Page 23 of The Beauty and His Beast

Camdyn instinctively shrank into his blankets. The last few days’ events came rushing back to him like a wave. He hoped his father had come to check up on him, but the expression on the man’s face told him otherwise.

“G-good morning, father,” Camdyn said.

His father glared at him. “So, I see you’re well. They told me yesterday you might be dead or dying, but it looked like it was a great deal of fuss for nothing. Tell me, did you always make a spectacle of yourself at the monastery, or was this a recent habit formed from newfound freedom? First at the ceremony—“

“I was frightened, father,” Camdyn whispered, clutching the blankets to his chest.

“Well, at least the Beast seemed to find it charming.”

He shivered underneath the furs, but that comment lit a spark of anger in his heart. He didn’t like it when people referred to Everild by that name with such contempt. “My lord,” he stated, eyes narrowed.

The incredulous look his father gave him was somewhat satisfying. Camdyn continued, “When you speak of my husband, you will refer to him as ‘my lord.’ He is your better, father—a great man.”

His gratification at his father’s shock was short-lived. The man stormed to the side of the bed and yanked the blankets from Camdyn’s hands, tossing them to the side. “If you’re going to speak to me, you’d better stop hiding. You think me ignorant of social hierarchies, child? Of where I stand? Of where ourfamily stands? Why do you think I married you to the brute in the first place? Out of the monastery for a month, and you think to lecture me.” The man let out a mirthless laugh and gritted his teeth. “Tell me, did the king and your lord husband have their discussion before your histrionics ruined yet another event?”

Camdyn stared at his hands. “N-no. After. After I was found. They did talk for a bit, but something angered Everild and we left. He didn’t tell me what happened.”

His father threw his hands skyward. “Ah! Perfect! I marry my son to one of the most powerful men in the kingdom and what do I get in return? Nothing but a rude, surly little boy whose husband doesn’t even bother to keep him abreast of important matters.”

The rebuke stung. Camdyn blinked back tears. “But—but he said we’d discuss it, when I’d rested a bit, father,” he offered.

The man scoffed. He sauntered around the room, hands behind his back, peering at Everild’s desk, the woven carpet, the embroidered tapestries on the walls. “He does seem rather fond of you, I suppose. The bedding went well, I presume?”

A blush roared across Camdyn’s face like a forest fire. “No, no, we haven’t—that is, we’ve yet to—“

“You’re joking.” When he stayed silent, his father stomped back to the side of the bed and yanked his chin up. Camdyn attempted to avoid his gaze, but the man squeezed his jaw and snarled, “Look at me. Didn’t I tell you to make yourself agreeable to him?”

“He—he said we could wait, until I’m r-ready.” His husband was so kind; Camdyn was truly lucky that it was Everild’s face that greeted him when his veil was brushed back at the wedding.

His father snorted. “You think he’ll wait around forever? The shy, chaste little novice will only interest him for so long. All he needs is someone with a willing pair of open legsand a sympathetic ear and we’ll have lost our best chance at advancement in court.”

“W-what?”

“Soon enough every noble family throughout the land will be throwing their pretty sons and daughters at him—you think you’ll compare? Get him into bed, Camdyn. Make yourself available to him whenever he desires so that he’ll never have reason to look at another.”

Camdyn sniffled. Everild would never—would he? He had said that it didn’t matter to him whether or not they had sex, but did that mean he would eventually find fulfillment elsewhere? But Camdyn did want him, it was just… “I—please, father, I’m afraid. I’m scared it will hurt, I don’t want—“

The sneer on his father’s face was extraordinarily ugly and cruel. “You’re joking,” he said again. “The future of our family is on the line—your brothers, your sisters, your nieces and nephews—and you’re balking because you’re worried about a little pain. Didn’t they teach you about sacrifice and selflessness at that monastery of yours? How did a group of monks raise a selfish, impudent coward?”

With a quick, sudden movement, he let Camdyn’s head drop and squeezed his left side, nails digging into his skin just under his ribs, still sore and bruised from the fall. Camdyn cried out at the jolt of pain that raced through his body. “Ouch! Father, stop, please, please!” He trembled, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“But I’ve already stopped. Look.” His father spread his arms out wide. “And that wasn’t so bad, was it? You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Stifling sobs, Camdyn wiped his eyes and whispered, “Y-yes,” though he ached where his father had grabbed him.

“See? Pain is finite. It will end. Now all you have to do is lay back on that bed and wait for him to finish. He’ll be done by the time it takes to say a prayer—just think of that.”

But even if it was Everild, the very thought of having to—to be held down on the bed by another’s weight, bound to endure and suffer and pray as someone forced themselves onto him, into him—

He could not stop the distressed cry that spilled from his lips, or the cascade of tears that followed. Camdyn curled up, back against the headboard, knees to his chest, shoulders shaking as he wept. “Please, not that. I didn’t want to—I was scared. I was sorry. I was s-so sorry, father. But I tried—I talked to Edwin, about—please, believe me. Just don’t—p-please don’t hurt me again—“

Camdyn sobbed so loudly that neither he nor his father noticed when Everild entered the room.

“What is this?” His husband’s voice was like a crack of thunder, his face a mask of fury, eyes narrowed, lip curled around his bared teeth. He was shaking, not like Camdyn’s fearful trembling, but actually quivering with rage. His father had snarled at him, but Everild looked like a beast given human form.

Camdyn’s father took a step back, his irritated expression transformed to one of panic. He glanced at the shut door and back to his son-in-law. “My apologies, my lord,” he wheedled, “My son is still feeling unwell. He has been hysterical—“

“He was fine. Sleeping. What have you done?” Behind the rage Camdyn could hear him struggling to speak. Had he ever gone to see Edwin? He would only damage his voice further.

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