Page 3

Chapter Three

C eryn had expected her welcome in the beast’s castle many different ways as she made her way through the forest. Being escorted to the dungeons. Ensconced in a torture chamber. Slaughtered before she even set foot on the castle grounds was the most likely. Instead, a spectral servant had led her to a chamber that might once have belonged to a noblewoman.

The room was surprisingly intact despite years of clearly being uninhabited. Ceryn could only assume no one had lived there in decades since she had seen no other living being, beyond the beast and the ghostly being who escorted her to the suite, though she thought she spied faint ghost-like beings as they weaved their way through the halls to this chamber. A fine layer of dust covered most surfaces, but beneath it lay evidence of former luxury—a canopied bed with faded silk hangings, an ornate dressing table with a cracked mirror, tapestries depicting forest scenes that seemed to shift when viewed from the corner of one’s eye.

“You must dress for your dinner with the master,” Elodia said, her voice echoing strangely as if coming from a great distance. The ghostly woman’s form shimmered in the dying light, translucent yet somehow substantial enough to open the wardrobe, revealing gowns of another era. “You will find suitable attire here.”

Ceryn stared at the phantom, shocked that the beast would have a formal meal and expect some kind of bizarre ritual to be followed as she’d heard the wealthy did for the evening meal. “You expect me to dress for dinner? With him?”

Elodia’s expression remained impassive, her hands folded in front of her. “The master has rules. Centuries of solitude have not diminished Vael’Zhur’s expectations. I will send someone to freshen the room for you while you dine and turn down the bed.”

She snapped her fingers and the fire roared the life, along with the candles around the room, brightening the dim room. Ceryn stepped back eying the grate warily. Magic was not something she ever ran across in her daily life and she didn’t know how to handle all of these changes.

After the servant departed, Ceryn examined the gowns with reluctant curiosity. They were beautiful, if outdated—heavy velvet and silk in jewel tones, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like the veins in the silverfruit. She had never been near such extravagance, had never wanted anything so fancy. She had no place to wear such dresses, no need for them. As she fingered the fine material, she thought of her sister Maeva and how she would have loved to play dress-up with the clothes. Shoving thoughts of her family deep in a box, determined to figure out the mystery as quickly as possible to save them, she squared her shoulders and eventually selected the simplest one, a deep forest green that reminded her of the woods she knew so well.

As she dressed, her mind raced. The beast—Vael’Zhur, Elodia had called him—clearly wanted information about Aldaric. His reaction to the warlord’s name had been visceral, violent. There was history there, perhaps even the key to understanding his curse. The very information Aldaric had sent her to find.

But something else troubled her. The way Vael’Zhur had looked at her, not just with rage or suspicion, but with interest was disconcerting. The heat of his gaze had stirred something unexpected within her, something that had no place in her desperate mission.

A soft knock at the door announced Elodia’s return. “If you are ready, I will escort you now.”

Elodia appeared to be a woman of Ceryn’s mother’s age, but time and circumstances had been kinder to her, or maybe that was because she was a ghost. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way, her form composed of shimmering light rather than flesh. While an apparition, she seemed almost solid, though Ceryn could see the stone wall through her luminous form.

“You may have captured our lord’s interest for now,” Elodia said, her voice melodious yet somehow empty of true warmth. “But few who enter these walls leave them again.”

“I didn’t exactly choose to stay,” Ceryn replied, lifting her chin.

Elodia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Indeed not. Yet here you stand, alive and whole, when so many before you lie buried in the orchard soil. Tread carefully, Ceryn Vale. The line between life and death is a thin one.” The spectral woman gestured toward the corridor. “Come. He does not like to be kept waiting.”

As they walked through the castle’s winding passages, Ceryn tried to memorize the route, noting potential escape paths should the need arise. The building was vast, a labyrinth of halls and stairways that seemed to shift and change when she wasn’t looking directly at them.

“Your efforts to map these halls are futile,” Elodia commented, apparently reading her thoughts. “The castle obeys its master, not its guests. It changes routes and rooms on a whim. You will find your way only where he wishes you to go.”

“What is this place?” Ceryn asked, running her fingertips along a wall adorned with faded murals. “What happened here?”

“This was once the summer palace of the northern kings,” Elodia replied, her form drifting slightly ahead. “Before the curse. Before the beast. Before time itself seemed to forget this corner of the world.”

“And Vael’Zhur? Was he always as he is now?”

The ghostly woman paused, turning to regard Ceryn with eyes that seemed to pierce through flesh to soul. “You ask questions that could cost you your life, Ceryn Vale.”

“I’m already a prisoner. What more can I lose?”

“Perhaps the illusion that you control your own fate.” Elodia’s form shimmered ominously. “I have served this castle for centuries. I have watched empires rise and fall beyond these walls. And I have seen what becomes of those who seek to unravel mysteries not meant for mortal understanding.”

Before Ceryn could press further, they arrived at a set of massive double doors carved with scenes of the hunt and harvest. Elodia waved a translucent hand, and the doors swung open silently.

The dining hall beyond was cavernous, its ceiling lost in shadow despite the dozens of candles that lined the walls in tarnished silver sconces. A table that could have seated fifty stretched down the center, though only two places were set—one at the head, scaled to accommodate the beast’s massive frame, and another to its right, where a normal-sized chair awaited.

And there he was, standing by the roaring fireplace, his massive silhouette framed in firelight. Vael’Zhur had shed his tattered rags for something more formal. Dark silk clung to broad shoulders and a powerful chest, the fabric straining as if reluctant to contain him. His trousers rode low on his hips, molded to the inhuman angles of his legs, emphasizing the strange, primitive power in his stance. He was a beast draped in the illusion of civility, or perhaps a man barely restrained by his monstrous form—and she couldn’t decide which was more dangerous. Or more tempting. He turned as they entered, amber eyes gleaming in the firelight. For a moment, he simply stared, his gaze traveling slowly from her face to the green gown and back again.

“Leave us, Elodia,” he commanded without looking away from Ceryn.

The spectral woman bowed and faded from sight, though Ceryn sensed her presence lingering at the edges of the room, watching, waiting.

“You clean up well for a thief,” Vael’Zhur said, his deep voice rumbling through the chamber.

Ceryn forced herself to meet his gaze. “And you dress well for a monster.”

To her surprise, a sound emerged from his throat that might have been a chuckle. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the place set for her. “Eat. Despite appearances, I do not intend to have you for dinner.”

She approached cautiously, sliding into the chair as he took his seat at the head of the table. From nowhere, spectral servants appeared, placing covered dishes before them. When the silver domes were lifted, the aroma that rose made Ceryn’s stomach clench with hunger. Roasted meat, fresh bread, vegetables she hadn’t seen since the early autumn harvest.

“How is this possible?” she asked, looking from the feast to the beast. “The castle is abandoned. The kitchens must be?—“

“Magic has its privileges,” Vael’Zhur replied, tearing a chunk of bread with clawed hands that seemed ill-suited to such delicate work. “The orchard sustains more than just my unnatural life.”

Ceryn hesitated, then took a small bite of the roasted fowl. The taste exploded on her tongue—more vivid, more satisfying than any food she’d eaten before. Her appetite faded and she set her fork down, eying the plate with wariness. Was it enchanted, like the fruit? Would it bind her to this place somehow?

As if reading her thoughts, Vael’Zhur smiled, revealing sharp teeth. “The food is safe, Ceryn Vale. Had I wished to enthrall you, I would have forced the silverfruit past your lips when I had the chance.”

She took another cautious bite. “Why didn’t you?”

The question hung between them, unanswered for several long moments. Vael’Zhur’s amber eyes studied her face with unsettling intensity.

“Tell me about Aldaric,” he said instead of answering. “What does he want with my fruit?”

Ceryn carefully set down her fork. This was dangerous territory, but also an opportunity. Information for information.

“He believes it grants unnatural life,” she replied honestly. “Power. Magic. He thinks it might be the source of your condition.”

“My curse,” Vael’Zhur corrected, his voice hardening. “Call it what it is. I am cursed, not diseased.” He leaned forward, massive forearms resting on the table. “And how does Aldaric know of the silverfruit? Few beyond these walls have seen it and lived to tell the tale.”

“I don’t know,” Ceryn admitted. “He seems to know much about this castle. About you.”

“And he sent you to steal it? Why you? What makes you special, Ceryn Vale?”

The directness of his question caught her off guard. She decided to go with honesty and hoped it would earn her truth in return. “I’m not special. I’m expendable.” She met his gaze steadily. “I know these woods better than most. I’ve hunted in them for years, feeding my family since my father died. Aldaric took my mother and sister hostage to ensure my cooperation.”

Something flickered in Vael’Zhur’s eyes—recognition, perhaps. Or memory.

“And if you fail? If you do not return with what he seeks?”

“Then my family dies,” she said simply. “And so do I, I imagine.”

Vael’Zhur was silent for a long moment, studying her with those unnerving amber eyes. “So you entered my domain not out of greed or curiosity, but out of love.” His massive head tilted slightly. “Fascinating.”

“Is it? Would you not do the same for those you care about?”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, the beast seemed to overshadow the man. “I have no one left to care about.”

The bitterness in his voice was palpable, opening a window into centuries of rage and pain. Here was the connection she sought—the link between the warlord and the beast’s curse.

“What happened to them?” she asked softly.

Vael’Zhur’s clawed hand tightened around his goblet, the metal crumpling in his grip. Wine the color of blood spilled across the tablecloth.

“That, little thief, is a tale for another time.” He rose abruptly, towering over her. “You have answered some of my questions. For now, that earns you your life, if not your freedom.”

Ceryn stood as well, though the top of her head barely reached his chest. “I’ve told you the truth. I’ve kept nothing from you.”

“Haven’t you?” He stepped closer, invading her space with his massive presence. The heat from his body washed over her, along with that strange spiced scent. “I can smell lies, Ceryn Vale. I can smell fear, and desperation, and...” He inhaled deeply, his face mere inches from her hair. “...desire.”

Her heart lurched traitorously in her chest. “You’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” His voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. One clawed finger lifted to trace the air beside her cheek, not quite touching. “There is something between us. Something neither of us expected.”

Ceryn stood her ground, though every instinct screamed for her to flee. Not from fear—at least, not entirely—but from the strange, unwelcome heat building within her at his proximity.

“I came here for the silverfruit,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Nothing more.”

“And yet you tremble when I stand close.” He circled her slowly, predator assessing prey. “Your heart races. Your cheeks flush. Is it merely fear, I wonder? Or something else?”

“You flatter yourself,” she retorted, turning to keep him in view. “I’m trembling because I’m in the lair of a monster who could kill me with a single blow.”

Vael’Zhur laughed then, a sound so unexpected and strangely human that it momentarily stripped away the horror of his appearance. “You have spirit, little thief. Most would be on their knees begging for mercy.”

“Would that help?”

“Not in the slightest.” His smile was all teeth, yet somehow held genuine amusement. “But it might satisfy my vanity and other… appetites.”

Despite herself, Ceryn felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. This was madness—exchanging barbs with the creature who held her life in his massive hands. Yet there was something almost comfortable in their verbal sparring. As if they had done this dance before.

“Tomorrow,” he said suddenly, “I will show you the orchard. You will learn about the silverfruit—what it is, what it does. What it costs.”

“Why would you share such secrets with me?”

Vael’Zhur’s expression grew serious again. “Because Aldaric seeks what he does not understand. What he cannot control. And that ignorance makes him more dangerous than you know.” He stepped back, creating distance between them. “Go now. Rest. Dawn comes early in this place.”

Ceryn hesitated, caught between the need to learn more and the instinct to retreat from the confusing emotions his presence stirred. “And my family? What of them?”

“Their fate remains tied to yours,” he said, his voice softening fractionally. “But know this, Ceryn Vale, whatever game Aldaric plays, whatever lies he has told you, the truth is far darker than you imagine.”

She nodded once, then turned to leave, feeling his gaze burning into her back as she walked to the door.

“Ceryn,” he called after her.

She paused, glancing back.

“The gown suits you,” he said quietly. “Green, like the forest you love so well.”

Something warm and unwelcome fluttered in her chest at his words. Without responding, she slipped through the doors and into the corridor where Elodia waited, a knowing smile playing on her translucent lips.

“Be careful, mortal,” the spectral woman whispered as they walked back toward Ceryn’s chamber. “The beast may be cursed, but it is not his heart you need fear.”

“What do you mean?”

Elodia’s form shimmered in the dim light. “Curses can be broken, but truth—once known—can never be unknown again.” She gestured to Ceryn’s door. “Sleep well, thief. Tomorrow you begin to learn why some secrets are better left buried.”

Alone in her chamber, Ceryn sank onto the edge of the canopied bed, her mind racing. She had come to discover the beast’s weakness, to find the source of his power for Aldaric. Instead, she found herself caught in a web far more complex than she had imagined.

And somewhere beneath the fear, beneath the desperation to save her family, something else had taken root. Something dangerous. Fascinating. Forbidden.

An attraction to the beast who held her captive. To the man trapped within the monster.

To Vael’Zhur.

* * *

M oonlight filtered through the tower window, casting silver patterns across the chamber floor. Vael’Zhur stood silently, gazing at the forest beyond the castle walls, his massive form reflected darkly in the ancient glass. In his clawed hand, he held a goblet of wine he had not touched since pouring it hours ago.

Ceryn Vale unsettled him.

Of all the emotions he had expected to feel when confronting the thief, confusion had not been among them. Rage, yes. Bloodlust, certainly—the beast within him always hungered for violence. But this disquiet was unfamiliar, an echo of humanity he thought long extinguished.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, my lord,” Elodia’s spectral form materialized beside him, her ghostly luminescence painting the stone walls with pale blue light.

“I play no games,” he growled, though the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. What else could he call this strange dance with the woman? This extension of her life when all others had forfeited theirs immediately upon trespass?

“No?” Elodia drifted closer, her insubstantial form passing partially through a chair. “Then why does the thief still breathe? Why did you agree to show her the orchard? Why did you gaze upon her as if she were?—“

“Enough.” The word emerged as a snarl that would have sent any living servant fleeing. Elodia merely arched an eyebrow, unperturbed by his display of temper after centuries of witnessing it.

“She is Aldaric’s pawn,” Vael’Zhur continued more quietly. “Through her, I might finally understand what game that serpent plays.”

“And that is the only reason you spare her?” Elodia’s voice carried a note of gentle mockery. “Your interest has nothing to do with how she reminds you of?—“

“I said enough!” He hurled the goblet against the wall, where it shattered in a spray of crystal and dark wine that resembled blood in the moonlight. “She reminds me of nothing and no one. The past is dead, as are all who dwelled in it.”

Elodia observed the destruction with the patient gaze of one who had witnessed countless similar outbursts. “If you truly believe that, then why does her presence disturb you so? Why does the beast within you both hunger for her flesh and hesitate to take it?”

The question struck too close to truths he had no wish to examine. Vael’Zhur turned back to the window, claws scraping against the stone sill.

“Seventy years,” he murmured. “Seventy years since Aldaric began his quest for the source of the curse.” His reflection in the glass showed him what he had become—a grotesque amalgamation of man and beast, neither fully one nor the other. “And now he sends this woman to my door, seeking the fruit’s power.”

“A curious coincidence,” Elodia agreed. “Or perhaps no coincidence at all.”

The thought had already occurred to him. After centuries of isolation, after years of increasing monstrosity, of the curse accelerating, why now? Why this particular woman with her fierce eyes and unbroken spirit?

“She said he took her family hostage,” Vael’Zhur reflected. “Her mother and sister.”

“A familiar tactic,” Elodia replied. “He has always understood that love makes the best chains.”

The observation struck a chord of memory that resonated painfully through his chest. Yes, Aldaric had always known precisely which threads to pull, which bonds to exploit. It was how he convinced so many to overcome their fear and attack the beast over and over in his own domain.

“She claims her father died at Aldaric’s hands,” he said. “Seven years past.”

“The last thief,” Elodia noted. “None have dared enter your domain since then. What will she do if she discovers he died at your hands?”

Vael’Zhur closed his eyes, remembering. The final phase of the curse had descended upon him like a black tide, drowning what remained of the man he had once been. For the last seven years, he had been more beast than human, driven by instinct and rage, sustained only by the silverfruit’s magic.

Until today. Until her.

“She refused the fruit,” he said softly, still puzzled by that moment. “Even knowing it might appease me. Even fearing for her life.”

“Wisdom, perhaps,” Elodia suggested. “Or something else. Not all prizes are worth their cost.”

No one had ever refused the silverfruit before. Those who sought it—treasure hunters, would-be immortals, Aldaric’s previous pawns—had grasped for it with naked greed, drunk its essence without question. Their fates afterward had been unpleasant. The fruit gave power, yes, but twisted those who consumed it without understanding its nature. Her father had accepted it. It had killed him.

Yet Ceryn had denied it. Had looked upon its glowing flesh with desire but turned away.

“I will show her the orchard tomorrow,” he said, more to himself than to Elodia. “I will show her what the silverfruit truly is. What it does. What it has done to me.”

“A significant risk, revealing such secrets to an enemy’s agent.”

Vael’Zhur’s lips curled back from his teeth. “What does it matter now? Centuries, Elodia. Centuries of solitude and monstrosity. The curse is nearly absolute. Soon, nothing human will remain within me at all.”

“Unless...” The ghostly woman let the word hang in the air between them.

“Unless what?” he demanded, though he knew precisely what she implied.

“Unless the prophecy speaks truth. Unless the answer to your salvation walks these very halls.” Elodia’s form drifted closer, her spectral hand hovering near his massive shoulder. “You know the words as well as I. ‘When the beast devours the last of the man, only love freely given can restore what was lost.’”

“Fairytales,” Vael’Zhur scoffed, but the dismissal lacked conviction. “Who could love this?” He gestured to his monstrous form, to the antlers that scraped the ceiling, to the claws that destroyed everything they touched.

“Perhaps no one,” Elodia conceded. “Or perhaps someone who sees beyond appearance to the soul beneath.”

“If any soul remains to be seen.”

“You know it does. You felt it stir tonight, at the dinner table. When she challenged you. When she met your gaze without flinching.”

Vael’Zhur turned away from the window, pacing the length of his chamber like the caged predator he had become. The beast within him was restless tonight, but differently than usual. Not with bloodlust or rage, but with something altogether more dangerous.

Hope.

“She cannot be the one,” he muttered. “She comes as Aldaric’s tool, seeking the fruit’s power for his use.”

“Yet she refused to taste it herself,” Elodia reminded him. “Curious, for one so desperate to save her family.”

The contradiction had not escaped his notice. Nor had the way Ceryn’s scent had changed when he stood close to her—fear giving way to something warmer, more complex. He had not imagined that racing pulse, that flush upon her cheeks that spoke of more than simple terror.

“Even if—“ he began, then stopped himself. No. He would not entertain such foolish fantasies. “She is here to steal what Aldaric covets. Nothing more.”

“Then why keep her alive?” Elodia pressed. “Why dress for dinner? Why compliment her appearance? Why feel the stirring of emotions you thought long dead?”

Each question was a blow that landed with unerring accuracy. Vael’Zhur snarled, a sound more pain than threat.

“Because I am still as much a fool as I was when Sylaine first cursed me,” he admitted. “Because some part of me—some weakling remnant of humanity—still believes there might be an end to this curse. An escape from this half-life.”

There. The truth laid bare, pathetic as it was. After centuries of rage and resignation, of accepting his fate as the monster of legend, a single woman with defiant eyes had rekindled the most dangerous ember of all: desire for redemption.

“And if she is the key?” Elodia asked softly. “If, by some twist of fate or design, she is the means to your salvation?”

“Then the joke is crueler than I imagined,” Vael’Zhur replied bitterly. “For she would have to betray her own family to save me. Love freely given, Elodia. How free can love be when coercion shadows every choice?”

The spectral woman was silent for a long moment. “Perhaps that is the final test,” she said at last. “For both of you.”

Vael’Zhur moved to the massive bed he rarely used, sinking onto its edge with a creak of ancient wood. For the first time in years, exhaustion pulled at him, a human weakness he had almost forgotten.

“Tomorrow I will show her the orchard,” he said. “I will tell her of the curse, of the fruit’s true nature. I will reveal to her what Aldaric truly seeks.” His massive hands curled into fists on his knees. “And then I will see what choice she makes.”

“And if she chooses Aldaric? If she chooses her family over your salvation?”

Vael’Zhur closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down upon him. “Then I will know, once and for all, that the curse cannot be broken. That the beast will consume what remains of the man. That this half-existence is all that awaits me until the stars themselves burn out.”

“And her fate?”

A vision flashed in his mind—Ceryn’s throat beneath his claws, her life bleeding out on the orchard soil, joining the ones who had come before her. The beast within him growled in hungry anticipation, but the man... the man recoiled in horror.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, and it was perhaps the most human thing he had said in years. “I truly don’t know.”

Elodia’s form began to fade, her duty as companion and conscience fulfilled for the night. “Consider this, my lord,” she said as she dissipated into mist. “For the first time since the curse began, you spoke to another as a man, not a monster. For the first time, you desired something beyond revenge or blood or solitude.”

Her final words hung in the air after she had vanished completely: “Perhaps it is not the woman who needs to make a choice, but you.”

Alone in the moonlight, Vael’Zhur lifted a clawed hand before his face, studying it as if it belonged to a stranger. Beast’s paw, man’s fingers—caught forever between two natures, two existences.

Unless.

Unless Ceryn Vale, with her fierce eyes and unbroken spirit, could somehow see past the monster to the man trapped within. Unless she could offer what the prophecy required. Unless she could love what no sane person should.

Or unless she would be the one to damn him forever, to drive the final nail into the coffin of his humanity.

Tomorrow would bring the first steps toward an answer. Tomorrow, in the silver glow of the enchanted orchard, he would begin to learn which fate awaited him.

Salvation... or eternal damnation.