Page 17

Something truly remarkable happened as they traveled along the well-worn roads. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soft glow over the scene. On either side of the gravel path, throngs of people seemed to appear out of nowhere, gathering to watch the procession—four guards at the front, closely followed by Camdyn and Aldaay, with the rest of the advisors and some of the riders who had come with Udele from the Capital. Behind them trailed a handful of servants and another set of guards, ensuring everything remained orderly.

It wasn’t just a few curious onlookers. Entire families—no, entire towns—had come out to witness the spectacle. Camdyn could see men, women, and children dressed in their finest clothes, all craning their necks to get a better view of the horses and riders as they passed. The scene reminded him of a field of flowers, each person blooming in their brightest colors—orange, light blue, yellow, red—creating a patchwork of joy and anticipation. The people’s excitement was palpable, and yet Camdyn couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place. Was their enthusiasm really for him? A procession like this one was an unusual sight, yes, but Camdyn wondered if it truly warranted all the finery and wide-eyed expressions. After all, the king wasn’t even with them today. Everild wasn’t by his side as they traveled.

He worried his bottom lip, feeling a strange tightness in his chest. “Do they know that Everild’s still in the Capital? I hope they won’t be disappointed.”

Aldaay, ever perceptive, leaned closer and spoke in his calm, measured tone. “No, Camdyn. They’re here to see the prince consort.”

Camdyn’s face immediately heated, his skin flushing with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “What? Why would they want to see me?”

The advisor scoffed lightly, his voice tinged with amusement. “The lovely, pious young man who’s captured and softened the heart of King Everild the Beast, and who held a grand banquet for the poor and needy during his honeymoon? I can’t imagine why the people would ever want to see you.”

Camdyn’s cheeks burned even brighter, but he couldn’t help a small, bashful smile. “Oh, well.” He fidgeted with the reins in his hands. “That’s just what you do. You give what you can to help others, and now I have more to give.”

Aldaay raised an eyebrow, but there was a knowing smile on his face. “It’s quite the change, isn’t it? The last king spent his time with drunken louts and sycophants, never thinking about the common folk. But now you have a king who’s both a war hero and, apparently, a man with a heart for his people. They see that. They’ve seen the difference.”

Camdyn’s heart swelled, but his smile faltered. “Not Everild,” he protested quickly, coming to his husband’s defense. “He might be strict, but he’s not like that.”

Aldaay waved a dismissive hand. “Everild was there, occasionally, but he is not a drunken lout or a sycophant, my apologies. I just meant to say that your husband is well-loved by the soldiers, admired for his strength and his fairness, regardless of what he thinks about his own service. He’s strict, yes, but he’s fair—and that’s a rare thing in a ruler.”

Camdyn opened his mouth to protest further but was cut off by Aldaay’s quick remark. “And you, my dear Camdyn, are the gentle, beautiful, charitable, and devout prince consort. Together, you make a perfect pair. The people are happier now than they have been in a long time. Perhaps that’s the silver lining to the regicide, at least.”

Camdyn gasped, his eyes wide with shock. “Aldaay!” he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and mild horror. But Aldaay was unperturbed by his reaction, merely shrugging and smirking in his usual, irreverent manner.

The advisor’s words stung a little, but Camdyn couldn’t deny the truth in them. He glanced over at the excited crowd, who cheered and waved as they continued on their journey. Despite his discomfort, he realized that, for better or worse, the people were looking to him now. Not just as Camdyn, Everild’s consort, but as someone who represented hope for the future—a future where things might finally be better than they had been under the previous king.

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They had made camp only at night, as they had grown accustomed to the rhythm of the journey. The captain of the guard had lightly suggested that perhaps it would be better for Camdyn’s constitution to camp twice a day, to give everyone more time to rest. Camdyn had simply reminded him that his trip from the monastery with his brothers had been far more dangerous. There had been no roads in many areas, for one, and the swift pace at which they had traveled had left him jostled and uncomfortable in the wooden cart. He had told the captain that camping in the evening for a proper meal and sleep had been just fine, so long as they made sure to give both man and beast ample rest throughout the day.

The food they had eaten had been typical for travelers: brown bread, hard cheese, slices of sweet red apples, handfuls of hazelnuts and almonds, strips of spiced, dried meat, and hot pottage made from lentils and vegetables thickened with crumbled bread crusts. Though there had been plenty to eat, most of the party hadn’t found the meals particularly enticing. They had come from the capital, where fine food had been readily available, and they had no love for such plain fare. Camdyn, however, had been cheered by the simplicity of it. The food had reminded him of the meals he had eaten at the monastery—nothing fancy, but hearty, filling, and surprisingly satisfying. To him, it had tasted like home, and that had made it all the more comforting.

As they continued on their journey, sometimes people from nearby villages and towns had met them on the road, offering gifts of fresh water, baskets of strawberries, salted fish, and other kinds of food. Each offering had been a warm gesture, and Camdyn had smiled and thanked them profusely, grateful for their kindness. One woman had brought a tray of freshly baked cheese tarts. Camdyn had told her truthfully that they had tasted as delicious as the ones he had eaten at his wedding, and the woman had beamed with joy and kissed his hand in gratitude. One evening, a family of three—husband, wife, and their baby, just beginning to walk—had shyly approached as they made camp. Camdyn had offered to share a bowl of pottage and apples with them, inviting them to join in the warmth of their fire. The family had stayed, bewildered but pleased, while Camdyn gently bounced the baby in his lap, making them laugh.

Though it had still been a long way to Everild, it had been incredibly encouraging to not only meet such kind-hearted people along the way, but also to see his husband’s coat of arms displayed everywhere. Flags flew atop forts and guard towers, and banners hung from windows of shops and homes. During their wedding procession, when the king had led them to Everild’s own home, the people had lined the streets, bowing, but their faces had been neutral—perhaps even distant. Everild hadn’t been with them then, but now, as they traveled without him, the crowds seemed to respond differently. As Camdyn and his retinue passed, the people had bowed, cheered, and clapped. When Camdyn had smiled and waved, they had only grown louder and more enthusiastic.

His cheeks had hurt from grinning so broadly, but he hadn’t been able to stop. It delighted him beyond words to see how much the people had already come to love Everild. His husband had always been spoken of with great respect, and sometimes with fear, but Camdyn had known better than anyone that Everild was a man who deserved love and admiration. The fact that his people proudly displayed their king’s colors from their homes and cheered for the king’s husband and his advisor had given Camdyn hope—hope that, one day, Everild would realize that he was worthy of admiration and affection, not just from Camdyn, but from everyone.

However, as they neared the Capital, Camdyn’s excitement shifted to nervousness. He had known of the executions—Redmane and his supporters had been killed and hanged in the square as proof that Everild had brought justice to the kingdom and dealt with the would-be usurper and his allies. This was the law of the land, Camdyn knew, but still—the thought of those bodies hanging, bloated and dark, their remains picked over by scavenging birds—he had felt sick just imagining it.

“Aldaay?” Camdyn called out, his voice hesitant. “Will—will Redmane and the others—will they still be in the square?”

Aldaay turned to him, raising a brow at his question. His normally hard features softened in response. “No, Camdyn. The square will be clear and cleaned by the time we get there, I assure you.”

Camdyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Aldaay.”

And just as Aldaay had promised, the Capital’s square was teeming with people, but the stones had been scrupulously clean. They practically gleamed in the sunlight, polished and free of any traces of decay. Fresh rushes and flower petals were strewn about the area to cover any lingering scent of death, and though many of the people stood in the square where bodies had once hung, none seemed to mind. Perhaps this was just the way things were in the Capital—crime, punishment, and justice had been part of life. The most worrisome thing that had ever happened at the monastery had been monks occasionally slacking off in their chores, or the constant disappearance of candied chestnuts from the kitchen pantry (which Camdyn had never known anything about, of course).

But this—this was very different from the monastery. Now, Camdyn stood in the heart of the kingdom’s capital city. It was vast—absolutely enormous—its skyline dotted with towering buildings carved from wood and stone, some rising three stories high. It was teeming with people, and Camdyn thought of an ant colony, bustling in a maze of streets, all filled with a kind of energy and purpose. And they were all there for one reason: to see his husband. To see the newly crowned king, Everild, and to see Camdyn standing by his side.

It was a new era for the kingdom, yes, but it also felt like a chance for a do-over for their wedding ceremony. Camdyn and Everild would be together once more, and now, everyone would see the greatness of the man Camdyn loved so deeply. He thought he could burst with joy at the idea of sharing his husband with the world.

It was overwhelming. It was amazing.

Just a short time ago, Camdyn had been a novice—no more than a simple monk, living a life of quiet reflection and service. How had he ended up here, in the midst of a kingdom, surrounded by thousands of people, and about to witness such a monumental moment in the history of their reign?

Aldaay gently shook his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Camdyn? Are you ill?”

Camdyn hadn’t even realized that he was crying. He hastily wiped his eyes, embarrassed. “I’m fine. I’m just—tired from the journey. I want to see my husband as soon as possible, please.”

The advisor nodded with understanding. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long now.”

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Everild’s castle was old; he had told Camdyn once that it had been in his father’s family for generations. It was a remarkable structure. It was home. But next to the palace—Camdyn thought three of their castles could fit inside it. This was where the previous kings and queens had lived. His husband’s forebears.

The palace was surrounded by tall, stone walls on an island in the middle of a lake. There was a strip of land that bridged the palace to the mainland, the entryway gated and guarded. It was a brilliant color—all of it was built from red sandstone, from the battlements to the keep to the chapel, and even though it was such an enormous building, it was still bustling with people. Camdyn could see the guards patrolling the walls, hear the conversations of the stable hands, and smell the smoke from the kitchen’s fires. But even with its lovely exterior and all its activity, the palace still seemed—

It still seemed lonely.

This was where all the former rulers—Everild’s ancestors—had lived, and this was where they had died, in the heart of their nation, cut off from the people by a lake and a heavily guarded drawbridge. This was where one of Everild’s cousins had murdered the other. Inside the walls was the place where the former king had died.

This was where Camdyn and Everild would live, now.

He hoped there was a garden.

They had barely stepped foot inside the castle before Camdyn had been ushered off to the baths by a team of officious-looking men and women intent on making him presentable at court. Up the stairs, through the halls, and to a room that was nearly as large as his and Everild’s entire bedchamber. The marble tub was so large it could fit a handful of people. In fact, that seemed to be the intention. While a hot, perfumed bath had sounded extremely appealing, Camdyn had balked when one of the attendants had idly mentioned that they would bathe him. “No, that will not be necessary, I assure you,” he had cried.

The group had paused in collecting various bath oils and soft towels to stare at him. “You’ll—bathe yourself, Your Royal Highness?” one of the women had asked. She had sounded as if Camdyn had just suggested he had no need for a horse because he knew how to fly.

“I did learn a few things at the monastery,” Camdyn had tried to joke, but the attendants had merely exchanged glances and nodded, as if his very strange insistence on not being seen naked in front of a group of strangers was explained. They had been satisfied, however, when he had requested that they bring him a set of clean clothes.

One of the men had said, “Oh, worry not, Your Royal Highness. We’ll bring you an entire wardrobe to choose from.”

That had seemed like a bit much, Camdyn had thought, floating in the middle of the bath. He had spread-eagled. His limbs hadn’t even come close to the rim of the tub. The scented oil had been nice as well—fresh and floral, coloring the water a lovely lavender. It just seemed a bit much. The room had been too large—the tub, the shelves filled with perfume and oil and colorful soaps, the white fur rug at the foot of the bath. He had missed the coziness of his and Everild’s bath, where the two of them could soak in the steaming water and cuddle against the warm candlelight, kissing and touching one another.

He had stepped onto the fur rug and dried himself off with one towel, covering himself with another, waiting for the attendants to return with his clothing.

They had seemed equally perplexed that he wanted them to set the outfits aside and leave so he could dress himself. But the prince consort’s orders were not to be questioned.

They had exited with deep, low bows.

To Camdyn’s dismay, none of the tunics had been ones he would have picked out for himself. They had been gaudy, bright, patterned things. He had preferred his clothes to be a single color in a simple shape, perhaps embroidered along the neckline or the hem. These had been all trim and lace and frills, as colorful and bright as his opal jewels. He would have looked ridiculous in them—no way to greet his husband after more than a month apart.

But then he had spied a decent one and sighed in relief. It had been a deep, dark red. Camdyn had felt his complexion was better suited to blues and greens, but he had liked the solid color. The tunic had still been rather suggestive, in his opinion—the neckline had been lower than he’d liked, and while the sleeves had been loose and the length appropriate, the waist had been quite cinched. Compared to the others, though… He had shuddered as he had pulled the tunic on over his head. The material had been lighter than he had expected, but it had been pleasant against his skin.

He had stepped into his new black slippers and rushed out the door to the waiting attendants. They had been arguing with Aldaay, who had spotted him and immediately sagged with relief. “There you are, Camdyn.”

“His Royal Highness,” one of the attendants had scolded.

Aldaay had ignored him. “Travel an entire week together and it’s when we get to the palace that I lose track of you. Come on, let’s go see your husband.”

A scandalized murmur had risen among the group of men and women. “His Majesty is holding court. We have to wait to announce His Royal Highness’s presence.”

“I’m sure His Majesty’s been in a thunderous mood ever since he arrived, am I right?” Aldaay had asked. At their tentative nods, he had said, “Easy fix. A man needs his husband. Let’s go, Your Royal Highness.”

The attendants had made a series of squawks like a gander of geese. They had fluttered around Camdyn, rapidly informing him of court protocol.

“You must wait to be addressed, Your Royal Highness.”

“Yes, and then you bow, and you walk three steps, and you bow again, and walk another three steps—“

“All the way to the king. Stay bowed when you reach his feet.”

“You must not stand until he allows it.”

Right—Camdyn was at court now. He had to moderate his behavior. He needed to be a fitting partner and consort for Everild, but not forget that he was still one of his subjects. Camdyn’s time and desires were not more important than everyone else’s. But it was difficult to see his husband and not be able to simply rush to embrace him.

Things were so different there.

He was a bundle of nerves by the time Aldaay led him through the maze of corridors to the court entrance. The door was massive and ornate and shining. Surely, it had to be gilded?

What would have been the point in making a door solid gold? Two guards stood on either side of it. At first, they held up a hand as Aldaay stomped toward them, but then they startled when they noticed Camdyn, his face flushed from their near run.

“Open those doors, if you would,” said Aldaay, “So that we may inform the king that the prince consort has finally arrived.”

The guards took in Aldaay’s stern, glowering face and Camdyn’s anxious, hopeful one.

Then they nodded and opened the door.

It was nothing like the great hall at home, which served as both a communal dining area and a place to hold discussions and air grievances. In the castle, visitors could sit at the tables while they waited to see Everild, comfortable from the warmth of the kitchen fires and the delicious, wafting scent of spices and baking bread and roasted vegetables as the cooks prepared the evening meals just another room over.

Here, the audience stood in their finery, draped in jewels and dressed in velvets and furs, looking either impatient or bored or nervous as they muttered to one another. Camdyn recognized a few of the advisors who had informed Everild of his kingship near the front of the room, arguing amongst themselves. And the throne—it was a large thing, made of marble, carved with a pattern of oak leaves. Camdyn thought it looked quite pretty but also cold and rather lonely, just like the rest of the palace, especially because it was currently empty.

Instead of sitting on the throne, the king stood beside it, standing straight and tall, hands behind his back, like a military commander. His husband was resplendent and handsome in a rich black tunic embroidered with gold thread in intricate floral patterns. His dark pants were new—Camdyn could tell, because all the ones at home were scuffed from use—but his boots were the same worn, weathered pair that he wore when he helped Camdyn in the garden.

He hadn’t noticed Camdyn’s entrance yet, so focused had he been on the arguing group of advisors in front of him.

A soft, shuddering gasp escaped Camdyn’s lips. He trembled. He couldn’t help it. He was supposed to wait for someone to announce him, wait for the king to address him, and then he was supposed to bow and walk and bow and walk until he reached the king’s feet, and only stand when he was told to stand. He was supposed to be a vision of dignity and regality and order.

But Camdyn’s heart soared at the sight of his husband, and he found himself walking toward him completely unbidden. The audience on either side of the room turned to watch him, confusion and surprise written on their faces as he made his way to the throne. There might have been murmurs—he didn’t know. He could focus on nothing but the expression on Everild’s face, uncomfortable around this crowd, irritated at the argument, somewhat sad and tired.

Courtly conduct wasn’t nearly as important as seeing to his husband. Camdyn stopped just before the still-arguing advisors and eagerly called out, “Everild!”

Everild immediately turned. When he saw Camdyn standing there, his eyes widened. He went slack-jawed. It was an expression of extreme, utter surprise. Even though he still trembled.

Camdyn couldn’t help but laugh at his poor husband’s look of shock.

His laughter echoed through the now hushed court. The sound jarred Everild out of his reverie. His voice was that same low rasp, as welcome and pleasant to Camdyn’s ears as the way his callused hands felt against his skin. He said, voice full of wonder and joy, “Camdyn.”

Camdyn took a few steps forward before Everild crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and pulled him into a strong, warm embrace. Camdyn practically melted against his husband with a sigh. This was what he missed—Everild’s arms around him, the feeling of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed—just Everild, there, with him.

“You’re here,” Everild murmured.

Camdyn smiled. “Of course I am,” he said, “I came as soon as I could. I missed you so much. I love you.”

Everild’s face broke into a broad grin. His husband was always so handsome, but his wide smile especially made Camdyn’s heart flutter. He gave Camdyn a peck on the nose. “I love you.” Then, to those in the court, he said, “My husband’s arrived. We must discuss the coronation. You all may enjoy the rest of your day.”

And with that, he ushered Camdyn out of the room.

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