Page 34 of Betraying the Beast

Ceryn straightened. “It’s carved on the other side of the dagger’s hilt.”

“Say it again,” he hissed, dragging her away from the others with shocking force. His voice dropped to a near growl. “Say that name aloud again and you’ll sign your own death sentence.”

“Why?” she demanded. “It’s just a name.”

Rorik looked over his shoulder, then leaned close, voice like broken stone.

“Because that is Aldaric’s true name.”

The air fled her lungs.

“His true name?” she echoed, stunned.

Rorik nodded, slow and bleak. “The name he was born with. The one he buried so no one could ever use it against him.”

The dagger. The enchantment. The binding power of names. And now… she knew it.

“Can you get me to him?” she asked, voice shaking with realization. “Protect my mother and sister. I think I can end this.”

He stared at her like a man torn in two.

“I’ve tried,” he said. “Gods know I’ve tried to stop him. There’s no way out.”

She tightened her grip on the dagger. “There might be. But I need to get close. I need to be at the front.”

A long silence.

Then Rorik sighed—bone-deep and soul-worn.

“The beast or the warlord. Either could kill you. But I’ll get you there.” His gaze flicked to Saraid, to Maeva. “And I’ll guard them with my life.”

Ceryn nodded once, fierce and full of purpose.

“Then it’s time.”

Chapter

Ten

Vael’Zhur lifted his head from the wreckage, muscles quaking, breath sawing ragged through fanged teeth.

The castle was in ruins. His castle. Stone shattered, tapestries burned, windows gone to shards and smoke. The great hall that once echoed with forgotten music now reeked of blood, ash, and sorrow. His claws were slick with it. His fur singed. His body howled with the wounds of a rage he could no longer contain.

He had tried—gods, he had tried—to keep the beast chained. But the moment Ceryn disappeared, the moment he felt her betrayal echo through the orchard like a snapped string?—

He became ruin.

Marble crumbled beneath his feet. Ghosts had scattered. Even Elodia had vanished, her magic unable to soothe him. He had hunted through corridors like a storm given flesh, flung invaders from the ramparts, crushed men with his bare hands. Screams had faded. Silence had followed.

And still, the rage burned.

But now—through the red haze, something new pierced him.

Horns.

Shouts.

The pound of boots and spear shafts against the earth.

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