Page 28 of Betraying the Beast

“I love you, Ceryn Vale,” he whispered, knowing she was already slipping into sleep. “And if betrayal is the price of loving you, I pay it willingly.”

Outside, storm clouds gathered. The moon disappeared behind them.

But for now, he held her. For now, she was his.

And gods help them both… that would have to be enough.

Chapter

Eight

Ceryn woke alone in Vael’Zhur’s bed, the first light of dawn still only a blush on the horizon. The sheets beside her were already cool. The emptiness where his massive body had lain felt too deliberate to be chance. She blinked against the heaviness in her eyes, the ache in her limbs. She had meant to slip away in the dark, to vanish without goodbye. But grief had wrapped around her like a shroud, pulling her into sleep before she had the chance.

He had known. Somehow, he had known. And he had spared her the final cruelty of watching her leave.

A neatly folded set of clothes waited for her on the chair—a pair of soft woolen trousers, a linen tunic, and a dark wool cloak she recognized from the cold mornings in the tower. A quiet, wordless offering. Her throat tightened.

She dressed quickly, the fabric brushing over skin still tender from the night before, from the memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice tangled with hers in the dark. Each movement felt weighted, like dragging herself through water. But she forced herself into motion, her heart already pounding with what must be done.

She crept through the corridor in silence, her feet finding familiar patterns in the worn stones. The scent of the orchard tugged at her even now—sweet and wild, steeped in magic and memory. But first, she needed something to carry the fruit. She turned toward the kitchens, hoping to find a sack or satchel, anything that might serve.

She paused at the threshold.

On the worn wooden table at the center of the room sat a large burlap sack, filled and waiting. Beside it, gleaming dully in the firelight, lay the bone-handled dagger.

And beside both, silent and still, stood Vael’Zhur.

He didn’t speak at first. His golden eyes met hers, unreadable in their depth, his face carved from something colder than stone. Yet sorrow pooled beneath the surface, like stormwater behind cracked glass.

Her blood chilled.

“What is this?” she whispered.

“Your payment to Aldaric,” he said quietly. “Do not return for more. I will not give it to you again. But this should secure your mother and sister… if he honors his word.”

Her breath caught. “And if he doesn’t?”

“You already know he will not.”

The truth hung in the space between them like a blade. Heavy. Inevitable.

“I have to try,” she said. Her voice trembled, but not with fear—with desperation. “I have to do something. You could come with me. Help me free them.”

He shook his head slowly, the movement filled with sorrow and finality. “I cannot. You know this. I am bound to the orchard, to the curse. If I leave, I risk losing myself. I risk becoming what the warlord wants me to be—a beast without thought or will. I could kill them, Ceryn. I could kill you.”

She clenched her fists, frustration burning behind her eyes. “You’ve resisted it this long. You’ve fought it. I’ve seen you. I believe in you. I love you. Isn’t that what breaks the curse? Isn’t love supposed to be enough?”

His expression crumpled—just slightly. A crack in the armor. “Love is rarely enough, little thief,” he murmured. “It was a dream. A beautiful one. But still a dream.”

He gestured to the sack. “Go. Free your family. Live the life you fought for. And forget me. Forget this place. Be happy.”

Her heart twisted painfully. “And you? What happens to you?”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “That no longer matters.”

“It matters to me.”

At that, he looked back. His eyes were impossibly soft. Wounded. “Then stay.”

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