Page 10

But nearly another week after that conversation, there were still no letters for Camdyn, who had grown increasingly homesick and anxious. Each morning, he would look hopefully at the pile of mail, only to be met with disappointment as the letters for him never came. The days began to drag on, and the weight of the silence pressed heavily on him. After the servants who brought them both their breakfast and the mail bowed and exited the room, Camdyn stared despondently at the food on his plate, lip quivering, as if even the simple task of eating had lost its appeal.

“Do you think maybe something’s happened?” he quietly asked Everild, his voice barely above a whisper. His untouched plate of bacon and eggs sat in front of him, but he had no appetite. “Cenric could’ve gotten sick, or—or maybe he’s injured—“

Everild sighed, leaning forward, trying to offer some reassurance. “I’m sure he’s fine, Camdyn,” he said, though he wasn’t sure himself. Still, it was important to ease his husband's troubled heart.

But despite his words, Camdyn’s eyes filled with tears, and his voice broke with the weight of his own worries. “Then—then maybe he’s just forgotten about me,” he whispered, the vulnerability in his words like a dagger to Everild’s chest.

“No one could ever forget about you,” Everild said softly, brushing away a few errant tears that rolled down Camdyn’s cheeks. “Just wait a little longer, Camdyn. You’re going to make yourself sick with worry. I know it feels like it’s been so long, but I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon. The monks are so far away. They must be delayed for some reason.”

“I’m sorry, Everild,” Camdyn said, voice choked. “I’m happy here with you, I promise, it’s just—“ He trailed off, not sure how to put into words the ache he felt.

“You don’t need to be sorry for missing your parent,” Everild said gently, his heart aching for Camdyn. He reached out to take his husband’s hands in his, squeezing them lightly. Then, as if trying to lift the weight of Camdyn’s sorrow, he offered, “We don’t have to wait for a letter. We can arrange to visit the monastery and see him. If that would ease your mind.”

Camdyn wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and for a moment, it seemed like a glimmer of hope flickered in his expression. “Oh, Everild, that would be—but it’s so far away, though.” He looked uncertain, unsure whether it would be worth the journey.

“Nothing’s too far or too much for you,” Everild said firmly, truthfully. He smiled at Camdyn, trying to give him the strength to face the uncertainty. Then, he added with a soft chuckle, “Have a good cry if you want. It’s okay. You’ve been holding so much inside. Don’t bottle it up.”

Camdyn chuckled too, though his eyes were still red-rimmed. He buried himself in Everild’s chest, finding comfort in the embrace. The warmth of Everild’s arms around him felt like the only place where he could truly be himself, free from the weight of the world.

But just as the tension in the room began to ease, a knock on the door interrupted them. The voice of one of the guards called from outside, “Lord Camdyn’s brothers are here with the tailor for his fitting.”

“Oh, no, I forgot,” Camdyn said, furiously wiping at his face, trying to hide the signs of his tears. “I look a mess.”

“Do you still want to see the tailor today?” Everild asked, his voice gentle.

“It’s fine. I just need a moment to get myself together.” Camdyn stood up, his hands still trembling slightly as he made his way to the washbasin.

Everild nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “Take your time. I’ll keep them occupied.”

Camdyn quickly hurried to the washbasin with a towel, trying to compose himself while Everild turned his attention to his brother-in-laws. Gibson and Kenelm stood just outside the door, their faces tight with impatience, already seeming irritated by the delay.

“Where’s Camdyn?” Gibson asked, his tone sharper than usual. His impatience was palpable, and it sent a flare of irritation through Everild’s chest.

There was something accusatory in his voice that set Everild’s teeth on edge. “Where’s the tailor?” Everild asked, trying to keep his tone even.

Kenelm glanced nervously from Everild to his brother. “Setting up. Aldaay found us an empty room near the—“

Gibson interrupted him with a huff, impatience thick in his voice. “You’d do well to collect him. The tailor’s waiting. Hourly rates, that man. Very skilled.” He shot Kenelm a glare that Everild couldn’t quite interpret. It was a look that carried more weight than it seemed on the surface. But being commanded to gather his own husband in his own home had Everild’s temper flaring.

He growled under his breath, “Camdyn’s getting ready. If it’s that much of an issue, then let me talk to him. I’ll pay him double for the extra time.”

“No, no, this is a gift, there’s no need for that,” Gibson argued, as if the very notion of extra payment was beneath them.

“Then what are you complaining about?” Everild shot back, his patience thinning.

An awkward silence fell over the passageway. Gibson’s anger mirrored Everild’s own, and the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. Kenelm placed a hand on Gibson’s shoulder and gave him a meaningful look, trying to defuse the situation, though it only seemed to make Gibson more stubborn. One of the two guards posted outside Everild’s bedchamber door cleared his throat, as if to signal the growing discomfort of the moment.

A moment later, Camdyn appeared, lightly dressed in a long, loose dark green tunic that ended just a little past his knees, a pair of brown leggings, and slippers. His hair was tousled, and it was obvious that he had been crying—his eyes were still slightly red and puffy—but despite the evidence of his sadness, he smiled when he saw his brothers.

“Good morning, Gibson. Hello, Kenelm. It’s nice to see you both—“ he greeted them, trying to sound cheerful, though the effort didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gibson frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing in on Camdyn’s appearance. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing, just—something silly,” Camdyn said quickly, though his voice faltered slightly.

“You were crying,” Gibson insisted, his voice full of disbelief, almost as if it was impossible for Camdyn to have a moment of weakness.

Camdyn flushed pink with embarrassment, and Everild’s temper flared once more.

“He’s fine,” Everild growled, stepping in to protect his husband from further unnecessary questioning.

Kenelm agreed, though he seemed more concerned with the situation than his brother. “Yes, you look well, Camdyn. But why don’t you change into something more appropriate? Get your boots, at least.”

Camdyn’s face fell, and Everild cursed both men under his breath. Camdyn hesitated, then spoke softly, “I just thought it’d be better to wear something comfortable.”

“Well, still, perhaps some trousers and a shirt? Just to have the tailor see what you already have,” Kenelm suggested, as though it was a simple, harmless request.

Everild snapped, his patience finally breaking. “Thought you were worried about the time. Now you want him to change? The tailor’s making a new wardrobe. It doesn’t matter what Camdyn’s wearing to the appointment.”

An odd smile crept onto Gibson’s lips, as though he found the situation amusing in some way. “He’s right. Kenelm, take Camdyn to the tailor. I want to have a chat with our brother-in-law.”

Camdyn frowned, sensing the tension in the air, but Everild shook his head firmly. “Go, Camdyn,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. His husband bit his lip but nodded, linking arms with Kenelm, who led him down the passageway.

Gibson cleared his throat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned to Everild. “Well, Beast. We have much to discuss.”

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Once inside the bedchamber, Gibson’s face transformed with fury. His expression twisted so violently that he looked like a demon. The resemblance to Camdyn’s father was striking, a haunting echo of a man who had long cast a shadow over their lives. Everild stood rigid with tension, irritation bubbling within him. The man before him had been nothing but rude and abrupt, and now, in this moment, it was Gibson who was angry about something. The resemblance between father and son clearly went beyond mere appearance, it seemed—both had that same aggressive demeanor.

“Speak,” Everild commanded, his voice taut with barely contained frustration.

Gibson’s gaze flickered briefly to their unmade bed and Camdyn’s untouched breakfast before he spoke. “I’ve heard some things. About my brother’s marriage. I needed to see if the rumors were true.”

“What rumors?” Everild demanded, his temper flaring.

Gibson’s eyes narrowed as he fixated on the uneaten meal. “Did you force him to lay with you? Or did he refuse you? Is that why you beat him? Why was he crying before we arrived?”

The words hit Everild like a physical blow. His heart pounded with fury. “You’ve got a lot of nerve to say that to me,” he growled, his voice laced with venom. “You think I’d hurt Camdyn? You think I’d hurt my husband?”

Gibson scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “Cainech said the doctor told her his side was purple.”

Cainech? That maid? What could she possibly know about his marriage? Everild seethed. “He fell from his horse. That monster you call a father should’ve told you that.”

“Our father knows nothing of what’s going on in his own son’s marriage,” Gibson spat, “since you banned him from the premises and refuse to answer his letters!”

This was too much. Everild’s anger boiled over. “You charge me with abuse,” he roared, his voice thick with outrage, “when that man humiliated my husband, hurt him. If you take his side, then you’re as unwelcome as he is.”

Gibson retaliated, his voice rising in fury. “You’d isolate Camdyn from his family?”

Everild barked out a bitter, joyless laugh. “What family he had is back at the monastery. You’re just the people who sold him for your own gain.”

There was a sudden clamor outside the door, but neither man seemed to care. Gibson’s jaw clenched in frustration. “You don’t know what you speak of. You think we wanted him married off? That I wanted my baby brother bound to you for the rest of his days? To the Beast? Nothing but a killer, a savage. It makes me sick to think my brother left a life of God to be the plaything of an animal.”

The venom in his words hit Everild like a punch to the gut. He stared at him, shocked, not just because of the words Gibson had spoken, but because his brother-in-law had so casually verbalized a fear that haunted Everild in his darkest moments. The thought of himself as a monster, as something less than human, was one that never strayed too far from his mind. But never—never had he heard it voiced so openly.

“I’ve never hurt him,” Everild rasped, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “I would never. I’d die first.”

Before Gibson could respond, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang, rattling the hinges. Aldaay rushed in, hand in hand with Camdyn, barefoot and disheveled, followed closely by a frazzled Kenelm whose face bore scratches and whose hair was in disarray, and two bewildered guards who looked as though they had no idea what they were walking into.

Aldaay spoke first, his voice a mixture of confusion and urgency. “Everild, I didn’t know they were here—I had no idea at all—”

Kenelm looked at Gibson with an apologetic expression. “I told Camdyn to get ready, Gibson, but he just clawed at me and ran.”

Their words were like oil thrown over a fire. Everild’s tears rolled down his face, and a surge of pure, unadulterated rage exploded from deep within him as the realization hit him with the force of a thunderclap. “This was all a ruse,” he snarled, his vision blurring with red. “You were planning to kidnap my husband.”

Gibson sneered, his voice low and venomous. “Be easier to take care of all this now, rather than when you’re king.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. “What?” Camdyn’s voice was filled with confusion. “King—Everild, what’s he talking about—Everild!” He screamed as Gibson, knife in hand, advanced on Everild.

One of the guards reacted swiftly, grabbing both Aldaay and Camdyn and pulling them out of harm’s way, while the other lunged for Gibson.

Despite the rage and desperation in Gibson’s movements, he was no match for Everild. Gibson’s swing was too wide, too slow, and Everild easily dodged it, grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip. With a sharp yank, he heard a satisfying snap as Gibson’s wrist broke. The knife clattered to the floor, but Everild wasn’t done. He shoved his brother-in-law to the ground, handed the knife to the guard, and wrapped his arms around his trembling husband.

Camdyn clung to him, fingers tightening on the fabric of Everild’s tunic, positioning himself as a shield between Everild and both his brothers—one groaning in pain on the floor and the other held immobile by the guards.

Camdyn’s voice quivered with a mix of fear and disbelief. “You tried to—I can’t believe the two of you would—how dare you. How dare both of you. Everild’s never hurt me, never. That’s more than I can say for father.” Camdyn turned his gaze, full of fury, on Gibson. “And you don’t know anything about me, about my marriage. You need to stop treating me like a child you need to mind. It’s been seventeen years. You’re my blood, but—you’re not my family anymore. None of you have been for a long, long time. But Everild is.”

The words struck Gibson like a physical blow, leaving him visibly stricken. Camdyn continued, his voice a firm declaration. “I’m not the baby you used to hold, or throw into the air and catch. I’m a grown man. If I was ever in trouble and in need, I’d ask you myself. You can’t just make decisions for me, try to control my life. That’s what father did. What he’s still trying to do. Everild’s the only one who’s ever asked what I wanted, and I want him. If—if you’d hurt my husband, I would’ve never forgiven you.”

Kenelm mumbled weakly, “Camdyn, we only thought—”

“I know what you thought, but you were wrong. And—and I’d like you to leave,” Camdyn interjected firmly.

“I’m sorry, Camdyn,” Gibson said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Camdyn’s tone was sharp and unwavering. “Don’t apologize to me. It’s Everild you threatened. It’s his character you insulted.” When both men dropped their gazes to the floor, Camdyn turned to the guards, his voice still strong. “Have Edwin attend to my brother’s wrist and then see both of them out, please.”

Aldaay spoke, his voice soft but filled with resolve. “I’ll accompany them as well. I need to know how they got so far into the castle without my knowing.”

Once the door was shut behind them, the sound of the lock clicking into place shattered Everild’s resolve. He collapsed to his knees, overwhelmed by the weight of everything that had just transpired, wracked with sobs.

Camdyn rushed to his side, alarm and concern written across his face. “Are you hurt? Everild, what’s wrong?”

Everild pulled him into a tight embrace, his face pressed against the softness of Camdyn’s green tunic as his body shook with emotion. “They thought I mistreated you. They thought I beat you—that I raped you.”

Camdyn’s hands ran gently up and down Everild’s back, soothing him. “I know, Everild. I’m so sorry. They were so wrong, and they should’ve never said such things to you.”

“I would never hurt you,” Everild choked out.

“Oh, Everild, I know. You protect me. You’ve only ever protected me.”

Everild’s voice was thick with emotion as he whispered against Camdyn’s neck. “I don’t deserve you. The things I’ve done... they stole you from the monastery to give you to me, of all people. You would’ve been a saint if not for me.”

Camdyn chuckled softly and pulled back to gently wipe Everild’s face. “You think too much of me. I would not have been a saint. I’d have been barely a tolerable cleric. And—I realize that the life you’ve had has affected you, in ways. But please, just know that—that when my brothers came to the monastery and told me I was to be married, all I hoped for was that my husband would be kind to me. And you have been, you’ve been so kind. You’ve been more than I ever could have asked for. I’m so glad it was you who met me at the altar. Thank you for being my husband.”

Everild’s breath shuddered, and tears spilled anew as Camdyn’s gentle hands soothed him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, Camdyn.”

He cried until exhaustion claimed him. Camdyn guided him to their bed and curled up next to him. “I’m alright,” Everild murmured, his voice fragile. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Camdyn replied softly.

They lay together, the warmth of Camdyn’s presence comforting Everild as his tears dried and his breathing returned to normal. Camdyn nestled into his side, their usual position in bed, with Everild’s arm wrapped protectively around him.

“Everild?” Camdyn’s voice was soft, hesitant.

“Yes?”

“What Gibson said, about you being king—what did he mean by that?”

Everild sighed softly, his voice hoarse from talk and tears. “At the hunting party. The king told me that he’s made me his heir. And that he married me to you because your family is powerful, and would be my allies.”

Camdyn thought for a moment before asking, “You’ll be king one day, Everild? But why didn’t you tell me?”

Everild hesitated, his voice thick. “Because I don’t want to be king. And because I didn’t want to upset you. So much has changed for you recently, going from a novice to a lord’s husband. I thought that—the prospect of being married to a king, to being a prince consort—that it might scare you off.”

Camdyn kissed the corner of Everild’s mouth, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’ll be a good king. You take care of me and everyone else in this castle. There’ll be many more people to be responsible for, but I’ll be there to help you as best as I can. Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere without you.”

Everild couldn’t find the words. He was struck dumb by the kindness Camdyn had shown him and the deep affection he held for him. Taking Camdyn’s hand, he kissed the inside of his wrist, his heart swelling with love and admiration. Imagining a future with Camdyn by his side, finely dressed and radiant, he whispered, “I can only try. But I know that with you with me, I’ll be at my best.”

Camdyn smiled, his eyes warm, and they held each other close.

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