Page 19

It was a massive procession, even larger than their wedding. It seemed like the entire palace followed behind them as they linked arms and walked through the city to the church. As soon as they crossed the bridge to the Capital proper, the streets became absolutely packed with people, cheering, clapping, and yelling. They lined either side of the street like walls.

Camdyn could feel Everild tense beside him. The sheer mass of observers and the cacophony of noise—it was overwhelming for him, and he could only imagine how it must have been for Everild, who often grew anxious in a room full of strangers and loud sounds, let alone an entire city of them.

But Camdyn tried to reassure himself. If they could make it to the church, there would only be officials, advisors, priests, and some nobles there. It would be quiet and solemn, and Everild would feel more comfortable.

He gently tugged on Everild’s tunic to grab his attention and said, “Everild, when Aldaay and I were traveling, the roads were like this.”

At first, Everild didn’t respond, and Camdyn worried that he hadn’t heard him above the noise of the crowd. But then, Everild finally replied, “Were you okay, Camdyn?”

“It was a little scary,” Camdyn admitted. “There were just so many people everywhere we turned. But they were all so kind. Everyone was so kind to me.”

His husband relaxed bit by bit, his shoulders losing their tension, and his jaw unclenching. “I’m glad. I was worried about you.”

Camdyn smiled and continued, “A woman gave us cheese tarts that she’d baked, and they were so good. Do you remember, at our wedding feast—“

“You ate nearly a whole tray,” Everild murmured, smiling. “I remember that. I remember everything about our wedding.”

Camdyn chuckled. He would chatter all the way to the church if it kept Everild relaxed and happy. “There were some complaints about the food when we were on the road. It was lighter fare than many were used to, I think. But I didn’t mind it. It was sort of like being at the monastery again.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “And did you know that Aldaay is very good at cards? I think he won quite a bit of money from the guard captain.”

“Gambling on the job,” Everild joked. “Remind me to have a talk with him later.”

“Not the guard captain, too?” Camdyn asked, surprised.

“He’s learned his lesson,” Everild replied with a grin. “He won’t play cards with Aldaay again. Not after losing that badly.”

Camdyn laughed, bright and loud, and Everild pressed a quick kiss to his curls. “Thank you, Camdyn,” he said, his voice soft but sincere.

“Whatever for?” Camdyn asked innocently, though his smile revealed that he knew.

Everild just smiled wider, and they continued walking, side by side, through the cheering crowd, feeling the warmth of their connection despite the noise and chaos around them.

◆◆◆

It was silly to be so nervous. There was nothing either of them had to do, really, but stand together as the priest blessed Everild, kneel to be anointed, and then return to the palace. But Camdyn still trembled when they reached the church. His knees shook, and his teeth chattered. It was a massive structure—just like everything else in the Capital—all white stone, spires, and arches. Bright but imposing, it shone in the sunlight as it cast its shadow over the people nearby.

Everild was concerned. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

“Oh, Everild,” Camdyn whispered, “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

It was his husband’s turn to comfort him. Everild gently disentangled from him, lacing their fingers together. He gave Camdyn’s hand a squeeze. “You could never. I love you. I’m so glad you’re by my side today.”

“I love you, too.”

Camdyn entered the church alongside his husband, not arm-in-arm but hand-in-hand.

The inside was already packed with spectators—officials, advisors, nobles. Camdyn recognized one of the men who had initially objected to his charity banquet, the one who had kissed his hand thrice when they met. There were familiar faces from his wedding as well, though he couldn’t place a name to any of them.

Up on the balcony, he spotted Gibson and Kenelm. His eldest brother leaned against a column. His gaze drifted from Camdyn’s to Everild’s, and he gave Camdyn a small nod.

Everild nodded back.

Was that an apology from his sibling? Camdyn wondered, bewildered. And did his husband accept it? The two men were more alike than they thought—sometimes they were both quite odd.

On the other side of the balcony stood his father, looking pleased beyond belief. All his great planning had come to fruition: his youngest son, married to the king, bringing their family into the royal fold. Camdyn would let him have this moment because his father would never be in his presence again. It would be his first declaration as prince consort.

He squeezed Everild’s hand again—those big, rough, callused fingers—and was heartened when his husband squeezed back.

They stepped in front of the priest. Camdyn turned and watched the rest of the procession file into the church and find places to stand.

A hush fell over the crowd as the priest cleared his throat. He was an old man, white-haired and slightly stooped, but he had a kindly face that reminded Camdyn of Cenric. He indicated that Camdyn should step to one side. When Camdyn let go of Everild’s hand and moved, the priest smiled and opened his arms wide.

“Who is this man who stands before me?” he asked.

Everild took a deep breath and spoke, his voice deep and slightly rough, but loud and clear. “My name is Everild. The people call me the Beast.”

“Is this your only title?”

“No,” Everild said. “They call me king.”

The priest addressed the spectators. “Is this so? Is this your king?”

A raucous cheer rose from the crowd. It shook the church. Shouts and cries of “Long live the king!” echoed throughout the building, a never-ending chant of support.

Camdyn pressed his hands to his heart. “Long live the king,” he whispered.

The strength of the crowd’s support seemed to have surprised his husband. Everild stared at the priest, wide-eyed, as he waited for the next prompt.

The priest gently patted his shoulder. “And why are you here, oh great and noble king?”

“All my life is a gift from God,” Everild answered. “I was born by Their love. I am here today by Their grace. We are all Their subjects, and I am a man like any other. I will rule only with Their blessing.”

“Then kneel, Everild the Beast, and humble yourself before God.”

Everild knelt. Camdyn unclasped his cloak. His husband’s tunic was loose for this purpose—the priest gently pulled it off him and handed it to Camdyn, who took it in his hands and draped it over his arm.

His husband’s broad back, thick with muscle and covered in scars, was revealed to both God and the spectators.

The priest anointed him with oil, brushing a hand across Everild’s forehead, shoulders, neck, and chest. It smelled like roses. “May your reign be long and bountiful,” the old man said.

He held his hand out for Everild’s tunic. Camdyn hastily passed it back to him. He wrapped the cloak around Everild’s shoulders after he was carefully redressed. Then the priest took the golden crown, heavy with jewels and the lives of past kings and queens, and placed it on Everild’s head.

“Rise! Greet your subjects, King Everild.” Everild stood, turned, and bowed deeply.

“Long live the king!” The shout started up again. “Long live the king!”

Now it was Camdyn’s turn.

They waited for the cries to die down before the priest turned to Camdyn. “Who is this young man who stands before me?”

It was Everild who spoke first. “He is called Camdyn. He was a novice, but now he is my love. My husband.”

The old man asked Camdyn, “Is this true?”

“Yes,” Camdyn replied. “I am his love. I am his husband. And he is mine.”

“But you married a man, not a king.”

“He is the same. A king is merely a man, and this man is my husband.”

“And why are you here, Camdyn?”

“To stand by his side—to be his support and comfort for as long as God wills it.”

The priest said, “Then kneel, prince consort, and receive God’s blessing.”

Camdyn knelt. The stone floor was cool against his skin. Everild gently removed his sheer, delicate cloak. Everild had been stripped to the waist. Camdyn just had his shoulders and arms bare, but even so, it made him blush with embarrassment. His face was warm when the priest drew a line of the sweet, rose-scented oil across his forehead, along each shoulder and collarbone. “May you have many, many joyous years together.”

And then it was finished—Everild replaced his cloak, and a smaller, silver crown was placed on top of Camdyn’s curls.

“Rise, prince consort, and greet your king.”

Before Camdyn could even fully stand, Everild had him in his arms. His hands pressed against Everild’s chest as his husband grabbed his hips, and his lips found Camdyn’s. “My love,” his husband murmured against his mouth. “Camdyn.”

There was, perhaps, another cheer. More celebration, more cries and chants of support. Camdyn didn’t notice them, if there were any. All he could hear was the sound of his heart, beating frantically in his chest, and Everild’s voice, low and rough, whispering sweet words in his ear.

The people’s king, yes.

But Camdyn's husband.

◆◆◆

They eschewed dinner to whet an appetite of a different kind in the bedchamber.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Everild moaned against his neck. When Camdyn made a shy, noncommittal noise, he growled, “You are. You’re the most beautiful person in the world. And you let me kiss you and touch you like this.” His husband slipped a hand between his legs and rubbed his cock.

Camdyn ground against Everild’s palm. Blushing, he responded, “I love you, Everild—I want you to touch me.”

“I love you, too.”

And he did. It was so obvious—Everild looked at him not just as though Camdyn was actually the most beautiful person in the world—an overstatement by a besotted husband, surely—but as if there was no one but Camdyn. As if Camdyn was the most important person to him. When they were like this—there was only ever warmth and comfort in his expression, only ever love.

Camdyn wanted to show him the same thing, if he could. He said softly, “Everild, I want—I want all of you tonight.”

His husband’s eyes widened. “Camdyn—are you certain? This isn’t—just because I’m king now doesn’t mean you have to—I love what we have now—”

“I know,” Camdyn replied. “But, Everild—I wanted this. When we were apart, I couldn’t stand it. I missed you all the time—your lips and your hands—and now we’re together again, and I want us to become one. I need to know how you feel inside me.”

Everild swallowed and nodded. His face flushed red. “If that’s what you want. But we’ll go slowly. And if you’re uncomfortable or in pain, you must tell me, and I’ll stop. It should never hurt, Camdyn.”

“It won’t. I know it won’t, Everild, because you’d never hurt me.”

Something extraordinarily tender flickered across Everild’s face. “I love you,” he said again.

The bed was plush, the blankets warm and soft. As he undressed and waited for Everild to return with the oil, Camdyn rubbed against them and sighed, enjoying the way they felt on his bare skin.

“Are you ready?”

At Everild’s voice, he sat up, blushing. “Yes, Everild.”

“Okay.” His husband was naked and half-hard already, but he looked nervous. He held a small jar in his hand. It trembled slightly. “Lie back for me?”

Of course, Everild had to prepare him. Edwin had explained the entire process to him once. It had been quite detailed. Back then, it had shocked him, but here, now, with Everild’s fingers covered in oil—it was exciting. Exhilarating. He began to say, giddy, “Oh, Everild—Edwin told me that sometimes you have to—”

Disbelief laced Everild’s voice. “Camdyn, please—don’t mention another man when we’re in bed together.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Everild, I didn’t mean to…” His voice trailed off.

Everild stroked his hip. “No, I know you didn’t mean anything by it. But I get jealous. I only want you to think of me like this—to only be with me.”

Camdyn said truthfully, “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted, Everild. No one else.” He giggled as Everild kissed the inside of his thigh.

“Good,” his husband growled. “Now, lay back for me.”

Everild’s slick fingers brushed against his hole, and Camdyn shivered. The soothing hand returned, gentle and warm on his skin.

“I’m okay, Everild.”

“If you want me to stop at any time, just tell me.”

“I will.”

Seemingly satisfied with that promise, Everild slowly eased his finger inside him.

It was—odd. Not uncomfortable exactly but strange, and Camdyn was very aware of the intrusion. He took a deep, shuddering breath, clenched at the blankets, and murmured, “I’m okay.”

Everild watched him carefully. “You’re sure?”

“Mm-hm.” Camdyn nodded.

He was sensitive. When Everild drew his finger back, he whimpered just a little, and when he pressed back in, he gasped. Slowly, he grew used to the motion, settling back into the blankets more comfortably. The entire process repeated when Everild added a second finger; he tensed at the stretch, breathed through the slight burn, sighed at his husband’s comforting ministrations. The way Everild pumped his fingers in and out of him had him sweating and shaking on the bed, and the oil—it was such a large amount they had used, and they weren’t even ready yet. Edwin had said it would take a lot, and some of the books he had read mentioned preparation in passing, but—

“What are you thinking about?” Everild asked. He scissored his fingers, and Camdyn gasped before replying.

“The books that I looked at—the, um, the romantic ones. They never really discussed how much oil would be used. Usually, it wasn’t important, I don’t think.”

Everild snorted. “Ah, those kinds of books. Those are worthless things, Camdyn.”

“Then why are there so many in your library?” He laughed as Everild reddened and sputtered something about inheritance and collections. “I like some of them. The ones with the brave, kind, handsome hero. They remind me of my husband.”

Camdyn marveled at the color of Everild’s deepening blush. It was like a sunrise.

He wiggled his hips to encourage Everild to go further. After a few more quick kisses along his thighs, the third finger slid in, and Camdyn scrabbled at the blankets. “Oh, Everild, wait, wait, please—” He saw his husband’s burgeoning panic and quickly added, “Stay still for a moment? I just need to—I’m okay.” Once he took a deep breath and nodded, Everild started his slow, steady rhythm, his fingers large and callused as they stretched him so wonderfully, but he was still oh-so-gentle. Everild had always been so gentle with him—

Eventually, each thrust elicited only a desire for more. Camdyn rocked his hips in time with Everild’s fingers so that they brushed inside him just right and made him pant with need.

“I think I’m ready.” There couldn’t be that much more to it. Everild had stretched him and prepared him and—it should be fine. But then, his cock was so much larger and thicker than his fingers. The thought made Camdyn’s heart pound with both nervousness and excitement.

The fingers were removed—he felt empty now—as Everild took the time to lather his cock with oil. It was red and hard and slick between his legs, and soon enough, it would be inside Camdyn—Everild would be inside Camdyn—

He bit his lip, uncertain. “Will—will it be better on my back or on my knees?”

“Here, Camdyn—” Everild pulled him into his lap, maneuvering Camdyn’s legs so they wrapped around his waist. “Like this. So we can hold each other.”

It was just like an embrace, only—Camdyn bit his lip—only they would be joined together.

He sat up, grasping Everild’s shoulders, buoyed by his gentle expression and the rough, warm hand rubbing his hip, and slowly lowered himself onto his husband’s cock.

“A-ah—” A whimper escaped his lips. Everild’s fingers had been—a lot—but he had thought—Everild was just so big—

His husband’s voice grew concerned, his grip on Camdyn’s hips tightening to stop him from going further. “Camdyn—not if it hurts, I said.”

“No, Everild, it doesn’t hurt, I promise,” Camdyn gasped. The head of Everild’s cock was in him, teasing him as Everild held him up. “It’s just—it’s just different. Please?”

Everild stared up at him, brows furrowed, but then he nodded and relaxed.

He eased himself down, inch by inch, until Everild was fully inside him and Camdyn was clenching around his husband’s cock.

Camdyn buried his face in the crook of his neck, gasping and shivering in his husband’s arms. Everild let out a hiss. His hands circled around Camdyn’s waist, fingers digging into his hips. “Oh, fuck, Camdyn—Are you alright?”

“I—” Camdyn swallowed. He felt a bit dizzy. Everild was fully sheathed inside him, stretching him out, filling him up, and holding him so sweetly and tightly. He smelled of sweat and lust and passion, and it was— Camdyn lifted his head. He pressed his lips to Everild’s before pulling back and panting, “You feel so good in me. I didn’t know you would feel that good. Just—just wait a moment, please? I just—”

Everild’s rasp was full of gentle affection. “Of course.”

They stayed like that, nestled against one another, as Camdyn’s breathing calmed. His husband stroked his back in long, soothing movements, his calloused hands rubbing pleasantly against Camdyn’s skin. Camdyn sighed and then slowly, tentatively rolled his hips.

His husband’s long, thick cock pulsed inside him, rubbing against his inner walls. It felt so good. The noise that Camdyn made was half a gasp and half a sob.

Everild choked out, still worried, “Slowly. Go slow—fuck—” He broke off into a groan as Camdyn tried another experimental roll of his hips. And then another. And another.

“Yes, Everild,” Camdyn moaned, “Oh, yes—yes, I—oh, Everild—”

His moans grew louder each time he rocked against Everild’s body. When he pressed his hands to Everild’s shoulders and lifted himself up—just a little bit—to fall back down on Everild’s cock, their skin slapped together, and Camdyn began to cry out. He covered his hand with his mouth, blushing furiously—but his husband grabbed his wrist and then sharply thrust up into him, forcing a strangled scream of pleasure from Camdyn’s throat.

“Don’t hide your sounds,” Everild rasped into his ear. “Let me hear them. I need to know you’re enjoying this. That I’m making you feel good.”

His next thrust sent Camdyn shaking. He kissed his husband’s neck and panted, “E-Everild—you are the only one who ever—you are so good, no one has ever made me feel like you do—Oh! I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Everild growled another curse. “Fuck.” It made Camdyn’s cock twitch. It was trapped between their stomachs; each time Camdyn ground against Everild, it rubbed against his stomach, smearing his abs with precum.

His husband thrust inside Camdyn with a slow, steady rhythm—as if he were savoring the feeling.

Camdyn’s toes curled. His nails dug into Everild’s back. He closed his eyes and tossed his head back, gasping for breath. Everild’s hands moved from his back to his hips, and suddenly Camdyn was no longer the one moving—it was Everild, lifting him up and pulling him back down onto him.

“Camdyn…” He gasped his name like a prayer, his voice full of love and longing, hands gripping him tight, cock impossibly thick inside him—

Camdyn came with a cry, spilling onto Everild’s chest as he embraced him. He shivered in his husband’s arms, feeling himself clenching around Everild’s cock as each wave of his orgasm rolled through him.

Everild flipped him onto his back. Camdyn’s legs spread wide and high in the air as Everild crawled on top of him. Never once did he stop moving his hips; his thrusts became even more frantic as he fucked Camdyn through his trembling bursts of pleasure. It was all too much and yet not enough—Camdyn nestled into the crook of Everild’s neck as his husband moaned. It was a good feeling—to hear his lover’s noises of pleasure, to know that he was the one drawing those sounds from Everild. That all he could do was hold tight and be taken, such was the intensity of Everild’s desire for him. He wanted more.

“Everild,” he murmured, “Everild—inside me, please, I want to feel you come inside me—”

His husband had always given him everything he ever asked for.

Almost as soon as the words left Camdyn’s lips, Everild gave one final deep thrust, tensed, and groaned. Then Camdyn felt himself being filled with his cum. Everild collapsed on top of him, panting, his hips still rocking against Camdyn’s.

It was always hot and sticky when it hit his skin, but inside him—another shiver of pleasure flowed through his body. This was Everild in the best of ways: his husband touching him, covering him, wrapped around him, inside him, filling him. Camdyn was absolutely and utterly surrounded by his love.

Did he make Everild feel just as adored? Just as happy? To be certain, he nuzzled against his neck, pressed kisses to Everild’s cooling skin beaded with sweat, and said, “I love you. That was wonderful, and I love you so much.”

The much-abused bed creaked as Everild sat up to look at him. He was smiling, but there was worry in his eyes. “It wasn’t too much? I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, Everild, you felt—amazing.”

“Wanted this to be perfect for you,” Everild mumbled, blushing. “But I kind of… lost control there at the end.”

“I liked that. I like feeling you like that. I like that you want me.”

Everild stroked his cheek. “I always want you. Was it really all right? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Camdyn teased, “Your Majesty, now I think you’re fishing for compliments.” But he enjoyed giving them, especially to Everild, who hadn’t received nearly enough of them in his life. And so he continued, “When you were in me—you felt so good, I didn’t want it to end. But—but when you came inside me—I liked that. I want you to do that more.”

A kind of strangled laugh left Everild’s lips. “It won’t be a hardship for me, Camdyn.”

Their touches turned light, their kisses delicate, and then the two of them were cuddled together once more. Camdyn listened to Everild’s heartbeat, strong and steady and comforting to his ears. His husband traced patterns along his hip with a finger, slow circles and swirls and lines.

The next day, he had to learn the layout of the castle—it was such an opulent place, the halls filled with rugs and tapestries and paintings, the many, many rooms packed with so much furniture that it was a chore to avoid bumping into things. Then he had to meet the staff—all the servants and guards—not to mention the rest of the advisors and court officials. And the nobles—they would be around quite a bit, wouldn’t they? Camdyn had to learn all their coats of arms. And everything was more of a show at court—he and Everild wouldn’t get their private breakfasts together. Camdyn probably wouldn’t be able to read in the library by himself. And the chapel would always be bustling with other people.

As long as there was a garden, he thought. But then, it was a shame that they wouldn’t get to see their own grow…

“Camdyn?” Everild asked.

He pressed a kiss to his husband’s broad, scarred chest. “Mm?”

“Tomorrow I was going to tell the court that we would be returning to our home. We were going to go see your sister’s family, and then we would go to your monastery, and then back to the castle. Permanently.”

There was a moment’s pause as the words settled in Camdyn’s mind. Then he pushed himself up so that he and Everild were looking eye-to-eye. “I—really, Everild? We could do that? The trip? And we could stay in the castle? Forever?”

“Do you want that?”

“Of course I do, but—but you’re the king, this is your palace—”

“There’s no law that said I had to live here,” Everild said dryly. “Believe me. I checked. I thought about this a lot. While waiting for you.”

Camdyn said quietly, “But your family lived here.”

“Those paintings on the wall? Or the bones in the crypt? You’re my family. Anywhere with you is home. But we both said that we didn’t care for this place. So tell me, truthfully, where do you wish to live? Be selfish.”

It was rather anathema to how he had been raised. Camdyn bit his lip. He thought the same—anywhere with Everild was home. But if given the choice, if they really could—

“With you,” he finally admitted. “In our castle, with our household, with Willow and Udele and Aldaay, and our kitchen and our library and our bed and our garden. That’s—that’s what I want, Everild.”

His husband kissed him, slow and languid. “Then you’ll have it. Didn’t I tell you I’d give you anything you wanted?”

Camdyn laughed with joy.

In the morning, they would be packed to go to Aoife’s manor, meet her husband, and greet Young Aoife, who had learned to walk and was running rampant. After that, they would take the long journey back to the monastery, back to where Camdyn had been raised, and Everild would meet the men who had cared for him his entire life, all the souls that Camdyn loved and cherished. They would shake the Abbot’s hand and bow, they would hug Cenric, and he and Everild would walk along the beach, hand in hand, talking and laughing.

And then, they would make their way back to their own castle, where Udele and Willow and the rest of their household were waiting, with the cozy library packed from ceiling to floor with shelves of books, with the kitchen that Camdyn loved to cook in, with the garden that was completely theirs—his and Everild’s—and which grew larger and more vibrant every day, just like their love.

He smiled at Everild. His husband gazed at him with adoring eyes and brushed their lips together so softly and so gently.

“I love you,” Everild murmured.

Camdyn smiled. “I love you.”

And after that—whatever they encountered, wherever life took them, they faced it together, not as king and consort but as husband and husband, utterly in love.

They fell asleep like that: peaceful and happy in one another’s arms.