Page 48 of The Beauty and His Beast

He had stepped into his new black slippers and rushed out the door to the waiting attendants. They had been arguingwith Aldaay, who had spotted him and immediately sagged with relief. “There you are, Camdyn.”

“His Royal Highness,” one of the attendants had scolded.

Aldaay had ignored him. “Travel an entire week together and it’s when we get to the palace that I lose track of you. Come on, let’s go see your husband.”

A scandalized murmur had risen among the group of men and women. “His Majesty is holding court. We have to wait to announce His Royal Highness’s presence.”

“I’m sure His Majesty’s been in a thunderous mood ever since he arrived, am I right?” Aldaay had asked. At their tentative nods, he had said, “Easy fix. A man needs his husband. Let’s go, Your Royal Highness.”

The attendants had made a series of squawks like a gander of geese. They had fluttered around Camdyn, rapidly informing him of court protocol.

“You must wait to be addressed, Your Royal Highness.”

“Yes, and then you bow, and you walk three steps, and you bow again, and walk another three steps—“

“All the way to the king. Stay bowed when you reach his feet.”

“You must not stand until he allows it.”

Right—Camdyn was at court now. He had to moderate his behavior. He needed to be a fitting partner and consort for Everild, but not forget that he was still one of his subjects. Camdyn’s time and desires were not more important than everyone else’s. But it was difficult to see his husband and not be able to simply rush to embrace him.

Things were so different there.

He was a bundle of nerves by the time Aldaay led him through the maze of corridors to the court entrance. The door was massive and ornate and shining. Surely, it had to be gilded?

What would have been the point in making a door solid gold? Two guards stood on either side of it. At first, they held up a hand as Aldaay stomped toward them, but then they startled when they noticed Camdyn, his face flushed from their near run.

“Open those doors, if you would,” said Aldaay, “So that we may inform the king that the prince consort has finally arrived.”

The guards took in Aldaay’s stern, glowering face and Camdyn’s anxious, hopeful one.

Then they nodded and opened the door.

It was nothing like the great hall at home, which served as both a communal dining area and a place to hold discussions and air grievances. In the castle, visitors could sit at the tables while they waited to see Everild, comfortable from the warmth of the kitchen fires and the delicious, wafting scent of spices and baking bread and roasted vegetables as the cooks prepared the evening meals just another room over.

Here, the audience stood in their finery, draped in jewels and dressed in velvets and furs, looking either impatient or bored or nervous as they muttered to one another. Camdyn recognized a few of the advisors who had informed Everild of his kingship near the front of the room, arguing amongst themselves. And the throne—it was a large thing, made of marble, carved with a pattern of oak leaves. Camdyn thought it looked quite pretty but also cold and rather lonely, just like the rest of the palace, especially because it was currently empty.

Instead of sitting on the throne, the king stood beside it, standing straight and tall, hands behind his back, like a military commander. His husband was resplendent and handsome in a rich black tunic embroidered with gold thread in intricate floral patterns. His dark pants were new—Camdyn could tell, because all the ones at home were scuffed from use—but his boots werethe same worn, weathered pair that he wore when he helped Camdyn in the garden.

He hadn’t noticed Camdyn’s entrance yet, so focused had he been on the arguing group of advisors in front of him.

A soft, shuddering gasp escaped Camdyn’s lips. He trembled. He couldn’t help it. He was supposed to wait for someone to announce him, wait for the king to address him, and then he was supposed to bow and walk and bow and walk until he reached the king’s feet, and only stand when he was told to stand. He was supposed to be a vision of dignity and regality and order.

But Camdyn’s heart soared at the sight of his husband, and he found himself walking toward him completely unbidden. The audience on either side of the room turned to watch him, confusion and surprise written on their faces as he made his way to the throne. There might have been murmurs—he didn’t know. He could focus on nothing but the expression on Everild’s face, uncomfortable around this crowd, irritated at the argument, somewhat sad and tired.

Courtly conduct wasn’t nearly as important as seeing to his husband. Camdyn stopped just before the still-arguing advisors and eagerly called out, “Everild!”

Everild immediately turned. When he saw Camdyn standing there, his eyes widened. He went slack-jawed. It was an expression of extreme, utter surprise. Even though he still trembled.

Camdyn couldn’t help but laugh at his poor husband’s look of shock.

His laughter echoed through the now hushed court. The sound jarred Everild out of his reverie. His voice was that same low rasp, as welcome and pleasant to Camdyn’s ears as the way his callused hands felt against his skin. He said, voice full of wonder and joy, “Camdyn.”

Camdyn took a few steps forward before Everild crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and pulled him into a strong, warm embrace. Camdyn practically melted against his husband with a sigh. This was what he missed—Everild’s arms around him, the feeling of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed—just Everild, there, with him.

“You’re here,” Everild murmured.

Camdyn smiled. “Of course I am,” he said, “I came as soon as I could. I missed you so much. I love you.”

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