Page 1 of Betraying the Beast

Chapter

One

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Ceryn Vale slipped out of the bed she shared with her younger sister, Maeva who was barely thirteen and ten years younger than her. She began to dress hurriedly to ward off the chill of the evening in her woolen trousers and linen shirt. Her teeth chattered in the cold bedroom and she slipped her feet into her boots before heading into the kitchen area to throw a few logs into the fireplace, reviving the sleeping embers.

“Ceryn?”

She turned to see her sister standing in the doorway, the threadbare old quilt wrapped around her shoulders. “Maeva. Get back to bed. It’s too early to be up. You’ll catch cold.”

“You’re up. You going hunting again?”

Ceryn shrugged. “I’m going to check the traps and see if there are any berries left.”

Winter was coming and they didn’t have enough stores to keep them fed through the long, cold months ahead. Game would be scarce and the garden hadn’t produced enough to store for the season, not after the heavy burden of taxes to Warlord Aldaric. Their garden was used mainly for herbs for their mother’s healing potions, as a way to support the family, once her husband had died in service to the warlord. But it was never enough. So Ceryn supplemented by hunting and foraging in the forest.

Ceryn reached for her hunting knife, sliding it into the leather sheath at her hip. The weight of it was familiar, comforting even. Seven years she’d been providing for them, since the day her father never returned from the warlord’s castle. Seven years of becoming something her father would barely recognize—a hunter, a trapper, a shadow moving through forbidden woods.

Maeva shuffled across the dirt floor, the quilt dragging behind her like a queen’s train. At thirteen, she still retained the childlike hope that had long ago been beaten out of Ceryn. She stood at the rickety table, her eyes wide with worry in the faint glow of the freshly stoked fire.

“Don’t go to the forbidden woods today,” Maeva whispered, her voice catching. “Please. I had a dream last night. I saw you running, and something... something was chasing you.”

Ceryn forced a smile as she wrapped strips of dried meat and half a stale loaf in a scrap of cloth, tucking it into her leather satchel. Dreams were for children and fools. Dreams didn’t fill empty bellies.

“The beast again?” Ceryn asked, trying to keep her voice light. “Your imagination grows wilder by the day.”

“It wasn’t just a dream.” Maeva clutched the quilt tighter around her shoulders. “People say he was a man once, before the curse. That he can smell fear. That he?—“

“Enough.” Ceryn’s voice was sharper than she intended. The stories of the beast had circulated in whispers for as long as she could remember. A creature half-man, half-monster, confined to the ruins of the ancient castle that stood deep in the forbidden woods, not that anyone ever ventured close to the castle to see it. Most believed it a tale to keep children from wandering too far. Ceryn knew better. She’d seen... things. Tracks too large for any normal animal. Claw marks on trees higher than a bear could reach. And anyone who tried to reach the castle never came back.

But she’d also learned its patterns, its territory. Known when to avoid certain parts of the forest.

“Winter is coming,” Ceryn said, softening her tone as she knelt before her sister. “And Aldaric’s men took nearly everything at the last tribute collection. We need meat, we need herbs, and whatever I can find.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Maeva’s ear. “I’ll be careful. I always am.”

“You promise?” Maeva’s eyes glistened in the firelight.

“I promise.” Ceryn pressed her forehead against her sister’s for a moment. “Besides, if the beast ever did find me, I’m far too clever for him. I know every hiding place in those woods.”

“Cleverness won’t save you if the winter storms come early.”

Ceryn stiffened at the sound of her mother’s voice. Saraid Vale stood in the shadows of the doorway leading to her small bedchamber, her once-beautiful face now permanently etched with lines of grief and bitterness. She looked older than her forty years, worn down by widowhood and poverty.

“The snares need checking,” Ceryn said, her voice even. “And we need more wood for the fire.”

Her mother’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned away, disappearing back into the darkness of her room. The silent dismissal stung more than any harsh words could have. Just once, Ceryn wanted her mother to be the happy, smiling woman she remembered from before. But, like so many things, her mother died the day they buried her father.

Ceryn sighed and rose to her feet. She reached for her worn leather cloak, swinging it around her shoulders before retrieving her bow and quiver from their place by the door. The bow had been her father’s—the only thing of his she’d managed to keep when Aldaric’s men had taken everything else as “death taxes.”

“I’ll be back before midday,” she told Maeva, forcing another smile. “Have some porridge and help Mother with the herbs.”

Ceryn stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind her. The air was crisp, carrying the unmistakable bite of approaching winter. The forest loomed before her, dark and dense, a wall of massive trees shrouded in mist. Somewhere deep within those woods stood the ruins of the ancient castle, home to the beast of legend.

A sensible person would stick to the village outskirts, to the thin stretch of woods that bordered the farmland. A sensible person would beg for a permit to hunt in the warlord’s forest, despite the scarcity of game and the hit to her pride. But Aldaric’s men patrolled those areas, demanding permits and punishing poachers, requiring a steep cost that she couldn’t afford. The alternative was the deeper woods where the beast supposedly roamed where game was plentiful and herbs grew in abundance. No one ventured there—no one but Ceryn.

She pulled her hood up and began walking toward the tree line, ignoring the flutter of unease in her chest. Maeva’s dreams, her mother’s warnings, the villagers’ tales—none of it mattered. What mattered was survival.

The mist parted before her as she entered the forest, the familiar scent of damp earth and pine enveloping her. She moved silently, as her father had taught her in those brief years before he was taken. The farther she went, the more the trees closed in around her, ancient and watchful.

She had checked several snares. All empty so far. Stifling her disappointment, she ventured further into the forest, keeping an eye out for the herbs her mother needed for her remedies. She was nearly to another snare when she heard it—a sound that didn’t belong. Not the snap of a twig beneath an animal’s foot or the rustle of leaves in the wind, but something deliberate. Something large. Much larger than a human or even a bear.

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