Page 42 of The Beauty and His Beast

The young advisor replied confidently, “He wouldn’t try and flee, Your Majesty, because then whatever tenuous claim to the throne he has now would be lost. And there are a few others who are friendly with him, but they reside in more populated areas. I doubt Redmane would take the risk of riding through those cities alone. Not when he’s gone and murdered a king. He’d be torn apart by a mob. The lord’s land in the mountains—it’s a bit farther away, and the road is more difficult to travel, but he’s a skilled rider. He’ll be there, I’m sure of it. That’s where you need to be.” He cleared his throat before adding, “That is, if you think that’s the best course of action, Your Majesty.”

Everild gave a curt nod, impressed by the advisor’s detailed and confident response. He considered the options carefully before making his decision. “Send a battalion of soldiers to each of the lords that have made public their support for Redmane. Have them march through the cities and towns on their land, but they’re not to loot or pillage a single shop or home. Have them tell the elders that they are merely searching for the murderer and would-be thief Redmane and that their lord is suspected of hiding him. Then have them surround the lord’s manor and wait.” His throat had grown raw and rough from the discussion, and he cleared it, reaching for his cup. Camdyn returned with a fresh cup of black tea sweetened with honey, and Everild thanked him, even though he grimaced at the taste. The warmth of the tea soothed his throat, but it did little to ease the heavy burden on his mind.

The advisor waited patiently for Everild to finish his tea. When Everild handed the cup back to Camdyn, he added, “I’ll go to the mountains with my huntswoman. If Redmane is there, then Udele and her hounds will track him down. If not, we’ll keep looking—manor by manor, lord by lord.”

The younger advisor nodded, but then asked, “What will be done with those lords that supported Redmane, Your Majesty?”

Everild’s expression darkened, the weight of the question pressing down on him. There was really only one answer in a situation like this. Dustan had forced his hand, and now his reign would be stained with blood. His voice was a low growl as he spoke, the words heavy with finality. “Their bodies will hang in the Capital square alongside their murderous friend.”

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Guilt roiled in Everild’s stomach as he watched Udele and Willow say their goodbyes. He and Camdyn had been married for only a few months, and Everild knew their separation would be unbearable. Willow and Udele had been together for as long as Everild could remember and had never gone more than a week without seeing each other. This would be agony for both women, their bond made all the more palpable by their unwillingness to part.

“It must be done, Your Majesty,” Willow said, her fingers adjusting the hood on Udele’s cloak with careful precision. “I hate to have you leave, dearheart, but this’ll all be over more quickly with your help.”

Udele’s smile was soft but filled with resignation. “Ah, you’ve quite a lot of faith in an old woman.”

“Experienced, you are,” Willow teased, her voice fond.

“In many ways,” Udele replied with a wink, and Willow responded with a playful slap to her shoulder. The air was filled with the quiet but familiar affection between the two women.

“Just be careful,” the stable master said, his voice firm but tinged with concern.

Aldaay, though indispensable in council, would remain behind due to his less-than-impressive horsemanship. Everild knew that Camdyn would need his assistance in keeping the castle running smoothly during his absence, so Aldaay would be staying put for the time being.

“So long as this isn’t a plot to keep Gerald as your advisor, Your Majesty,” Aldaay teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Everild snorted at the comment. The entire situation had become so convoluted, and Gerald’s involvement was a central part of it. Dustan had assassinated the king in his bedchamber, and with Gerald’s help—whether through coercion or his own volition—he had fled the palace. Gerald claimed it had been under threat and duress, but the other advisors had quickly placed him in chains. Everild found himself conflicted about the matter. On one hand, no one should have died for the king—after all, he had been just a man, and not a particularly good one at that. But on the other hand, Gerald had been the one to encourage the king’s violent tendencies, his insatiable lust for war, urging soldiers to march to their deaths for the sake of God and the crown. And now, Gerald could not even face the consequences of his own counsel? Hypocrite. Charlatan. Everild was angry that it was his own cowardice—his reluctance to take a life—that had forced him to leave Camdyn, his beloved, for an uncertain period of time.

Camdyn stood quietly by Everild’s horse, stroking the stallion’s thick, muscular neck. The animal was broad, dark, and sturdy—like a true companion in both battle and peace. “Not unlike someone else I know,” Camdyn had once remarkedwith an impish smile as he gently petted the horse. The beast snorted, then curiously sniffed at the curls framing Camdyn’s face, eliciting a brief but warm smile from him. Everild’s heart ached as he watched this small, intimate moment between his husband and the animal.

Everild knew he was almost ready to depart, but an anxious weight pressed down on him. It was the same feeling he always had before battle—the gnawing uncertainty, the tangle of emotions, the tightening of his chest. Once the battle had begun, there had been no time for thought beyond survival. But it was the waiting, the standing in formation, listening for the sounds that would signal the charge—that had always been the most uncomfortable part. Now, his body felt that same anticipation, but in a different way. This time, the battle was internal, his heart and mind warring between love for Camdyn and the responsibility he felt toward his kingdom.

He had deliberately chosen not to carry a sword, instead strapping an axe to his back. This had caused a great deal of consternation among his advisors—most of whom had never seen live combat, let alone taken a life. They argued that Everild would be unprepared to defend himself should he face Dustan, or that it was unbecoming of a king to forgo the traditional weapon of a commander. How could he explain to a group of men who spent their days discussing matters of state—the treasury, trade routes, alliances—that a sword, to him, was not just a tool but a reminder of all the violence he had left behind? The mere thought of grasping the hilt would dredge up horrific memories, transforming him into a killer, a soldier first and foremost, at the expense of the man he had become. He could never return to that life.

But Camdyn had come to his defense, offering a few words that had satisfied the advisors. “A sword is for an equal, my lords. A fellow soldier, a fellow warrior. Dustan Redmanebears the wolf’s head, but he is naught but a beast, and he will be dealt with as such,” he had said, squeezing Everild’s hand for reassurance.

“Forgive us our impertinence,” one of the men had quickly responded. “Your Royal Highness is of course correct. Your Majesty’s skill and conduct in battle are renowned. The outlaw Redmane is no peer.”

Now, however, Camdyn remained silent, brushing the mane of the horse with absent concentration. Everild gently tugged him away from the animal, tilting his husband’s chin up so that their gazes met. The look in Camdyn’s eyes held a mixture of sadness and love that tugged painfully at Everild’s heart. Without a word, they kissed—a kiss that felt far too deep and lingering for the moment, but it was their last for a while. A final taste of each other’s lips, a desperate attempt to hold on.

“I won’t be gone long,” Everild assured him, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll enjoy the time away from me.”

Camdyn pouted, his voice quiet but full of emotion. “I won’t. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I just want you to come back to me. Even if something happens, and you get hurt—just come home, and I’ll take care of you.”

Everild kissed his forehead, his heart swelling at the devotion in Camdyn’s voice. “If something does happen, Camdyn—go to your siblings. Cera, or Gibson.” His sister-in-law was a force to be reckoned with, strong and capable. And though his brother-in-law’s actions still hurt, Gibson was as loyal and protective as they came. He would ensure Camdyn’s safety above all else.

“But nothing will happen.” Camdyn’s voice held a tinge of uncertainty, his words more a question than a statement. Hesought reassurance that Everild could not fully give, not this time.

“We must plan for every possibility, Camdyn. That’s how you win a battle,” Everild replied, his voice steady even though his heart was not.

Camdyn blinked back tears, his emotions breaking through. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice small but heavy with meaning.

Everild hugged him tightly, feeling the steady beat of Camdyn’s heart against his chest. “Do you think,” he asked softly, “that there’s anything in this world that will stop me from returning to you?”

Camdyn narrowed his eyes, his lips curling into a faint smile. “No. Anyone that tries will have to deal with me. I can be very scary.” Then he laughed, the sound a bittersweet relief in the tense atmosphere. Everild couldn’t help but laugh as well, pressing a kiss to his husband’s lips even as the thought of being apart from him, of leaving him behind, tightened his chest painfully.

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