Page 14 of Betraying the Beast

Chapter

Five

Ceryn spent most of the day exploring the castle. As Elodia predicted, it was never the same place twice. She swore she had traveled certain hallways but the end result was often different, leading her to new rooms and places to discover. She didn’t know how far she’d walked but when the sun was high in the sky, somehow she found herself at the great hall with a meal of bread, meat and cheese on the table, and fresh cool water to drink. On cue, her stomach rumbled, as if she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been, and she fell on the meal, devouring it in due course. Yet Vael’Zhur didn’t make an appearance, though she sensed him near, as if stalking her every step.

Instead of feeling stalked or threatened, she felt safe, protected. Which made sense, given the story he’d shared. He was a protector—of the castle, of the orchard. And he’d been cursed for it.

Something about his story didn’t add up. Where did Aldaric fit in? How had he found out about the silverfruit? When would someone tell her the entire truth?

Sunlight streamed in the stained glass windows casting colored shadows on the stone floor. It was too nice a day to stay inside and she wasn’t learning enough about the curse to waste more time inside. The curse was tied to the orchard so she needed to return there and see if anything more was hidden among the trees. Besides, she felt an irresistible pull to the place, demanding her presence. She was tired of fighting it.

She walked among the trees but something drew her to the back corner. At the far end of the orchard, in the shadowed back, tucked away in an overgrown area of the orchard was a stone structure encased in vines and branches until it was almost completed obscured.

The air felt different here—thicker, older, heavier. The silverfruit trees grew gnarled and close together, their roots weaving through cracked stone and buried walls long reclaimed by moss and time. Vines clung to everything, tangling around broken columns and sunken arches, swallowing ruins the castle wanted forgotten.

At the base of a ruined wall half-swallowed by a copper-barked tree, she caught a glint of something smooth beneath the ivy. Her fingers reached for it instinctively, brushing back layers of leaves and brittle vines. The greenery resisted her, almost sentient in its grasp, but she yanked harder until the growth tore away. She brushed away the vines and tendrils to the ancient stone underneath, exposing the worn words and images carved into the gray stone. She traced the letters, mouthing them as she went.

Beneath it, carved into stone so weathered it bled dust at her touch, was a name.

At least, the remains of one.

AURE—

The rest had been gouged away, violently, as though something with claws had tried to erase it from the world. Deep rents scarred the stone, slicing through the letters, fracturing them like a scream.

But a name was there.

Barely.

“Auren,” she whispered aloud.

The word lingered in the air like a breath held too long.

A chill passed through her, followed by a heavy silence. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that presses against your back. Watches you.

“That name,” came a voice behind her, low and rough, “is not meant to be spoken. Ever.”

Ceryn turned slowly, heart in her throat.

He stood a few feet away, massive and unmoving, shadowed by the tree canopy. The light caught the gold in his fur, but there was no warmth in him now. His eyes were molten—anger and memory barely leashed.

She took a step back, the stone cold and rough, unyielding, against her back. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“But you did.” He stepped forward, claws curling slightly at his sides. He towered over her, menacing and dangerous, yet she was still not afraid. “You said it. My name.”

She swallowed hard. “Then it’s true.”

A long silence. The wind rustled, carrying the scent of fruit and something older—ash, perhaps. Grief.

“It was mine,” he said finally, voice softer. “Once. Auren.”

He looked past her, to the broken carving in the wall, and something in his shoulders shifted. Not anger. Not threat.

Something close to sorrow.

“Sylaine carved it there,” he said. “She marked this place when we thought it sacred. When it was still ours.”

Ceryn said nothing, afraid that if she moved, he might stop speaking.

---