Page 32 of Betraying the Beast

Ceryn said nothing. Her silence was its own truth.

“I also asked for a supply of the fruit,” he continued, holding the bag as though it were beneath him. “And as I suspected, it can only grow there. In that cursed orchard. This”—he sneered—“is a handful. Not a harvest.”

He turned to face the distant castle, where smoke now curled above the treetops.

“I will take it myself. My army surrounds the grounds as we speak. The beast—your beast—is enraged beyond reason. Mindless. Vulnerable. You’ve served your purpose well.”

Her chest tightened. “So this was all a trap.”

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “Never enter a bargain if you don’t already know the ending.”

“You said they’d be freed—my family.”

His eyes turned to ice. “You failed me.”

His hand struck her across the face, so hard that stars exploded behind her eyes. Only the soldier’s grip kept her upright. Before she could speak, another roar—deeper, louder, furious—shook the air.

It came from the direction of the castle.

Auren had heard.

Aldaric chuckled darkly. “How fitting. The monster still thinks you’re his salvation.”

“You’ll never survive him,” Ceryn spat, blood on her lip. “He will rip you apart.”

“I’ll never need to fight him. My soldiers will burn that place to ash. And if he comes for me...” He leaned in close, his voice a hiss. “I’ll bury you first.”

“Coward,” she hissed.

He smirked. “I’m a king in waiting.”

Then he nodded at Rorik. “Take her. Dispose of the mother and girl. Let the forest have them.”

The words shattered something in her. She lunged, struggling against her captors.

“You promised! I did everything you asked!”

He walked away, armor gleaming in the morning light.

“Curse you, Aldaric!” she screamed after him. “May your blood soak the orchard! May the fruit grow from your rot!”

He paused once, turning back just long enough to deliver his final cruelty.

“No, girl. It will be your blood feeding that soil. Yours... and theirs.”

Then he vanished into the forest, striding toward the castle.

Toward the Beast.

Toward the end.

Rorik wasted no time.

He led Ceryn through the fog-thick woods, boots crunching over damp leaves, until the trees gave way to a clearing shrouded in mist and silence. A half-collapsed barn stood hunched in the corner, a makeshift holding cell guarded by two stone-faced soldiers. He opened the door with a grunt and motioned her inside.

Ceryn’s breath hitched.

Her sister and mother were huddled in the straw-strewn corner, thin, filthy, and trembling with exhaustion. Maeva looked smaller than she remembered—sunken-cheeked, her skin pale as milk. Her cough, wet and raw, echoed in the stone like a death knell.

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