Page 2

Chapter Two

C eryn didn’t bother gathering supplies. She wouldn’t need them for this journey. She would either survive and return quickly or be dead. She would venture deeper into the forbidden forest, far deeper than she ever had before. Hopefully she’d survive. The trees here grew impossibly tall, their ancient trunks wider than village houses, their canopies so dense that only thin, silvery shafts of daylight penetrated the gloom. With each step, the forest closed in around her, watching, judging, even guiding her toward her destination.

Toward her doom. The same doom that claimed her father’s life, if the warlord’s words were to be believed.

The warlord’s words echoed in her mind. The source of the beast’s power. A silver fruit from a walled orchard. One that supposedly granted unnatural life, enhanced magic, and and also made one filled with rage. Aldaric had been unusually specific about this part of his demands, his eyes gleaming with an almost feverish light as he’d described the fruit—“like an apple or plum, but veined with silver, glowing with its own inner radiance.”

He had provided additional details before leaving the cottage, but she wondered what he hadn’t shared. She didn’t doubt that he was dying. She saw the wound, smelled death on the warlord for herself. But what hadn’t he told her? She didn’t doubt that he didn’t share everything. What else did the fruit do? Not that it mattered to her. She would give him anything he needed to save her mother and sister.

“Consuming even one would make me—” he’d caught himself, smiling thinly. “Would make anyone a force to be reckoned with. But one alone will not suffice. You must verify its power, eliminate the side effects, and secure a way to obtain more.”

Which meant getting caught. Deliberately placing herself in the beast’s clutches.

Her stomach twisted with each step closer to the castle. The warlord’s plan was madness. But what choice did she have? Maeva and her mother were already on their way to Aldaric’s keep, hostages to ensure her cooperation. If she fled, they would suffer. If she failed...

A twig snapped beneath her boot, the sound unnaturally loud in the eerie silence. Ceryn froze, listening. Nothing. No birdsong, no rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth. Even the wind seemed to have abandoned this forsaken place.

She pressed on, following a narrow game trail that wound between massive tree roots. The forest floor sloped gently upward, and as she crested a small rise, she saw it rising from the mist like something from a nightmare.

The beast’s castle.

It wasn’t what she had expected. Not a crumbling ruin but a massive structure of dark stone, its towers piercing the low-hanging clouds, its walls overgrown with thick vines that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. No moat surrounded it, no drawbridge or portcullis barred entry. Only a high wall encircled what must be the orchard, visible just beyond the main structure.

And she had to go inside.

Ceryn sank into a crouch behind a fallen tree, studying the castle grounds. No guards patrolled the walls, no servants moved about the courtyard. Only the beast dwelled here, if the stories were to be believed. A creature cursed to solitude, bound to this place for all eternity.

She circled the castle slowly, keeping to the shadows, searching for a way into the orchard. The main gate stood open, a dark maw leading into the beast’s domain. Too obvious. Too easy. There would be another way.

Near the eastern wall, she found it—a section where the stones had crumbled, creating a rough, natural staircase up the side. The top of the wall was lined with cruel iron spikes, but between two of them, a gap just wide enough for a slender woman to slip through.

Ceryn waited until late afternoon and the sun had set far enough in the sky, when the shadows lengthened and the silver-veined fruit would be easier to spot by their glow. Then she climbed, her fingers finding purchase in the rough stone, her boots scraping quietly as she ascended. At the top, she paused, heart pounding, and peered over the edge.

The orchard stole her breath.

Trees unlike any she had ever seen grew in neat rows, their bark the color of burnished copper, their leaves a deep blue-black that shimmered in the fading light. And hanging from their branches were the fruits. Dozens of them, each glowing with a soft, silvery radiance that pulsed like a heartbeat. Like the castle itself, they seemed alive in a way that normal fruits were not.

This was it. This was what Aldaric coveted. The source of the beast’s power, the key to his curse—and now, the only hope for Ceryn’s family. Assuming he could be trusted.

She slipped between the spikes and dropped silently to the soft earth below. The air in the orchard was different—heavy, sweet, intoxicating. Each breath seemed to fill her with unnatural vitality, as if the very essence of the fruit permeated the atmosphere.

Moving swiftly between the trees, Ceryn approached the nearest one bearing fruit. Up close, the silverfruit was even more mesmerizing—about the size of a plum, its skin a deep purple-black laced with intricate patterns of silver that shifted and flowed like liquid metal. It pulsed with internal light, the rhythm somehow matching the beating of her own heart.

This was madness. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to forget Aldaric’s demands, to find another way to save her family. But there was no other way. Not against the warlord’s power.

Ceryn reached up and plucked the fruit from its branch.

Immediately, the air changed, filled with tension. The silverfruit grew warmer in her palm, its glow intensifying as if in response to her touch. The silver veins pulsed faster, matching the quickening beat of her frightened heart.

She had just slipped the fruit into her satchel when she felt it—a change in the air, a presence. The same presence she had sensed in the forest.

He was here.

Ceryn turned slowly, forcing herself not to run. That was the plan, after all. To be caught. To gain access to the castle. To find a way to secure more of the fruit for Aldaric and to ensure he did not meet the same fate as the beast if he ate the fruit.

But knowing that did nothing to calm the terror that froze her blood when she saw him.

The beast stood between two trees, his massive form blocking any escape. In the orchard’s strange light, she could see him clearly for the first time. He stood upright like a man, yet towered at least two heads taller than any man she’d ever known. He was covered in thick fur that shimmered gold in the low light—beautiful, almost regal in hue. The fur rippled over muscle too dense to be human, corded arms ending in clawed hands large enough to snap bone. His face was a brutal thing: broad and sharp-jawed, with a heavy brow shadowing eyes that glowed like twin embers, slitted and watchful.

His mouth opened slightly, revealing fangs—not teeth—jagged and gleaming, and her pulse jumped as a low sound rumbled from his chest. Not quite a growl. The wild mane that framed his face matched the rest of him—brilliant gold with streaks of darker bronze, as if sunlight had tried and failed to burn the monster clean. Around his neck hung her cloak, fashioned into a makeshift scarf, her scent apparently still of interest to him.

Those amber eyes fixed on her, then dropped to the slight bulge in her satchel where the silverfruit lay hidden.

“Thief,” he growled, his voice so deep and rough it seemed to vibrate the very earth beneath her feet. Yet there was something else in that voice—something that had once been human, educated, perhaps even gentle.

Ceryn’s plan had worked. She was caught. Now came the part she feared most. She had to survive the capture.

“Please,” she began, but got no further.

With shocking speed, the beast closed the distance between them. One massive paw-like hand closed around her throat—not squeezing, but pinning her to the tree, the rough bark biting into her back. The other tore the satchel from her shoulder, ripping the leather strap as if it were thread and tossing it aside.

“You dare,” he snarled, his hot breath washing over her face, smelling strangely of cinnamon and cloves. “You dare steal from me?”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The world narrowed to those burning amber eyes, filled with rage and recognition, maybe?

In one swift motion, he hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her from the orchard, through a side door, and into the castle itself. Through corridors lined with dusty tapestries they went, up winding stairs, past chambers whose contents she could only glimpse—a library with thousands of books, a music room with instruments draped in white sheets, a dining hall with a long table set for one.

Finally, they reached what could only be the castle’s great hall. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, a fire already blazing within it. Threadbare carpets covered the stone floor, and at the room’s center stood a throne-like chair scaled to the beast’s massive frame.

The beast flung her to the floor at the foot of this throne, though not as bone jarring as she’d expected. Yet, Ceryn landed hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. When she could focus again, she found herself staring up at her captor, his massive form silhouetted against the firelight, her stolen cloak still around his neck, and he clutched one glowing silverfruit in his clawed hand, its pulsing light illuminating the terrible beauty of his face.

“What am I to do with you?” he asked, his voice softer now but no less frightening. “No human has dared enter my domain in seven years. And none has ever touched the fruit of my orchard.”

Seven years. The same time since her father’s death. Since Aldaric’s grip on the village had tightened. A coincidence?

Despite her terror, Ceryn studied the beast with new interest. There was intelligence in those eyes, a deep sadness behind the rage. This was no mindless monster, but a being trapped in a form not his own. Cursed, the villagers said. Bound to this place, to this form.

Just as she was now bound to her task.

Just as the silverfruit bound those who consumed it.

The beast leaned closer, and Ceryn fought the urge to shrink away. This close, she could see the heavy golden fur covering his skin with no gaps and the lips curved into a bestial snarl, revealing sharp teeth. Grotesque, yet somehow fascinating.

“Tell me, little thief,” he said, the silverfruit’s glow reflecting in his eyes. “What brings you to steal that which sustains me? That which made me what I am?”

The truth hovered on her lips. Aldaric. Her family. The warlord’s demand for the source of the beast’s power. But something in those amber eyes stopped her. Something achingly human beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Hunger,” she whispered instead. “My family is starving. I’ve heard tales of fruit that can sustain a person for weeks with just one bite.”

The beast studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he extended his massive hand, the silverfruit resting on his palm.

“Is that what you believe?” he asked softly. “That this is mere sustenance?”

He brought the fruit to his mouth and bit into it with sharp teeth. Silver liquid ran down his chin like bright blood, and the glow from within the fruit intensified, bathing them both in ethereal light.

“This,” he said, “is not food. It is power. It is curse. It is binding.” He extended the bitten fruit toward her. “But if you hunger, then you shall be satisfied. Taste what you sought to steal, little thief. Now you shall understand what it means to be bound to this place. As I am bound.”

Ceryn’s eyes widened in horror and fascination. The silver liquid dripping from the fruit called to her, promising life, strength, secrets.

She was supposed to verify the fruit’s power. Wasn’t this what Aldaric wanted?

But as the beast’s massive hand drew closer, as the fruit called to her, tempting her, hovering before before her lips, Ceryn realized that this was more than a mission to save her family. This was a threshold. Once crossed, there would be no returning to the life she had known.

The beast’s eyes held hers, challenging, waiting.

And despite every instinct screaming for her to flee, Ceryn leaned forward.

* * *

V ael’Zhur had killed more men than he could remember who dared enter his domain. So many souls extinguished without hesitation, their blood painting the stones of his orchard, their screams echoing through his lonely halls before fading into eternal silence. He had taken their lives as easily as one might snuff a candle flame. He could no more resist the rage of the beast than he could resist the demand of the silverfruit that sustained him. Both were inextricably intertwined together. Both bound him to eternal life and damnation. Long life, and boundless rage. No escape from either.

Yet, he could he not kill this woman who sought to steal from him. Why?

The silverfruit hung between them, its bitten flesh weeping luminescent sap like liquid starlight. The power coursed through his veins where he’d consumed his own bite, mingling with the ancient magic that sustained his curse. He could feel the pulse of it, the binding, the unbreakable chain that tethered him to this place.

The woman before him—this thief, this trespasser—trembled beneath his gaze, yet she did not flee. Her scent filled his nostrils: fear, yes, but also determination, courage, and something else. Something that stirred memories he’d buried beneath centuries of isolation.

Fresh earth. Pine needles. Leather. And beneath it all, warmth. Human warmth.

“Take it,” he growled, pressing the fruit closer to her lips. “Taste what you came to steal.”

She shook her head, a small gesture that sent her dark hair swaying, and pursed her lips tightly together. “I cannot.”

Rage flared in his chest—or was it something else? “You refuse?” His voice emerged as a snarl, teeth bared. “You dare to refuse when mercy itself stands against my nature?”

“Please,” she whispered, and the word slid under his skin like a thorn. “I only sought to feed my family. I meant no harm to you.”

Liar. All humans were liars. Had he not learned this truth a hundred times over? Yet as he leaned closer, studying her face in the silverfruit’s ethereal glow, he saw no deception in her eyes. Only desperation. Only fear of something greater than himself.

His massive hand spasmed around the fruit, crushing it. Juice and the pulp dripped between his claws, spattering her cheek with liquid light. The power called to him, demanded that he force it past her lips, bind her to this place as he was bound. Or kill her, as he had killed all the others who dared disturb his solitude.

But her scent...

A memory flickered at the edges of his mind—a woman’s laugh, sunlight through glass, the warmth of human touch against skin not yet corrupted by curse and claw. He shook his head violently, his fur ruffling from the movement..

“I should tear you apart,” he murmured, the words more to himself than to her. “I should paint these walls with your blood as I have done before.”

“Then do it,” she said, meeting his gaze with startling directness. “But know that my death serves no purpose save to feed whatever darkness dwells within you.”

The boldness of her words startled him out of his rage like ice water. When had any human spoken to him thus? When had any dared to look upon his cursed form without flinching away in revulsion?

Vael’Zhur straightened to his full impressive height, the silverfruit still dripping from his fingers. The choice should have been simple. Death had become as natural to him as breathing once was. Yet something stayed his lethal hand.

Her cloak, still wrapped around his neck, carried her scent more strongly. He’d kept it—why? Curiosity? Possession? The need to track her should she have escaped? None of these answers satisfied the confusion roiling within him.

“What is your name, thief?” The question emerged before he could stop it.

“Ceryn,” she answered, then added with careful formality, “Ceryn Vale.”

“Ceryn,” he repeated, testing the word. Her name was pronounced like a mound of rough stones, solid and immoveable. Or a grave.

How long since he’d care to ask a stranger their name? How long since he spoken to anyone save the cursed souls trapped with him? “You will stay.”

It was not a question. Not an offer. A command that surprised them both.

Her eyes widened. “Stay?”

“Here. In my castle.” Each word emerged slowly, as if he were rediscovering speech, the offer unexpected and unsure. “You came seeking the fruit’s power. You shall learn its truth.”

“I told you?—“

“You told me lies.” He cut her off, tossing the bitten silverfruit into the fire where it hissed and sparked, releasing perfumed smoke. “No one enters my domain by chance. No one scales my walls carrying tales of starving family.” He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. “What sent you here, Ceryn Vale? Who guides your hand? Tell the truth, for once in your miserable life.”

Fear flickered across her features—he saw it, scented it, recognized it from a thousand terrified faces. But she did not break.

“Aldaric,” she whispered, the name emerging like a curse.

The name hit him like a physical blow. Aldaric. The warlord who had been the bane of his existence…at least most recently.

Rage exploded through Vael’Zhur’s frame, muscles tensing, claws extending. Seventy years. Seventy years he’d been harassing Vael’Zhur.

“How?” The word emerged as a roar that shook dust from the ancient rafters. “How does he still live? How does he still reach into my domain?”

Ceryn flinched but held her ground. “He rules the borderlands. He has for many years. He.. ” She paused, as if rethinking her words. “He rules our village.”

Aldaric should have died years before. Yet here he was, still plaguing Vael’Zhur’s life, sending more innocents to their death in a vain attempt to steal the curse and shackle Vael’Zhur for himself. Coincidence? Vael’Zhur’s mind raced, seeking connections, patterns, the web of fate that had brought this woman to his threshold.

“You will stay,” he repeated, his voice carrying the weight of command that had once bent armies to his will. Before the curse. Before the beast. “You will answer my questions. You will tell me all you know of Aldaric.”

“My family?—“

“Will survive or perish based on your cooperation.” He straightened, looking down at her with eyes that burned like molten gold. “Fail me, and they are lost. Defy me, and you join them.”

It was cruelty. He knew it, felt it settle into his bones with familiar comfort. Cruelty had become his shield against the pain of endless isolation. Yet as he watched her process his words, saw the careful calculation in her eyes as she weighed her options, Vael’Zhur felt something change within him, something different from before.

The beast wanted to consume her, to add her essence to the endless hunger that gnawed at his insides. But the man—the buried, nearly forgotten man—whispered of possibilities long denied.

Company. Conversation. Purpose beyond mere survival.

“So be it,” Ceryn said finally, rising slowly to her feet. She stood barely to his chest, fragile as a sparrow before an eagle, yet strong as the rock she was named for. “I will stay.”

The words settled over the great hall like a spell, and Vael’Zhur felt the castle itself respond. Doors that had remained locked for years stirred on their hinges, chambers long dark suddenly seeming less oppressive. Or perhaps it was merely his imagination, desperate for change after centuries of sameness.

“Elodia will see to your quarters,” he said, gesturing to the shadows near the doorway where a woman hovered. “You will dine with me tonight. We have much to discuss.”

As Ceryn turned to follow the silent woman, Vael’Zhur called after her. “Ceryn Vale?”

She paused, glancing back.

“Run, and I will hunt you.” The promise emerged soft as death. “And unlike this visit, our next meeting will end with your blood upon my claws.”

Her eyes widened and she paled before nodding once. She then disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone with the echo of her name and the fading warmth of her scent that teased him.

The fire crackled in the hearth, consuming the silverfruit he’d thrown into its depths. Beyond the castle walls, night deepened, bringing with it the familiar weight of solitude. But for the first time in years, the silence felt different.

He no longer felt alone.

Vael’Zhur moved to the window, his reflection a monstrous shadow in the glass. His fur ruffled gently as he contemplated the darkness beyond, the forest that had become both his kingdom and his prison.

“You’ve chosen a dangerous path, my lord.”

The voice emerged from the air itself, carrying the musical quality of wind through willows. Lady Elodia manifested beside him—not fully solid, never fully there, but present enough. The castle’s ancient guardian, bound to this place longer even than he.

“I know,” he replied without turning from the window.

“She is not like the others who came before,” Elodia continued, her ethereal form drifting closer. “There is something different about her.”

“All humans are the same. Liars, thieves, cowards,” he said, though doubt crept into the words.

“No.” Elodia’s hand, insubstantial as mist, passed near his arm. “This one is different. She walks like someone who’s already chosen her grave.”

The observation sent an unexpected chill through him. “What do you mean?”

“You sense it too, don’t you? That she came here for more than theft. That her purposes run deeper than she admits. And she has accepted that it may end in her death.” Elodia’s laugh was sad and knowing. “She may yet surprise us both, beast-king. Or she may be your undoing.”

Vael’Zhur’s claws scraped against the stone windowsill, leaving deep grooves in the ancient rock. Another mark to join countless others, physical manifestations of his frustration, his rage, his endless imprisonment.

But now, for the first time in years, something was different.

A woman bearing his enemy’s name had entered his domain. A thief who had not fled. A fragile human who had met his gaze without flinching.

And despite every instinct warning him against hope, Vael’Zhur felt the faintest stirring of something that had died the day he was cursed.

Curiosity.

A dangerous thing for a beast to possess.