Page 8 of Betraying the Beast

Ceryn stared at the phantom, shocked that the beast would have a formal meal and expect some kind of bizarre ritual to be followed as she’d heard the wealthy did for the evening meal. “You expect me to dress for dinner? With him?”

Elodia’s expression remained impassive, her hands folded in front of her. “The master has rules. Centuries of solitude have not diminished Vael’Zhur’s expectations. I will send someone to freshen the room for you while you dine and turn down the bed.”

She snapped her fingers and the fire roared the life, along with the candles around the room, brightening the dim room. Ceryn stepped back eying the grate warily. Magic was not something she ever ran across in her daily life and she didn’t know how to handle all of these changes.

After the servant departed, Ceryn examined the gowns with reluctant curiosity. They were beautiful, if outdated—heavy velvet and silk in jewel tones, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like the veins in the silverfruit. She had never been near such extravagance, had never wanted anything so fancy. She had no place to wear such dresses, no need for them. As she fingered the fine material, she thought of her sister Maeva and how she would have loved to play dress-up with the clothes. Shoving thoughts of her family deep in a box, determined to figure out the mystery as quickly as possible to save them, she squared her shoulders and eventually selected the simplest one, a deep forest green that reminded her of the woods she knew so well.

As she dressed, her mind raced. The beast—Vael’Zhur, Elodia had called him—clearly wanted information about Aldaric. His reaction to the warlord’s name had been visceral, violent. There was history there, perhaps even the key to understanding his curse. The very information Aldaric had sent her to find.

But something else troubled her. The way Vael’Zhur had looked at her, not just with rage or suspicion, but with interest was disconcerting. The heat of his gaze had stirred something unexpected within her, something that had no place in her desperate mission.

A soft knock at the door announced Elodia’s return. “If you are ready, I will escort you now.”

Elodia appeared to be a woman of Ceryn’s mother’s age, but time and circumstances had been kinder to her, or maybe that was because she was a ghost. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way, her form composed of shimmering light rather than flesh. While an apparition, she seemed almost solid, though Ceryn could see the stone wall through her luminous form.

“You may have captured our lord’s interest for now,” Elodia said, her voice melodious yet somehow empty of true warmth. “But few who enter these walls leave them again.”

“I didn’t exactly choose to stay,” Ceryn replied, lifting her chin.

Elodia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Indeed not. Yet here you stand, alive and whole, when so many before you lie buried in the orchard soil. Tread carefully, Ceryn Vale. The line between life and death is a thin one.” The spectral woman gestured toward the corridor. “Come. He does not like to be kept waiting.”

As they walked through the castle’s winding passages, Ceryn tried to memorize the route, noting potential escape paths should the need arise. The building was vast, a labyrinth of halls and stairways that seemed to shift and change when she wasn’t looking directly at them.

“Your efforts to map these halls are futile,” Elodia commented, apparently reading her thoughts. “The castle obeys its master, not its guests. It changes routes and rooms on a whim. You will find your way only where he wishes you to go.”

“What is this place?” Ceryn asked, running her fingertips along a wall adorned with faded murals. “What happened here?”

“This was once the summer palace of the northern kings,” Elodia replied, her form drifting slightly ahead. “Before the curse. Before the beast. Before time itself seemed to forget this corner of the world.”

“And Vael’Zhur? Was he always as he is now?”

The ghostly woman paused, turning to regard Ceryn with eyes that seemed to pierce through flesh to soul. “You ask questions that could cost you your life, Ceryn Vale.”

“I’m already a prisoner. What more can I lose?”

“Perhaps the illusion that you control your own fate.” Elodia’s form shimmered ominously. “I have served this castle for centuries. I have watched empires rise and fall beyond these walls. And I have seen what becomes of those who seek to unravel mysteries not meant for mortal understanding.”

Before Ceryn could press further, they arrived at a set of massive double doors carved with scenes of the hunt and harvest. Elodia waved a translucent hand, and the doors swung open silently.

The dining hall beyond was cavernous, its ceiling lost in shadow despite the dozens of candles that lined the walls in tarnished silver sconces. A table that could have seated fifty stretched down the center, though only two places were set—one at the head, scaled to accommodate the beast’s massive frame, and another to its right, where a normal-sized chair awaited.

And there he was, standing by the roaring fireplace, his massive silhouette framed in firelight. Vael’Zhur had shed his tattered rags for something more formal. Dark silk clung to broad shoulders and a powerful chest, the fabric straining as if reluctant to contain him. His trousers rode low on his hips, molded to the inhuman angles of his legs, emphasizing the strange, primitive power in his stance. He was a beast draped in the illusion of civility, or perhaps a man barely restrained by his monstrous form—and she couldn’t decide which was more dangerous. Or more tempting. He turned as they entered, amber eyes gleaming in the firelight. For a moment, he simply stared, his gaze traveling slowly from her face to the green gown and back again.

“Leave us, Elodia,” he commanded without looking away from Ceryn.

The spectral woman bowed and faded from sight, though Ceryn sensed her presence lingering at the edges of the room, watching, waiting.

“You clean up well for a thief,” Vael’Zhur said, his deep voice rumbling through the chamber.

Ceryn forced herself to meet his gaze. “And you dress well for a monster.”

To her surprise, a sound emerged from his throat that might have been a chuckle. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the place set for her. “Eat. Despite appearances, I do not intend to have you for dinner.”

She approached cautiously, sliding into the chair as he took his seat at the head of the table. From nowhere, spectral servants appeared, placing covered dishes before them. When the silver domes were lifted, the aroma that rose made Ceryn’s stomach clench with hunger. Roasted meat, fresh bread, vegetables she hadn’t seen since the early autumn harvest.

“How is this possible?” she asked, looking from the feast to the beast. “The castle is abandoned. The kitchens must be?—“

“Magic has its privileges,” Vael’Zhur replied, tearing a chunk of bread with clawed hands that seemed ill-suited to such delicate work. “The orchard sustains more than just my unnatural life.”

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