He should walk away. Keep his distance. Stick to the mission.
Instead, his traitorous mouth had other plans. “I’d love to hear more about your work.”
Kavros hammer me into scrap metal. That was far too earnest. Too eager. Gods, what is wrong with me?
Cedric’s gaze flicked over him. Finn had the distinct, unnerving sensation of being picked apart, layer by layer.
Desperate to salvage his dignity, he straightened. “Perhaps over a meal?” Gods, he still sounded too open. He forced a casual nod. “I’m new in town and could use the company.”
Cedric’s gaze darted around the lantern-lit square, as though he half-expected, or rather, desperately hoped, for someone to appear and whisk him away. After a pause, Cedric sighed as if he’d just been asked to do something particularly exhausting. “I suppose I could spare some time,” he allowed. “The Drunken Dragon has decent food.”
Finn stiffened involuntarily, memory flashing to the tavern’s raucous laughter and the moment he’d been dismissed over talk of the dragon. He cleared his throat, hesitant. “I was hoping to enjoy the night air,” he said, nodding toward a stall where skewers of meat sizzled invitingly over an open flame. “Would you be opposed to finding a place to sit outside?”
Cedric followed his line of sight to the food stall, then gave a small, tight nod. “There’s a bench across the square that’s not claimed.”
Finn’s tension eased into a grin, encouraged by this tentative truce. “Go have a seat and save it for us. I’m buying dinner,” he announced, tipping his head at the skewer vendor. “Unless you don’t eat meat.”
Cedric’s brow arched, his expression full of dry amusement. “I’m not some delicate woodland creature, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Finn grinned. “No? I don’t know, you’ve got that air about you—mysterious, good with your hands, probably skittish if startled.”
Cedric let out a slow, unimpressed sigh. “I assure you, I do not startle easily.”
“Good to know,” Finn mused, enjoying the way Cedric’s lips twitched like he was fighting back either a smirk or a sigh of exasperation.
“Meat’s fine,” Cedric allowed, finally letting that smirk slip free—just a ghost of one, but enough to make Finn’s heart feel a little lighter. Or warmer. Something.
Then, without another word, Cedric turned and wove through the crowd. Finn found his eyes lingering longer than they should, watching the way Cedric carried himself with a confidence that wasn’t forced, but natural, like he belonged in every space he walked into.
Finn exhaled softly. He’s…interesting. Not just because of the way he moved, though there was something oddly captivating about it. No, it was something else.
He had faced warlords and assassins, had looked a dragon in the eye without flinching. And yet here he was, thrown off-kilter by a damn woodcarver.
Gods, he needed to keep his head clear. There was a princess to save—or figure out—and a dragon to slay, or at least neutralize. And this Cedric? He was likely an enemy. Stay focused, Finn.
But as he made his way to purchase the skewers, his mind kept returning to those gold-flecked eyes. A memory of how Cedric had looked at him—assessing, guarded, but warm at the edges—left Finn’s pulse a fraction quicker than before.
Answers first. He forced his attention back to the vendor and ordered two hearty servings of roasted vegetables, lean cuts of meat, and the vendor’s seasoned sauce. The savory aroma set his mouth watering. If nothing else, the promise of a shared meal might open a door to more information—about Gwen, the outpost, and the dragon carvings.
And that was the only reason he was looking forward to this conversation.
Definitely the only reason.
Absolutely, unequivocally, not at all related to Cedric’s eyes or the way his voice made Finn want to curl up and purr like a cat.
Balancing the skewers in hand, Finn navigated back through the swirl of color and torchlight. He spotted Cedric seated on a simple wooden bench at the square’s perimeter, lanterns shimmering above like a cluster of fallen stars. A faint breeze stirred, carrying the scents of spiced wine and sweet pastries. From a distance, Cedric’s profile was all sharp lines and quiet tension, his posture betraying the caution Finn recognized in seasoned soldiers. Why is he so on edge?
Steeling his nerves, Finn approached, struggling to ignore the low flutter in his stomach. He told himself it was only the prospect of answers that made his pulse thrash—not the calm intensity of Cedric’s gaze or the faint smile that teased the corners of his mouth.
“Dinner,” Finn announced, extending one skewer. “And, maybe, a conversation worth our while.”
Cedric accepted the skewer with a slight tilt of his head, his fingers brushing Finn’s for the briefest moment—just long enough to be annoyingly noticeable.
Finn sat beside him, a respectable distance apart. But between the warmth of the lantern light, the scent of sizzling meat, and the easy way Cedric had settled into their impromptu meal, that respectable distance suddenly felt like a chasm.
Finn bit into his food, the heady mix of smoke and seasoning momentarily distracting him from the questions swirling in his mind. Or at least, that was what he told himself. Because somehow, all he truly registered was the quiet presence of this frustratingly charming woodcarver.
Stop it, Finn. You need answers, not the growing, deeply irritating realization that you find this man attractive. But his pulse wouldn’t settle, and he found himself acutely aware of every small sound Cedric made as he ate.
