Page 10 of The Beauty and His Beast

As they neared the door, the king spotted them, raising his goblet high, sloshing wine all over the floor. “Ah, well, eager to get to know one another, weren’t they? To wedded bliss!” Helaughed loudly, and there was scattered applause, but Everild clenched his jaw and ignored it

He didn’t care. Not now. Not tonight. He was done.

They finally reached their bedchamber, and Everild locked the door behind them, shutting out the world. The room was quiet, prepared for them—fresh towels, water, wine.

Everything was pristine and untouched. Everild didn’t spare a second glance at the wine bottles. Instead, he kicked off his boots and stripped off his doublet and shirt, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

The water in the basin was cold, refreshing. He dipped his hands in, splashing his face, the coolness soothing his racing heart, easing his panic. He breathed deeply, slow and steady, until the tension in his body finally melted away.

But when he stood up, his thoughts finally cleared, he turned—and there, on the bed, sat Camdyn. His husband was still in his wedding robes, his hands resting in his lap, his fingers tightly intertwined. He looked up at Everild with wide, uncertain eyes. His voice, fragile and uncertain, broke the silence.

“W-what would you have me do?” Camdyn asked.

Chapter Four

Throughout Camdyn’s years at the monastery, there were a few visitors around his age who, once they were safely in the woods and hidden away from the monks’ prying eyes, boldly declared their intentions to him. Sometimes, they offered to spirit him away from what they believed would be a long, dreary life of contemplation and devotion to God. But all wanted to touch him and for him to touch them in return.

He remembered quick, furtive kisses and clumsy hands roaming over his robes, and while it wasn’t unpleasant, he was always quite bewildered. Perhaps because he took part more out of honest curiosity than genuine attraction, though some of the young men might have been considered good-looking. At the time, Camdyn met very few other people; he had no one to compare them to but one another.

The merchant’s son, blond and self-confident, liked to try and reach underneath Camdyn’s robes as they kissed. The woodsman’s nephew, tall and lean, was as shy and uncertain as he was. The traveling bard, a few years older than Camdyn at the time, ignored his lips completely to—strangely—suck at his neck. Cenric found them just off the path and, with more strength and fury than Camdyn had ever seen from him before, hauled the man off of him, sending him fleeing down the road. Afterwards, he sternly warned Camdyn about the nefarious intentions of strangers.

Not a single one of those young men looked anything like Everild did now, bare-chested and broad, with rivulets of water running down his collarbones to his stomach. He was just so big, his eyes and hair so dark, and there would be more of him to see once he took off his boots and pants. That all of him was soon going to be in bed with Camdyn had him, for the first time, burning with heat but also trembling with fear.

Camdyn knew, vaguely, about what was expected of him that night. That he and Everild were to consummate the union of their marriage by becoming one. The exact details and logistics of it, however, remained a mystery to him. He wished now that he had done more with the young men who visited the monastery—he would have had a better idea of what was to come and would be more skilled at pleasing his husband besides.

In the week before the wedding, Camdyn tried his hand at research in his family’s library. There were only irrelevant medical texts—nothing about sexual intercourse but quite a bit on treating bee stings, which was interesting, and a few entries about breastfeeding, which he passed on to Aoife—and a few erotic tales that were scanty on all details except for a running theme of abduction, ravishment, and initial pain, burning, and tears that turned into pleasure and rapturous cries after enough thrusts.

That wouldn’t be—that wouldn’t be so bad, he supposed. If it eventually felt good. But the question of how Everild would fit, along with a lingering concern about the pain, still had him shaking. It had to work, plenty of people did it and seemed to enjoy it, and yet—Surely if he just asked his husband to be gentle with him?

Everild finally turned his attention back to Camdyn, chest heaving, staring at him in surprise, his eyes wide. Camdyn shifted nervously on the bed. Maybe he was supposed to have already undressed. But one of the maids told him that husbandspreferred to do that themselves. He should have asked her for details. She seemed to know what she was talking about.

What position was he supposed to be in—on his back or on his front? Or maybe something else? Would they be there all night? How many times could a man—enjoy himself? What would Everild’s body look like, naked? Would he be pleased with Camdyn’s? What if he didn’t find Camdyn appealing at all? Would that be better or worse than Everild roughly taking him well into the morning? But, no, the kiss—Everild was so sweet when they kissed and so attentive at the banquet. His cousin, though, Dustan Redmane—what he said—was that true?

Was his husband just trying to make it easier to—to have relations with him? Everild was so upset at what the man said and yet all but dragged Camdyn up to their bedchambers. If he begged his husband to just let them sleep tonight, would he be angry? Surely he would be disappointed. Camdyn didn’t think Everild would force him, but—but people were different behind closed doors.

His gaze flitted to the bedchamber’s locked door and then to Everild’s naked chest and then to Everild’s face. “W-what would you have me do?” he asked.

His husband just stared at him. When Everild finally spoke, his voice sounded like his throat was scraped raw. “Nothing.”

Ah, right. That’s—Camdyn should just lie back and—and let Everild—he fiddled with the brooches keeping his cloak pinned to his robes. It should have been easy enough to simply unpin them, but his hands trembled. “Of—of course, my lord. Just, please. Please, be gentle, I haven’t ever—I know a bit, but I’ve never actually—“ To his horror and embarrassment, he began to tear up again. “I’m—I’m so sorry, I’m nervous.”

But as he let the cloak fall from his shoulders and hesitantly tugged at the red sash of silk around his robes, Everildscrambled forward and stopped him. “No, Camdyn,” he rasped, “Nothing, we’ll do nothing. Sleep in the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

There was a part of him that sighed in relief at this answer. That nothing would happen that night. But there was another part of him that was stung by this rejection.

He blinked back more tears. “Am I not—to your liking?” Or perhaps it was his inexperience that turned Everild off. That would have made sense. His husband was older than him, cousin to the king, and a great warrior. Surely he had prettier and more skilled lovers than Camdyn. He wiped his eyes. “I can learn,” he said, sniffling, “I can please you, if you show me how. I promise. I can be a good husband to you.”

Everild kneeled at his feet, almost as if in prayer, so that Camdyn had to gaze down at him. His eyes were so dark and gentle and full of reverence.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and Camdyn’s heart fluttered, “But nothing will happen between us unless you want it to. Never, if you choose.”

“But—don’t you want to—“

“I want you to be happy here. As happy as I can make you.” He paused, apparently searching for the right words. Then, bluntly, he stated, “We don’t have to have sex. It doesn’t matter to me. I will never force you. I only want what you’re willing to give me.” He reached for Camdyn’s hands and held them in his own. “Nothing else.”

Camdyn could not stop his voice from quavering. “I—I do want you. Really. But I don’t know when I can—But I know that I don’t want to, tonight. Please. I’m tired and I don’t—I don’t think I can—“

“Of course,” Everild said. He rubbed Camdyn’s hands with his rough, calloused ones. There was honest affection in his gaze.

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