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“They’re not afraid.”

“Not yet,” he said softly. “But they will be. That is the nature of mortals.”

“Then we’ll remind them,” she said. “That the beast is not the monster. And the orchard is not the curse.”

Auren exhaled slowly, deeply.

“Then let this be the beginning, not the end.”

Epilogue

They say a girl went into the orchard one winter and never came out.

That she stole silverfruit and fed it to a beast. That she let him devour her heart.

They say she used the name of the old god—the one who lived in shadow, with eyes like fire and claws soaked in blood. And that when she spoke it, he bowed his head.

Some say the orchard still grows. That the fruit is sweeter now, but only if picked under moonlight. And if you wander too close to the castle ruins, you’ll hear her laughing. Or moaning.

Mothers warn their daughters:

Never say the Beast’s name aloud.

Never say Auren.

Not unless you mean it.

Not unless you’re ready to be loved like a storm loves a broken ship.

Because once you say his name with your whole heart?—

He never lets you go.