Page 57 of The Beauty and His Beast

A kind of strangled laugh left Everild’s lips. “It won’t be a hardship for me, Camdyn.”

Their touches turned light, their kisses delicate, and then the two of them were cuddled together once more. Camdyn listened to Everild’s heartbeat, strong and steady and comforting to his ears. His husband traced patterns along his hip with a finger, slow circles and swirls and lines.

The next day, he had to learn the layout of the castle—it was such an opulent place, the halls filled with rugs and tapestries and paintings, the many, many rooms packed with so much furniture that it was a chore to avoid bumping into things. Then he had to meet the staff—all the servants and guards—not to mention the rest of the advisors and court officials. And the nobles—they would be around quite a bit, wouldn’t they? Camdyn had to learn all their coats of arms. And everything was more of a show at court—he and Everild wouldn’t get their private breakfasts together. Camdyn probably wouldn’t be able to read in the library by himself. And the chapel would always be bustling with other people.

As long as there was a garden, he thought. But then, it was a shame that they wouldn’t get to see their own grow…

“Camdyn?” Everild asked.

He pressed a kiss to his husband’s broad, scarred chest. “Mm?”

“Tomorrow I was going to tell the court that we would be returning to our home. We were going to go see your sister’sfamily, and then we would go to your monastery, and then back to the castle. Permanently.”

There was a moment’s pause as the words settled in Camdyn’s mind. Then he pushed himself up so that he and Everild were looking eye-to-eye. “I—really, Everild? We could do that? The trip? And we could stay in the castle? Forever?”

“Do you want that?”

“Of course I do, but—but you’re the king, this is your palace—”

“There’s no law that said I had to live here,” Everild said dryly. “Believe me. I checked. I thought about this a lot. While waiting for you.”

Camdyn said quietly, “But your family lived here.”

“Those paintings on the wall? Or the bones in the crypt? You’re my family. Anywhere with you is home. But we both said that we didn’t care for this place. So tell me, truthfully, where do you wish to live? Be selfish.”

It was rather anathema to how he had been raised. Camdyn bit his lip. He thought the same—anywhere with Everild was home. But if given the choice, if they really could—

“With you,” he finally admitted. “In our castle, with our household, with Willow and Udele and Aldaay, and our kitchen and our library and our bed and our garden. That’s—that’s what I want, Everild.”

His husband kissed him, slow and languid. “Then you’ll have it. Didn’t I tell you I’d give you anything you wanted?”

Camdyn laughed with joy.

In the morning, they would be packed to go to Aoife’s manor, meet her husband, and greet Young Aoife, who had learned to walk and was running rampant. After that, they would take the long journey back to the monastery, back to where Camdyn had been raised, and Everild would meet the men who had cared for him his entire life, all the souls that Camdyn lovedand cherished. They would shake the Abbot’s hand and bow, they would hug Cenric, and he and Everild would walk along the beach, hand in hand, talking and laughing.

And then, they would make their way back to their own castle, where Udele and Willow and the rest of their household were waiting, with the cozy library packed from ceiling to floor with shelves of books, with the kitchen that Camdyn loved to cook in, with the garden that was completely theirs—his and Everild’s—and which grew larger and more vibrant every day, just like their love.

He smiled at Everild. His husband gazed at him with adoring eyes and brushed their lips together so softly and so gently.

“I love you,” Everild murmured.

Camdyn smiled. “I love you.”

And after that—whatever they encountered, wherever life took them, they faced it together, not as king and consort but as husband and husband, utterly in love.

They fell asleep like that: peaceful and happy in one another’s arms.

Epilogue

It was a beautiful land, one that seemed to hum with life in every corner. Everild admired the rolling lakes that shimmered in the early morning light, their calm waters reflecting the soft pastel colors of the sky. The mountains loomed majestically in the distance, their peaks kissed by clouds, as if reaching up to touch the heavens. The forests stretched for miles, tall and ancient trees intertwined, creating a canopy of green that whispered secrets to the wind. It was a land that breathed tranquility, a land untouched by chaos, where every step felt like a return to something sacred.

The quiet was unlike any Everild had ever known. There were no bustling streets, no distant sounds of industry, no clamor of crowded towns. Just the gentle rustling of leaves, the distant cry of birds, and the soft calls of animals hidden in the underbrush. Serene. Peaceful. Not wild, as others had described it, but rather free—free in the sense that everything here seemed to grow and live naturally, as if it had always been this way and always would be. It was a place where life flourished without force, where nature reigned, unrestrained.

As Everild marveled at the land, his thoughts turned to Camdyn. That Camdyn had been born in such a country, and then raised in the quiet and peace of a monastery, explained so much about his gentle soul. It was no wonder his husband was so calm, so lovely, and so full of grace. The serenity of the landhad become part of Camdyn’s very essence, shaping him into the person Everild had come to love so deeply.

When Everild shared this thought with Camdyn, the young man blushed deeply, his freckled face glowing in the soft warmth of the campfire’s light. “Oh, Everild,” he murmured with a shy smile, his voice a soft whisper, “That’s just the romantic in you.”

Everild’s heart softened at the words, for he had never before been described as a romantic. It was something he had never expected anyone to say about him. No one had ever looked at him—his thick muscles, his jagged scars, the roughness in his voice and the growls that escaped his throat—and called him sweet. In his past, he had been known for his strength, his fierceness, his resolve. But Camdyn saw something else in him. Camdyn saw gentleness and softness, things that Everild never thought anyone could see, especially not in a man like him.

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