Page 11

When he woke early the next morning, Everild immediately noticed the absence of Camdyn, the side of the bed where his husband had been softly snoring just hours ago now empty, though still warm. It felt wrong, the warmth of the sheets where his love should have been. His heart sank slightly, but he quickly pushed the concern aside, washing his face and dressing as usual. He told himself Camdyn must simply have gotten up early, as he often did, to tend to some task or another. Breakfast would wait, he thought. They would share it together as they always did.

But as the minutes stretched into an hour, and then two, the feeling of unease deepened. There was no sound of Camdyn’s light footfalls in the hallway, no cheerful call of his name to join him for breakfast. Everild’s thoughts raced, and with them came the creeping tendrils of panic. The chapel. Camdyn had often gone there in the early mornings, for solitude or prayer, or perhaps simply to center himself. Surely, he thought, Camdyn could not have disappeared from there, not with the chapel being so secure, the only possible way out through the hall, where staff were always present. There had been no mention of any disturbance. And yet—could he have changed his mind? Could he have slipped away while the house was still asleep, hiding his departure behind a guise of early morning prayers? The thought made Everild's chest tighten.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Everild bolted from the bedchamber, his heart racing in his chest. He hurried down the long, familiar corridors of the castle, as if the walls themselves might hold some clue to his husband’s whereabouts. The sound of staff moving in the great hall met his ears—scraping chairs, the soft rustle of cloth, and the faint scent of herbs and polish drifting through the air. He rushed toward them, desperation in his eyes, seeking reassurance, even if he wasn’t sure what he hoped to find.

In the hall, some of the staff were cleaning the stained glass windows, their movements graceful and practiced as they dusted the panes with care. They moved with an air of serenity, a calmness that contrasted with Everild’s frantic pulse. As they noticed him, their polite smiles barely faltered, though their eyes held the knowing look of those who had seen the fluctuations of a newlywed’s emotions. These past weeks, Everild had swung between uncontainable joy and anxious fear—something the staff had come to understand, even if they chose not to comment.

“Where’s my husband?” Everild croaked, his voice thin with uncertainty.

One of the women, a middle-aged servant who had often attended to Camdyn’s garden, gave him a long, appraising look. "Why, my lord Everild, lord Camdyn’s only gone out to tend his garden."

The garden? Everild’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But he does that in the afternoon,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even as they left his lips.

The woman shrugged, unconcerned by Everild's obvious alarm. “Well, I’m just telling you what I know, my lord. Your husband’s out in the garden. You’ll have to ask him what he’s up to.”

With that, Everild’s mind raced again, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He simply nodded, trying to mask the relief that began to wash over him. “Of course,” he said, distracted. “My thanks to you.”

The garden. The garden. His feet moved faster than his mind could catch up, his steps light with sudden hope as he made his way through the back corridors and out into the lush, green expanse that surrounded the castle. The air was fresh with the scent of earth and leaves, and the soft hum of morning birds greeted him as he stepped into the garden.

And there, kneeling among the rows of tenderly cared-for plants, was Camdyn. His husband was covered in dirt, his fingers stained from the soil as he worked carefully at the bed of garlic and onions. Everild stopped in his tracks, a smile breaking across his face. "Camdyn!" he called, his voice breaking the stillness of the morning.

At the sound of his name, Camdyn looked up, his face lighting up with an expression of pure joy. “Everild, look! They’ve sprouted!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with childlike wonder as he pointed at the soil, where tiny green buds had broken through the earth’s surface.

The sight filled Everild with warmth—relief, yes, but also something deeper. This was their future. Together, in this small garden, with hands in the dirt, growing something together. He moved to Camdyn’s side, kneeling beside him and reaching out to touch the budding shoots. “It looks beautiful,” Everild murmured, his heart swelling.

Camdyn chattered excitedly as Everild inspected the garden. “Oh, I could make you onion soup. With cheese and fresh bread, of course,” Camdyn continued, his tone light. “What do you think we should grow next year? Maybe some wild strawberries and raspberries? Those would go so well with oatmeal. And custard. Or perhaps pears, Everild. What about pears?”

The garden was only the beginning of their life together. A life filled with shared moments, with simple joys—Camdyn’s laughter, his cooking, his presence. The thought of it overwhelmed Everild, filling him with an emotion he could not name but recognized as love in its truest, deepest form.

Everild turned to his husband, his voice low but filled with devotion. “Yes. Whatever you want. Just ask. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll make it happen. Whatever it takes to make you happy.”

Camdyn smiled, a soft, contented smile. “I know,” he said. “I am. Everything you do makes me happy, Everild.”

Everild’s heart hammered in his chest as he looked at his husband, desire and adoration filling him. “What do I do? Tell me, please. I want to know.”

Camdyn nuzzled against him, his eyes filled with affection. “How you protect me. How you listen to me. How you look at me... Like that!” He laughed, his fingers brushing over Everild’s lips, as if he could not bear to stay still in the face of such warmth. “And how you kiss me—“

“You like how I kiss?” Everild asked, his voice thick with emotion. He brushed his beard against Camdyn’s neck, pressing close. “That makes you happy? I can do that all the time.” He kissed the soft skin of his husband’s shoulder, his neck, and then his jaw, his lips savoring the touch of his husband’s skin.

The two of them tumbled together into the grass, their laughter ringing through the garden as they kissed and tangled in the earth. Everild kissed Camdyn’s forehead, his nose, his cheeks, each touch igniting more laughter from his husband. It was a moment of pure joy—a moment that could have lasted forever.

But then, as Everild shifted to better accommodate his aching leg—a reminder of the war, an old injury that never quite healed—Camdyn’s knee brushed accidentally against his groin. It was light, just a fleeting touch, but it sent a surge of heat through Everild’s body. He instinctively moved toward the sensation, his body reacting before his mind could fully catch up. Camdyn’s laughter faltered, his gaze shifting between Everild’s face and his lower body, surprise widening his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Everild rasped, his voice shaky. “I didn’t mean—“

But his husband, ever gentle, slowly moved his leg along Everild’s inner thighs, urging him to continue. “Kiss me again?” Camdyn asked, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Please?”

A low, broken moan escaped Everild’s throat. He leaned down, his hands on either side of Camdyn’s face as their lips met, deep and urgent. The kiss was raw and real, their shared breath the only sound that filled the air as they sank into each other. Everild tasted Camdyn—just Camdyn, the man he loved—letting the kiss consume them both, savoring every moment of it.

When they pulled away, Camdyn’s face was flushed, his lips swollen and red, his eyes dark with desire. “Back to bed?” he asked, his voice a soft whisper. Everild nodded, his heart racing.

◆◆◆

Camdyn didn't stop giggling on their way to their bedchamber. They rushed past servants, who saw them careening towards them and politely stepped out of the way and bowed, but they were addressing empty space by the time they managed to say, “Good morning, my lords.”

They took the steps of the stairs two at a time. His husband was panting and laughing when they got to the top, so Everild scooped him into his arms and carried him to their bedchamber.

The expressions of the guards posted outside their door did not change; they were too well-disciplined for that. The only indication that the men knew what was about to happen inside the room was their slowly reddening faces.

“We’re not to be disturbed,” Everild commanded as a now-blushing Camdyn buried his face in the crook of his neck. “Feel free to stretch your legs, but let one of the maids know to prepare hot water for a bath.”

“Do you have any idea when, ah, when you’ll be needing it, my lord?” one of the men asked.

Everild admitted, “It could be some time.” Camdyn let out a little gasp that had the guards’ eyes darting to his bare shoulder before resolutely moving back to Everild. “Just have them keep it hot.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The click of the door shutting and locking was like a song in itself. Everild kissed Camdyn’s forehead once more and gently set him down. “Let’s undress?” he asked.

His husband nodded and shyly turned away to unlace his boots and disrobe.

Everild did the same with much less decorum. He pulled off his tunic and threw it over his desk chair. He shucked off his own boots, shoving them underneath the desk. Then he unlaced his trousers and stepped out of them. He had already been half-hard in the garden. Now, the thought that in a few moments he would have his husband naked and spread out on the blankets, panting and moaning against him, had his cock swollen and aching with need.

Camdyn sat on the bed, completely nude and absolutely lovely and extremely nervous. He took one look at Everild’s erection and paled, asking, “Everild, how am I supposed to fit all of you inside me?”

God preserve him. Everild bit back a moan as the scenario played out in his mind—Camdyn, rocking back on his well-oiled fingers, stretched and ready and begging for him. He gave the base of his cock a squeeze before replying, “Don’t worry about that now. Today is about your pleasure.”

“Okay,” his husband whispered. He fiddled with his hands. Everild guided him onto his back. Another kiss to Camdyn’s curls seemed to calm him somewhat, but he had to be certain his husband was ready—that he wanted this.

“Are you comfortable, Camdyn? We can stop at any time. Just tell me. Do you want to stop now?”

“No, no, please—I’m just nervous. I don’t—I’ve—I’ve touched myself before, but never…” He swallowed. “I’m not sure if I know how to be good for you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Everild said again. “I want to see you. I want to feel you. I want to watch your reactions to everything I do so that I know what you like. So I know how best to pleasure you.”

“Oh.” Camdyn bit his lip. “How do you want me?”

“Just like this.” Everild ran a calloused hand up Camdyn’s hips to the side of his ribs, marveling at his pretty, smooth skin. “I’m going to keep kissing and touching you, okay?”

Camdyn nodded and settled against the blankets and pillows, his arms on either side of his head, eyes closed, lips parted in anticipation. He moaned as Everild ran his tongue along his lower lip, and when Everild moved on, he sighed.

One day, he would cover Camdyn’s entire body with his own, worship every bit of his lovely form with his own rough, scarred one. But for now, Everild gladly roved over his husband’s figure, exploring him with his mouth, his kisses increasingly desperate. First his jaw. Then the freckles on his neck. When Everild brought Camdyn’s nipples to his mouth, his husband shivered beneath him, but he barely had time to gasp before Everild moved down to lick at his stomach. The younger man must have anticipated what would be the next focus of Everild’s adoration because he slowly parted his legs so that Everild could crawl between them.

His cock was hard and pink, and Everild wanted nothing more than to taste this part of his husband, but as he shifted, Camdyn began to tremble once more. “Everild?” he asked. He reached for Everild, and so with one hand, Everild gently rubbed his hip and with the other, he clasped Camdyn’s hand.

“I’ve got you,” Everild murmured, sucking on the inside of Camdyn’s thighs, his beard brushing against his skin. It made Camdyn tremble in a different way; the remaining tension left his body as he broke into a fit of giggles.

Everild grinned. “Laughing at me?” he asked. “I thought you liked it when I did this.” He shook Camdyn’s thigh and pressed another kiss to it.

“Ha! Oh, I do, but you’re tickling me.”

“How? When I do this?” He rubbed his beard along his leg and was rewarded with another round of giggles.

“Yes! Your beard—“

Then Everild tightened his grip on Camdyn’s hand and hip and asked, “What about when I do this?” and pulled his husband’s pretty cock into his mouth.

Camdyn threw his head back against the pillows and screamed. He writhed on the blankets as Everild held him tight and sucked the precum from the head of his shaft. The drops on his tongue and the sweat on his husband’s skin were hot and slightly salty, his soft whimpers and gasps were sweet, and it was all absolutely delicious, completely divine.

Everild moaned around Camdyn’s cock, and Camdyn shivered and cried, “Oh, God, oh, God, oh my God—“ and he thought, dazed with lust and passion, This is the first time I’ve heard him pray.

With some reluctance, he released his hold on Camdyn’s hand, but it was fleeting. The grip on his husband’s hard, leaking shaft was even better as he immediately and seemingly unconsciously thrust into his fist, moaning. With his breath puffing against Camdyn’s cock, Everild asked, “Does that feel good, Camdyn?”

“Yes, God, please, Everild, please—don’t stop—“ He keened as Everild tongued at the slit on the head of his cock, wailed when Everild took the entire length of him in his mouth. “Everild!”

The entire castle must have heard them. The thought was intoxicating. Everyone would know now. He had been the Beast and had maimed and broken men’s bodies, including his own, but here in this bedroom, he was Everild, Camdyn’s husband, a man who could bring ecstasy to his lover, who could evoke his high, rapturous cries.

Suddenly, Camdyn scrabbled at his hair. “Everild—Everild, I’m going to—“ It was a warning that he paid no heed to, opting instead to bob his head along Camdyn’s cock, determined to wring every single drop of cum from him.

Camdyn arched his back and spilled down Everild’s throat. He swallowed it greedily, stroking Camdyn’s thighs as he shuddered through his orgasm. Only when he was sure that his husband was completely spent, softening and over-sensitive in his mouth, did he gently pull away. The younger man was flushed and panting and so completely gorgeous—Everild could not resist trying for another kiss. Camdyn smiled and softly sighed, turning eagerly to him. Everild tasted Camdyn’s cum and Camdyn’s spit and felt his husband shift to embrace him, and it was bliss—and he ached.

Camdyn noticed, too. “You, Everild?” His fingers tentatively stroked the side of Everild’s cock.

Groaning, Everild said, “Not going to last. Can I—“ He stopped, uncertain and not a little embarrassed.

“What is it?”

“Let me—“ He swallowed. He didn’t have the words for this. “Let me—finish against you?” He brushed his hand up Camdyn’s thigh and stomach.

“Oh, yes, please. I want to feel you, too.”

He crawled over Camdyn, kissing him again, and pressed their hips together. His husband's soft skin was delightful friction against his long-neglected cock. Their foreheads touched; Camdyn’s eyes were dark, his expression one of hazy satisfaction. The thought that he had done that—that he had given his husband such pleasure—spurred the heat in Everild’s cock. He rolled his hips frantically against Camdyn’s, dripping precum, panting and grunting.

“Can I?” Camdyn asked, and Everild had no idea what it was he wanted—but always, always, always, he would give it, he would allow it, anything for Camdyn, and so he nodded and then moaned as Camdyn reached between them and took him in his hand and stroked.

One—two—three—four pumps of his fist, and Everild’s cum coated Camdyn’s fingers, his stomach. He collapsed on top of the younger man, exhausted.

They held each other on the bed, hot and sticky and spent and completely content.

“I’ll get a rag,” Everild said eventually. “I need to clean you off.”

Camdyn shook his head. “Later.”

“They’ll have a bath ready—“

“Later,” his husband repeated. “Just stay here with me.”

Everild didn’t argue with that. He said, “Okay,” and had Camdyn nestle against his side as usual, an arm thrown around his waist. “How do you feel? Was that all right?”

He wasn’t quite sure, but Everild thought Camdyn was blushing redder now than he had when Everild was sucking his cock. “I liked it,” his husband murmured.

“It wasn’t too much?”

“No, I want—I’d like to do it again. If you’d like to.”

Chuckling, Everild said, “Later. I’d very much like to, but we’ll have to wait till later.” He gave Camdyn’s shoulder a shake. “Your lord husband’s old.”

“You’re not!” Camdyn cried, outraged.

“I’m an old husband, and I’ll be an even older king.”

“You’ll be a handsome king. They’ll call you Everild the Fair.”

“With my beautiful consort, Camdyn the Blind.”

Camdyn shrieked with laughter and buried himself in the crook of Everild’s neck, and Everild could not contain the burst of joy in his heart either. They held onto each other, laughing loudly.

He hoped the castle could hear that, too—their happiness with one another.