king who brought nothing but violence and death, who cared for nothing but meat and wine and a good fuck. You’re a jester in your own court. I know your motives. So does God. When you die and face Them for all the lives you’ve ruined,beg for Their mercy. You’ll get none from me. Any love I had left for you, I dropped onto that beach with my armor. It’s probably at the bottom of the sea now. Go look for it there, if you want it so much.”

When he was done shouting, his chest heaved from exertion, his throat raw. The blood had rushed to his head, and there was a coppery taste in the back of his throat, as if he had tried and failed to bite his own tongue. With a snarl, Everild spat onto the grass, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface.

Wilburg, ever the pragmatist, gave him an odd, almost amused smile. He poured himself another glass of wine, then held it up to Everild. “You see, though? That’s something I’ve always admired about you, Everild. You only ever speak the truth, and you suffer no fools. A very fine king you’ll be.”

???

The rest of the hunting party avoided Everild’s gaze as he left the king’s tent. He could feel their eyes on him, even if they didn’t dare meet his. His words, though perhaps not intelligible in the chaos of his rage, had certainly been unmistakable in their intensity. He could still hear the echo of his own voice ringing in his ears, the sharpness of his roar cutting through the air. The party’s tense silence only confirmed what had just transpired.

Everild stole a quick glance at Dustan, who stood apart from the others, watching him with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion. Everild couldn’t help but feel the weight of that gaze, but he had no time to dwell on it. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

As he approached his own men, even they couldn’t hide the wary glances they cast his way. Their unease was palpable,the tension in the air thickening with every step he took toward them. Udele, who had been tending to her dogs, paused in her motions. She was gently soothing the anxious animals, no doubt disturbed by the outbursts that had reverberated through the camp. “Everild?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

He held up a hand to stop her, shaking his head as he did so. His mind was still reeling from the confrontation with the king. He couldn’t afford to focus on anything else right now.

At that moment, his gaze shifted to where Camdyn sat near the fire, wrapped in a blanket for warmth. As soon as he saw his husband, the worry on Camdyn’s face was unmistakable. The man stood and hurried toward him, his steps quick and urgent. “What’s happened, my lord? Are you okay? We heard you yelling.” Camdyn’s voice trembled slightly with concern, and his wide eyes were filled with questions.

“Later,” Everild muttered, his voice sounding rough and strained. He had pushed himself too hard in the tent, his anger getting the better of him. When he cleared his throat, the sharp sting of pain shot through him, and it was almost impossible to form the words he needed. “Back to the castle,” he continued, trying to steady his voice. “To the physician. For you. Then we’ll talk.”

Camdyn nodded quickly, his expression softening. “Yes. Yes, of course, my lord.”

Everild didn’t waste any more time. He quickly ensured that Camdyn was safely on the back of his horse before he mounted himself, settling carefully behind him. With a light pressure of his heels, Everild urged the horse into motion, guiding it slowly and steadily toward the castle. Their attendants followed, keeping their distance to allow them privacy, but they stayed close enough to assist if needed.

Everild kept his pace slow and deliberate, careful not to agitate Camdyn’s injuries, the weight of the day’s events stillpressing heavily on his shoulders. He couldn’t help but think about the strange, unexpected turn his life had taken. Only a month ago, he had been so sure of his path—serving the king, a life of duty and honor, perhaps even rising to the position of a trusted advisor. But now, he found himself in the unimaginable position of not only being married to Camdyn but also having him be bound to him as the future prince consort. It was a role he had never envisioned, a responsibility he had never asked for, yet here it was, inescapable.

Quite a path for one’s life to take, Everild thought, his mind wandering as the castle grew closer with every passing mile. From a prospective cleric, uncertain of his future, to this—a prince consort, a husband, a man caught in the web of politics and destiny.

Camdyn leaned back against him as they rode, the soft weight of his body comforting in its quiet presence. He sighed deeply, and Everild instinctively held him tighter, offering what little protection he could. The road ahead was uncertain, but for now, all he could focus on was the man in his arms and the promise he had made. Whatever happened next, Everild knew he would stand by Camdyn’s side, no matter the cost.

Chapter Six

Before beginning the search for Camdyn, Everild had sent a rider back to the castle with urgent news. The message was simple but grave: his husband was missing, possibly injured, and the physician should be prepared. The rider had hurried away, racing across the land to spread the word. By the time the rider had alerted the staff and the household, the castle had descended into a flurry of activity. Rumors and wild speculation ran rampant as servants and attendants gathered, whispering, unsure of what to believe or fear. The whole place had been thrown into chaos, each person filled with dread or curiosity as they awaited news of what had truly happened.

When Everild and his group finally arrived back at the stables, they were met by a small crowd of eager and anxious servants. They had clearly been waiting for any sign of their lord’s return. Among them was Willow, who, spotting Udele, rushed forward with a smile to embrace her wife, happy to see her again. As the two women exchanged a quiet greeting, one of the stable hands—a young, wide-eyed man who couldn’t seem to contain his excitement—took Everild’s reins. His hands shook, and he barely managed to hold the reins steady, his eyes bright with anticipation. “My lord, is it true you fought off a bear all on your own to rescue your lord husband?” he asked, his voice filled with awe.

Everild couldn’t help but scowl at the young man’s enthusiasm, but the stable hand was undeterred. Despite the brief, irritated noise Everild made, the stable hand seemed to believe that something far more heroic had taken place—his mind already painting a much grander picture of the events that had transpired.

“Couldn’t have been a bear,” Willow commented, her voice light as she idly stroked her wife’s cheek with a weathered hand. “Only my Udele could take one alone.”

Udele smiled and shrugged, her face softening as she looked at her wife. “Nothing fiercer than you, love,” she replied in a teasing, affectionate tone.

Camdyn, standing a little further away, watched the scene unfold with a quiet ache in his heart. He couldn’t help but feel a stir of jealousy. It wasn’t the intensity of their affection that made him feel this way, but the easy, familiar bond they shared—how they expressed love in front of others without hesitation. The sweet names they called each other, the way they looked at one another—it told the story of years of happy marriage, years of shared experiences and deep connection. He wondered—would Everild like it if Camdyn called him "my love" or "darling" one day? Would Everild ever refer to him in such terms? The idea felt like a distant hope, something he could only dream of. Perhaps one day, he thought wistfully. Perhaps.

"Camdyn?" Everild’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see his husband studying him with concern. “The physician.” Everild’s voice sounded strained, almost painful, a rough rasp in place of its usual deep and gravelly tone. Camdyn felt a twinge of worry. Everild had always had a voice like the rumble of distant thunder, but now it was raw and hoarse, as though he had overexerted himself. Camdyn’s concern for his husband flared. He had been the one who hadbeen injured, but he knew he wouldn’t rest until he knew Everild was taken care of as well.

“Back to the castle,” Everild insisted, though his voice still held an edge of discomfort. “To the physician. For you. Then, we’ll talk.” His words were firm, but there was a weariness in them that Camdyn could hear.

Camdyn nodded, his heart full of emotion, though he kept his thoughts to himself. “Yes. Yes, of course, my lord.” He followed Everild as they made their way back toward the castle, both of them moving slowly, carefully, ensuring that Camdyn’s injuries didn’t worsen. They needed to get back to safety, to the comfort of their bedchamber, but it seemed like the whole castle was in an uproar, with servants running back and forth, shouting, and muttering. It was difficult to make progress through the crowded halls as people clustered around them.

One of the older maids, a woman named Cainech, who had served his parents' household for years, rushed toward him as soon as she spotted them. She was holding a tear-stained handkerchief, and when she reached Camdyn, she pressed it to her face, sobbing with relief. Her voice trembled as she explained how she had heard the rumors of his fall—that he had been thrown from his horse and had fallen to his death from the cliffs. Camdyn blinked in confusion—there were no cliffs near their hunting grounds.

“There are no cliffs in the area,” he said quietly, though he appreciated her concern.

Cainech wiped her eyes, her face full of worry, as she asked, “So, you weren’t thrown from your horse, my lord?”

“Oh, well, yes. I was,” Camdyn answered with a gentle smile, trying to ease her panic. “Just—not down a cliff.” He couldn’t help but feel a little amused by the outlandish rumors, though he knew it was all born from love and concern.

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