Page 22 of The Beauty and His Beast

Camdyn shifted on the bed. “Yes, my lord. Please, come in.”

Everild entered with a tray laden with bread, cheese, and what appeared to be a bowl of stew. He set it on a clear space next to Edwin’s case and addressed the physician. “What of my husband?”

Edwin pursed his lips. “Bruised, and in need of a good night’s sleep, but otherwise fine. However, you would do well to remember that your husband lacks your experience. He is quite unused to rough and strenuous activities, my lord.”

Camdyn frowned at that remark. It seemed a bit of an overstatement. He had done plenty of hard work at the monastery, from caring for livestock to foraging for herbs for Cenric, and he loved swimming, walking, and climbing trees. The king had merely chosen an activity he had never had reason to learn.

Everild blanched at Edwin’s words. He rasped, “Never meant—thought it best to just... get it over with.”

Edwin frowned. “Yes, well. You should’ve known better. Take more care with your husband. A lord should strive to be noble in both bearing and behavior.”

Everild appeared thoroughly chastened, and Camdyn felt that this uncalled-for scolding had gone on long enough. He drew himself up in the blankets, outraged. “Edwin, stop this. My husband is a gentleman. He’s kind and sweet and caring and—and—ow!” A sudden jolt of pain shot through his left shoulder, and Everild rushed to his side.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Everild said, running a comforting, calloused hand over Camdyn’s shoulder.

Camdyn leaned into the touch. He murmured, “You’re one to talk. Let Edwin take a look at your throat, please. I’m worried.”

“After you eat,” Everild insisted.

“Well, then let me eat.”

The bread was soft, though it was from this morning, and the cheese was sharp and pungent. Everild tried to spoon-feed him the vegetable and lentil stew but sheepishly placed the tray in Camdyn’s lap when he noticed the glare Camdyn gave him. It was a sweet thought, really, Camdyn mused as he lifted bite after bite of carrots, lentils, onions, and savory broth to his mouth. But he was neither an invalid nor a child. He had made a mistake in the forest, a little scraped up, but it wasn’t worth complaining about. He would do better next time, and then his husband would see him as capable—someone he could rely on, not a delicate, coddled burden.

When Camdyn glanced up from his meal, he found Everild staring off into space, deep in thought. “Are you okay?” Camdyn asked. “Is it—what the king discussed with you?”

Everild shook his head. “Later. You need to rest.” He handed Camdyn the cup of mulled wine mixed with the powdered herbs that Edwin had left.

It was strong wine, and the flavor of the herbs didn’t make it more palatable, but Camdyn swallowed it down. At least it was warm. He handed the empty cup back to Everild, who set it aside on his desk. “Lay down, Camdyn.”

The pillows felt more comfortable than they had the night before. The medicine was taking effect quickly, and Camdyn could barely keep his eyes open. As he settled intothe blankets, he asked, voice heavy with sleep, “How long have Willow and Udele been married?”

Everild paused to think, eyes on the ceiling. “Since before I was born. Forty years or more.”

Camdyn smiled at the answer. How wonderful! Forty years of love and care. They had spent more time together than apart and were still so affectionate and tender. He and Everild could have that, too, given enough time. Camdyn reached for his husband’s hand, feeling the familiar calluses and scars. He cherished them.

Everild kissed his cheek and gently stroked his hand as sleep overtook Camdyn.

???

It was morning when Camdyn stirred, sunlight seeping through the cracks in his clochán. It was too late for first prayers, then, to wake before the sun rose and sing his devotion with the rest of the monks. As a child, he had thought it was they who brought about each new day, coaxing the sun back to the sky with their hymns every morning.

Silly.

He snuggled back into his pillows.

A wren cheerfully trilled outside the window.

There was a tentative knock on the door. Which was extremely strange because the huts of the monastery had no doors, nor windows.

Camdyn sat up, bleary and confused. “Yes?” he called.

A man peered into the room. “My lord, your father is here to see you. Will you receive him?”

How kind of the abbot to visit him when he was feeling unwell! “Please, see him in,” he said. Camdyn hoped his absence hadn’t upset the daily chores too much. It had always been histask to forage; he had a keen eye for wild herbs and flowers. And Brother David was so suspicious of the cows—the won’t get milked if Camdyn wasn’t there—

But it wasn’t the abbot’s kindly face that greeted him.

It was his father, tall and lean, and displeasure etched onto his harsh features.

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