Page 7 of The Beauty and His Beast

The moment lingered for a heartbeat, and Camdyn’s eyes were wide, filled with a mix of confusion and wonder, as if he had not expected to hear those words, much less feel a kindred fear in the man standing before him. For a moment, Everild feared that Camdyn might collapse, overwhelmed by the weight of it all, by the shared terror in their confessions.

But then, something remarkable happened. Camdyn’s whole demeanor shifted. The tension in his shoulders evaporated, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he straightened a little, his posture more relaxed. The tears still clung to his lashes, but his expression changed—it softened, became calm, almost curious.

And then, as if something inside him had clicked into place, he reached up to gently touch the hand that still cupped his face. His fingers grazed Everild’s palm, and he leaned into the touch, the motion tentative but trusting. His lips parted slightly as a soft, tremulous smile curved onto his face, and his eyes—those deep, dark eyes—held something that Everild couldnot quite name, but it stirred something deep within him. Hope, maybe. Trust, too.

In that moment, Camdyn looked at him not with fear, but with the beginnings of acceptance, of something more than the terror that had gripped him for so long.

“Oh,” Camdyn murmured, the realization dawning on him. The soft sound sent a tremor through Everild, and he felt his chest tighten. This—this was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The way Camdyn’s expression shifted from fear to something sweeter, more hopeful, and how that trust was directed at him. How it made him feel like he was not alone in this strange, difficult moment.

Everild swallowed hard, blinking back the rawness in his throat. He cleared his voice, forcing himself to focus on the present.

“Can we continue?” he asked, his voice thick with the emotion he did not want to let show.

Camdyn looked up at him, his eyes still wide but now softened by the flicker of something more vulnerable. “Yes, please,” he murmured, and Everild felt a weight lift from his shoulders, replaced by something lighter, something that felt almost like relief.

The priest seemed to recover from the sudden shift in the atmosphere, though it was clear he was not entirely happy about what had just transpired. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but when he saw Camdyn’s shy, apologetic look, his expression faltered. Camdyn’s long lashes fluttered up toward the priest, and in that brief glance, he offered a silent apology, a quiet plea for the ceremony to continue. Everild nodded curtly, a silent command to the priest to move forward.

The priest, still a little stunned, cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, then stammered, “J-just a bit of nerves, was it. It happens, it happens. L-let’s continue on, shall we?”

And so, the ceremony continued. When the moment came for them to exchange vows, Everild reached out and took Camdyn’s trembling hands in his, the connection grounding him. He waited for the priest to bless their union, his grip tightening slightly when the priest took the white cloth embroidered with ivy and tied their wrists together, symbolizing their eternal bond. The cloth was soft, the ivy’s meaning clear: love that was undying, rooted in faith and strength. Then, the priest sprinkled blessed rosewater over their heads, baptizing them into this new life together.

The rosewater was thick with perfume, and Everild couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the strong floral scent. He glanced at Camdyn, expecting to see a similar reaction, and instead found him biting his lip, trying to suppress a laugh. There was something about that look in Camdyn’s eyes—something light, playful—that made Everild smile. He wondered for a moment if, in some strange way, they had both found some small measure of joy amid the chaos.

Finally, the priest called for them to seal their union with a kiss. The words felt heavy in the air, charged with expectation, and Everild saw the immediate tension in Camdyn’s face. The young man blanched, his fingers tightening around Everild’s hand. He looked up at him, eyes wide with panic. “I—I can’t—not in front of—of anyone. Everyone. Please.”

It was a small issue, one that Everild could easily resolve. Without thinking, he placed his hands gently on either side of Camdyn’s face, his palms large enough to shield him from the gazes of the entire chapel. He pulled Camdyn close so that their foreheads touched, their breath mingling, and the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. “Just me, now,” Everild said, his voice low but full of reassurance. Camdyn’s eyes flickered, then softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

As if the world had disappeared, they shared the moment in quiet intimacy. Camdyn closed his eyes, lashes fluttering against Everild’s cheek as he waited for the kiss. Everild leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the tip of Camdyn’s nose. The action was a simple one, but it made Camdyn’s brow furrow in confusion. Then Everild moved lower, pressing their lips together. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if both of them were navigating this uncharted territory together. Camdyn was soft, shy, and Everild could tell by the way he held his head that he was inexperienced. It was possible this was his first kiss. But even so, Camdyn did not hesitate. His hands found Everild’s chest, pressing against him gently, and Everild, in turn, moved his hands to Camdyn’s hips, grounding him, offering a stability that Camdyn might need in this moment.

When they finally parted, it was slow and careful. Camdyn was flushed, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted and wet. The sight left Everild speechless, his heart pounding in his chest. Camdyn exhaled softly, and the sound he made—low, rich, almost like a moan—sent a shiver down Everild’s spine. He couldn’t help but squeeze Camdyn’s hips, holding him close.

They were broken from their moment by the priest, who coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat as he turned to the audience. “You have witnessed the creation of this new union,” he announced, his voice shaky but loud. “Now, you shall watch these men take their first steps together in holy matrimony.”

Camdyn glanced at Everild once more, searching his face for guidance, and Everild offered a small nod of encouragement. He took a moment to adjust Camdyn’s cloak, ensuring it was properly pinned, then linked their arms together. Slowly, they began their walk out of the church, stepping into the world together, one uncertain but hopeful step at a time.

???

The great hall of Everild’s castle was already bustling when they arrived, a whirlwind of activity as servants scurried around with the frenzied energy of ants, their arms laden with plates, bowls, utensils, and towering heaps of food that would soon cover the tables. The day still had hours left, the sun hanging high in the sky and spilling golden light through the grand windows, filling the hall with a warm, welcoming glow. Soon, the long tables would be brimming with Everild and Camdyn’s wedding guests, their laughter and voices rising in joyful chaos, the wine flowing freely as revelers jostled and crowded each other in rowdy celebration. Though the noise and bustle would be almost overwhelming, Everild hoped it would be easier to manage here than at the church. This was his home, a place where he felt grounded, and soon enough, the wine casks would run dry, the food would cool, and the guests would disperse. Then, perhaps, he and Camdyn would finally have a moment of peace to rest and enjoy each other’s company.

Aldaay led them to their table at the head of the hall. Ordinarily, their families would have sat beside them on such an important occasion, but on the day of the wedding, the newlywed couple was left to share this moment alone, a chance to enjoy their happiness in a more private, intimate way, while still surrounded by the warmth and celebration of the feast. A single, large golden platter was set before them, where they would share their meal, while their guests sat at the two long tables in the center of the hall, their chattering voices echoing in the air.

Everild gave Camdyn’s hand a gentle squeeze beneath the table, and in return, Camdyn offered a shy smile, his cheeks coloring slightly. They settled into their seats and watched with quiet interest as the attendants moved about, carefully filling the tables with platters of food and the seats around them with excited, eager guests.

“Do you have a garden?” Camdyn asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence between them. It took a moment for Everild to process the question and realize that Camdyn was speaking to him.

“No,” Everild responded, his answer coming out a little more brusque than he intended, caught off guard by the unexpected inquiry.

Camdyn’s expression faltered, and he seemed to shrink into himself, his fingers twisting together nervously. “Oh. I see. Sorry… I just wondered.” He quickly smoothed the creases from his robes and lowered his hands to his lap, looking uncertain. “My lord.”

Desperate to alleviate his husband’s discomfort, Everild reached over and placed a hand on Camdyn’s knee, offering a more reassuring smile. “Could have one made, if you like,” he said gently, before adding, “It’s no trouble, for you.” Then, with a quieter tone, he added, “Everild. You can just call me Everild.”

The change in Camdyn’s demeanor was almost immediate—his expression brightened, and he gave a small, relieved laugh. “Oh, yes, I could… if it’s not too much trouble. I—I’m quite good at gardening. I could grow things for the household. For you, Everild.” His words were earnest, filled with the kind of hopeful enthusiasm that made Everild’s heart warm.

“If it’s something you want,” Everild said softly, squeezing Camdyn’s knee a little more firmly. “Then, it’s no trouble at all.”

Camdyn hummed contentedly, his gaze softening, and Everild could feel the weight of his approval, as though a quiet bond was slowly beginning to form between them, one based on simple kindness and shared intent.

As the tables around them filled with dishes of all kinds, Camdyn watched each new arrival with a curious blend of awe and confusion. The centerpieces caught his eye most of all. Therewas a whole roast pig, its brown, crisp skin glistening, sitting in a rich stew of its own blood and entrails, the tangy scent of vinegar and garlic rising from the concoction. It looked almost as if the pig were wallowing in mud, a strange yet compelling sight. Then there were baked ducks, their skin and feathers carefully stitched back on to make them appear alive, arranged around a pie with the ducks seemingly pecking at the crust. But perhaps the most striking of all was a large, tall gelatin mold, transparent enough to reveal the whole, cooked fish trapped inside, swimming in a circle among sprigs of green herbs that looked like seaweed. From the shape and design, it seemed like the gelatin was meant to be as much a work of art as it was a dish to eat. Camdyn stared at it for a moment, clearly perplexed by the unusual sight.

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