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Their journey to the bedchamber was interrupted as Everild seemingly lost his patience. He pulled Camdyn into a quiet corridor and ran his hands along his waist, peppering his face with kisses. “I love you,” he rasped. “I love you so much. You’ll never leave my side again.”

“Never, Everild,” Camdyn breathlessly replied. “I was so worried. I prayed for you every day. I’m so glad you’re—but, Udele told me you were troubled.”

Everild kissed his neck just how Camdyn liked, brushing his lips against his throat, running his tongue along the skin, and gently, gently nipping at his pulse with his teeth. “I missed my husband. I needed you near me to be happy—couldn’t bear to wake up without you next to me—“ His words were so sweet, but his tongue ran hot and wet on Camdyn’s skin.

It was odd how Everild affected him. When he spoke, Camdyn’s heart fluttered, and when he touched him, Camdyn grew hot between his legs even as he shivered in Everild’s arms.

He shifted the material of his robes, blushing, in order to hide his arousal. “I want you,” he whispered. “I missed you so much, Everild. I was so lonely without you. I thought of you at night—touched myself. But it wasn’t the same at all.”

His husband stared between his legs. He swallowed. “You want me? You’ll have me. We won’t leave the bed until you’re satisfied.”

The palace took on a new perspective as Camdyn was lifted from the floor and carried to the bedchamber in Everild’s arms.

Camdyn didn’t bother glancing around the room. Everything in the palace was new and overwhelming, and this wasn’t their castle and this wasn’t their bed, but he was with Everild—finally, finally, finally—and home was in his lips, his hands, his eyes, his voice.

When Everild threw him on the bed, Camdyn pushed himself up on his elbows and pitched his voice low and sensual. “My king. What would you have me do?” He fluttered his eyelashes as he looked up at Everild—that always seemed to send his husband into a frenzy of lovemaking.

He wasn’t wrong. Everild’s pupils were blown black as he stared down at Camdyn. “Your king wants to suck his husband’s cum straight from his pretty cock.”

Camdyn felt his entire body grow hot as he flushed pink all over. His confident, sensual act quickly disappeared. “O-oh! Everild!” There was no low purr to it now, just a scandalized cry. Everild huffed a laugh as he undressed, tossing his boots and his pants and his tunic to the side.

It wasn’t the first time that Camdyn had seen his husband naked and hard for him, but it had been more than a month without him, and Camdyn was as giddy and eager as he had been when they first started using their bed for more than sleeping. His husband’s broad, muscled chest and shoulders, crisscrossed with scars that were still so sensitive to the touch and made Everild shiver under Camdyn’s lips. His strong arms that could lift Camdyn up in the air like he weighed absolutely nothing. His dark, kind, warm eyes, his beard that rubbed pleasantly rough against Camdyn’s face and chest and thighs as he kissed him.

When he spotted Camdyn reaching to take off his slippers, he stopped him. “I’d like you to keep them on. And the tunic.” Everild bunched the material in his hands and pushed it up to Camdyn’s chest.

Then Everild kissed his cock from the base to the head—sloppy and wet, imbued with a month’s worth of desperation and longing. “Missed this—missed your taste.” He laved at Camdyn’s cock with his broad, rough tongue, lapping at the dripping precum before swallowing him down, his throat tight and hot.

Camdyn’s toes curled into the blankets while his hands flew to Everild’s hair. “Everild—“

His husband pulled his lips off of him and rasped, “Missed your voice saying my name like that.” He stroked Camdyn’s shaft in his fist. “I love your voice. I love you.”

Even beating as fast as it was, Camdyn’s heart still found time to flutter at Everild’s words. “I love you too, Ev—ah! Ah! Everild!” Oh, God, the entire court would hear him—but he couldn’t help it, not when Everild licked and sucked him like all he wanted to do was make Camdyn scream and tremble. “I’m not going to last—“

His warning didn’t faze Everild one bit. His husband merely hummed, sending pleasurable vibrations through Camdyn’s cock, and continued to lave and lick and suck in earnest. He pressed Camdyn’s hips into the bed, and it was that—the sensation of his fingers digging into his skin—that had Camdyn throwing his head back with a cry and coming down his husband’s throat. It was so intense—he hadn’t come like this in all the time they had been apart—and for a moment, as he shuddered and gasped, writhing on the bed, he worried that it might be too much for Everild to swallow. But the older man simply continued to suck at his cock, wringing the cum out of him with his lips and tongue.

When he began to feel oversensitive, he whimpered and reached for Everild’s hand. His husband immediately pulled his mouth away, lips shining with spit. “Are you okay? Was that good for you?”

Camdyn gave him a dazed nod. “Oh, Everild,” he murmured. “Please, I want…”

“What do you want, Camdyn? Tell me what you want.” Everild brought Camdyn’s fingers into his mouth and laved them with his tongue, suckling them in lieu of his cock.

Camdyn shivered. “I—I want. I want you to—when you stroked yourself and spilled on me. I liked that. I missed that. I missed how hot and sticky it was on my skin. I—Everild?”

His husband stared at him, flushed red from head to toe with arousal, chest heaving, cock thick and erect and leaking. “That’s how you want me?”

“Yes, please, Everild.”

Everild crawled on top of him, legs brushing against the bunched-up silk of Camdyn’s tunic. His lips found Camdyn’s, soft and gentle. “Let me take this off of you?” he asked, his voice low and raspy.

Camdyn nodded again. “Oh, yes, please—I want—ah!” He cried out in shock as Everild grabbed the neckline of his tunic and yanked it down his body. The sound of the material tearing, the seams ripping apart, filled the room. He shivered at the sudden chill, the cool air on his bare chest, trembling in delight at the strength of Everild’s desire for him.

He was stripped nearly naked—Everild pulled the ruined clothing off him and then slid his palms along the inside of Camdyn’s thighs. His husband’s eyes roved over his body. He pressed his knees into the mattress on either side of Camdyn’s waist. His hand grasped his cock, and he thrust, groaning with each pump of his fist.

Camdyn’s spent cock twitched. It was so—he loved this, the almost primal look on Everild’s face, the noises he made—and it was always so intimate. His husband watched him with eyes half-closed from pleasure, mouth open and gasping as he stroked himself. Camdyn only looked away to stare between Everild’s legs, to watch how his hips moved when he fucked his fist, to look at how wet his fingers were gripped firmly around his leaking cock.

Then Camdyn recognized it—when Everild’s thrusts became shorter and quicker, when he started panting like a dog—he was close. Camdyn sat up on his elbows, eager and flushed and waiting.

Everild groaned. His eyes closed, his body shook—he was lost in ecstasy. Ropes of thick, hot cum burst from the tip of his cock and hit Camdyn’s chest and stomach. This was what he did to Everild, he thought, pleased. His husband wanted him that badly—got such pleasure from Camdyn that when he finished, his seed covered Camdyn’s body.

When Everild’s orgasm tapered off and his breathing returned to normal, he asked, “Did you like that, Camdyn?”

“I loved it. I love feeling your pleasure on me.” He squirmed on the bed, suddenly feeling shy. “Will you kiss me, Everild?”

“You think there’s a chance I wouldn’t?” His husband pulled Camdyn into his lap and pressed a border of kisses along Camdyn’s jaw. “We’ve been apart for longer than I thought. You’ve forgotten that I always want to kiss you.”

“Everild, I could never forget that,” Camdyn murmured.

“Good. But I’ll have to keep reminding you. Just in case.” His hand fell to Camdyn’s chest, his fingers running through streaks of his drying spend, and pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Camdyn yelped. “Everild!” Brushing the offending hand away, he said, “I love you very much. But surely we have to prepare for the coronation?”

His husband grumbled, “I am the king. It’s my coronation. We can postpone it if I want to enjoy my prince consort.”

It was so shocking to hear the petulance in that deep, rough voice that Camdyn burst out laughing. “No, you’ll do no such thing! We’ll have your coronation, and then you can enjoy me as much as you’d like.”

“Yes, my lord,” Everild teased.

They sat there for a time, comfortable in their embrace. Then Camdyn shifted in Everild’s arms and noticed the sorry state of his tunic, ripped down the middle and sodden with sweat and cum. There would be no mending it—it would be nothing more than a very large, expensive rag.

He said, with a little bit of wonder and a great deal of arousal, “You tore it right off me, Everild.”

His husband looked embarrassed. “Forgive me, Camdyn. I was too eager. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

“I didn’t mind that,” Camdyn quickly replied. “I really liked it. But my clothes—“

Everild kissed him. “I’ll have another one made for you to replace it. Something better.”

“That’s fine, but I don't have anything to wear now.”

“I’ll have someone bring you another outfit,” Everild said. Something mischievous flickered in his expression. “We’ll have to wait a bit for them to get it ready, though, won’t we?”

Camdyn couldn’t help but giggle.

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By evening, both he and his husband were thoroughly sated, and Camdyn was modestly dressed in another tunic and breeches. The officials and advisors were aflutter with activity and nerves. They carefully explained the morning’s schedule to Camdyn as he sipped at a bit of warm, mulled wine, watered down at Everild’s order with fresh water and honey.

It wasn’t as ostentatious or complicated an event as he had thought it would be, especially since Everild had insisted that the ceremony be over and done with as soon as possible. For one, Everild hated being the center of attention. And more importantly, there was little to celebrate in his opinion. Not with him coming to power at the expense of his cousin’s murder.

Camdyn would accompany Everild the entire way. His husband had insisted that they would walk together side-by-side from the palace to the Capital’s church. Camdyn simply needed to hold his husband’s arm on their way to the church. It was when they got to the altar that Camdyn worried.

“His Majesty will bow before the priest and humble himself before God. Your Royal Highness will wait by His Majesty’s side and receive his tunic. Then the priest will anoint His Majesty with oil, bless him and his reign—may it be long and bountiful—and then you will redress His Majesty, the priest will place the crown upon his head, and he will rise. Have you any questions, Your Royal Highness?”

Camdyn set his cup down and carefully asked, “When Everild names me his prince consort—will I be—um—humbled before God as well?” He didn’t mind God seeing him stripped to the waist and bare-chested, but a room full of other people, on the other hand…

The advisors suddenly grew flustered; they coughed and turned red and cleared their throats. Some avoided his gaze while others suddenly stared at him as if considering the image.

Everild cupped his cheek and shook his head. “No, Camdyn. I’ll remove your cloak and the priest will anoint your head, and neck, and shoulders. That’s all.”

One of the advisors murmured, “A lucky man,” and Everild growled in warning, his dark eyes flashing.

Camdyn sighed in relief. “Thank goodness.” He didn’t want anyone but Everild ever seeing him in such a state. The threatening, protective expression on his husband’s face softened. He brushed Camdyn’s bottom lip with his thumb.

“I worried it would be very boring for you,” Everild admitted. “It’s a long ceremony. We’ll be walking for some time, and then we’ll have to stand in the church—if you get tired, tell me, please. I’ll have someone bring a chair for you.”

“Of course,” Camdyn lied. As if he would ever dare to interrupt his husband’s coronation. Everild was sweet but so silly sometimes. Though he hadn’t thought of how long they’d be standing—Everild’s leg, the one he had injured during the war, sometimes ached. If standing proved to be too much for him tomorrow, then Camdyn would hold his husband’s hand and have Everild lean on him a little, to ease the pressure on his leg, and no one would know.

He sat through the rest of the meeting quite pleased with himself: he was Everild’s support in a myriad of ways. His consort, his husband, his lover, his friend, occasionally someone who offered counsel but always one to lend a sympathetic ear.

When they returned to bed for the night, Everild reached for him again. Camdyn caught his hand, kissed his fingers, and asked, “Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

Everild sighed. “Let’s do something more fun. I can count the freckles on your thighs.”

“The freckles will be there later,” Camdyn said sternly, “But Udele told me that you’ve been upset, and I saw your face when you were holding court. You looked so unhappy, Everild. I can’t stand to see you unhappy. I want you to tell me. Please?”

His husband always gave him what he wanted. Everild pulled the blankets over the both of them and held him close. “I didn’t want this. The kingship. But I took it. I know I can protect people. I’ve always been good at that.”

That was an encouraging statement. His husband so rarely admitted his strengths and virtues. Camdyn kissed his bearded cheek. “Oh, you are, my love. You take such good care of me and keep me safe, and you’ll do the same for everyone in the kingdom.”

Callused fingers gently massaged his shoulder. “But I. I don’t know that I. This court life, Camdyn. It was never for me. I’m not a man for all this pomp and circumstance. This palace. All gilded and lively. My cousin fit in it. I don’t.”

Camdyn said fiercely, “No, you’re not a man for courtly ceremonies and parties and favorites. And that’s not important. Not at all. You’re brave and loyal, and everyone knows that you’ll care for them. Defend them. I was on the roads, I know—They might have bowed to your cousin because he was the king, but they cheer you because you are a good man.”

Everild kissed him, a few errant tears rolling down his cheeks. They got lost in his beard. For a time, neither of them said anything. As Everild sniffled quietly and wiped his eyes, Camdyn added, “To be honest, Everild, I don’t really feel like I fit this place either. I’m all out of sorts. But—but I’m with you again. We’ll do our best together. Won’t we?”

“Of course,” his husband rasped.

They indulged in a few more kisses before sleep overtook them.

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In the morning, the attendants brought Camdyn sleeveless silver robes, their soft fabric shimmering in the sunlight that streamed through the palace windows. The bodice of the robes was low against his chest, cut to accentuate his form in a way that felt both regal and delicate. Skillfully embroidered patterns of flowers and leaves wove through the fabric, catching the light as though the designs themselves were alive. At first, Camdyn thought there were colorful glass beads sewn into the bodice, glinting like little stars, but upon closer inspection, he realized that the leaves and vines were actually small emeralds, their deep green color rich and striking. The flower petals, too, were no mere decoration, but finely cut sapphires and amethysts, each petal catching the light in an almost ethereal way, making the bodice look as though it were adorned with precious gems plucked from a magical garden.

The bottom half of the robes was made of fine, thin silver silk that seemed to flow like liquid moonlight as he moved. The fabric draped over him so lightly that it almost felt like a second skin, catching every shift in the air. When he walked, the fabric rippled gently around him, shimmering as though the very moonlight had been woven into it, its delicate movement mesmerizing.

There was a slit in the side of the robes that revealed his pale leg, and the sandals he wore were a work of art in themselves. Made from dark blue ribbons of silk, they were wrapped around his feet and calves with perfect precision, the soft fabric gliding over his skin, and adding an elegance to every step he took. The cloak that draped over his shoulders was pinned together across his chest so gently that it almost felt like it was a part of him. It was sheer enough that he could still see his collarbone through it, a subtle and elegant feature that made him feel exposed, yet beautiful. As he turned toward the mirror, Camdyn felt a blush rise on his cheeks at the sight of himself—he had never seen himself like this, not with such finery, not with such grace.

For the second time in as many days, Camdyn thought back to a time when he had been nothing more than a novice. He had been so different then—unsure of himself, of his place in the world. And now, in these robes, adorned with the trappings of royalty, he felt as though he were stepping into a new version of himself, one he had never imagined. It was a strange and humbling thought.

He slid on his shimmering opal ring, feeling its cool weight settle on his finger. The attendants, noticing this final touch, were absolutely delighted. They showered him with praise, admiring his curls, his fair skin, and how the robes complemented his features perfectly. They cooed over him, their voices full of admiration as they complimented his appearance, but there was only one man whose opinion truly mattered to him.

Camdyn thanked them for their help, his voice warm and polite but with an edge of impatience. He wanted to see Everild, to receive his judgment. The attendants bowed, leaving him with a final, lingering glance, before they escorted him to the king’s quarters. They were separate from their shared bedchamber, which felt confusing in its own way. But then, everything about this royal life seemed to be full of contradictions.

When they reached the door, Aldaay was busy adjusting Everild’s cloak, his hands deftly making the final touches. Camdyn cleared his throat, catching the attention of his husband. Everild looked up from his task, his gaze locking on Camdyn’s figure. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of Camdyn in the robes, and for a moment, he simply stopped and stared, as though struck by something unexpected.

It was the same warm, affectionate expression that had been on Everild’s face the night they had wed, full of gentle wonder and deep affection. At that moment, Camdyn felt his heart swell.

“Do I look presentable, Your Majesty?” he asked, his voice laced with a teasing note, but there was vulnerability there, too.

Everild’s response was immediate and filled with warmth. He laughed softly, the sound like music to Camdyn’s ears. “You’re a vision,” he said, his voice full of admiration.

Camdyn flushed with pleasure, a heat rising in his cheeks. Everild’s approval meant everything to him.

Aldaay, now finishing with the brooch on Everild’s cloak, turned his gaze to Camdyn with a smile. He seemed satisfied with his work, nodding approvingly. “He cleans up fairly well, don’t you think?” he asked, his tone light and friendly.

Everild blushed slightly, standing straighter under Camdyn’s scrutiny. But he need not have worried, for Camdyn’s heart only swelled with affection as he took in the sight of his husband. Everild was resplendent.

His tunic and pants were simple, unadorned but expertly crafted, dyed in a deep, inky black that made him look even more striking. Black was a color that always seemed to make Everild stand out, his presence commanding and magnetic. But it was his cloak that truly held attention. It was a lush, dark green, embroidered with an oak tree in gold thread— an intricate symbol of a strong and flourishing reign. With his strong jaw and nose, his neatly trimmed beard, his height, and his powerful physique, Everild had always possessed impressive, noble features, but today they seemed especially accentuated, as though the very fabric of his cloak were highlighting the strength and majesty within him.

Without thinking, Camdyn rushed to him, unable to keep his admiration to himself. “My handsome husband,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against Everild’s cheek. “My king.”

Everild’s hands found their way to Camdyn’s hips, his touch grounding and intimate. “I only want to be worthy of you,” he said, his voice a soft rasp, filled with sincerity.

“You always have been,” Camdyn replied without hesitation, his voice filled with conviction.

Everild’s gaze softened, and he leaned closer, his lips brushing against Camdyn’s forehead. “You’ll stay by my side?”

“Always, Everild,” Camdyn said, his voice steady and full of love.

His husband’s lips pressed gently to his forehead once more, his hands settling around him with warmth. “Then let’s begin,” Everild murmured.

That day, under the eyes of God and their loved ones, Everild would officially be crowned king, and Camdyn, his prince consort.

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