Cedric huffed a quiet breath, somewhere between amusement and pity. “Isn’t it?” He leaned in, and Finn caught the faint scent of pine and something wilder, something that sent his pulse careening off course. His voice was a murmur, dark velvet over steel. “If you’re the one swinging the sword, doesn’t that make you responsible for the consequences? Otherwise, you’re just a very well-dressed weapon.”
Finn opened his mouth—whether to argue or say something scathing, he wasn’t sure—but his thoughts locked up. Because they were too close now. Close enough that he could see the fine freckles across Cedric’s nose, the way the torchlight reflected in his gold-flecked irises, the twist of his mouth like he already knew exactly how much he was getting under Finn’s skin.
Finn’s heart slammed against his ribs, a bewildering mix of anger and something far more dangerous prickling beneath his skin. Kavros, help me keep it together.
“You speak as if you know more about my mission than you’re letting on,” Finn accused, his voice rough.
Cedric’s eyes flicked briefly to Finn’s mouth.
Then he pulled back, just enough to seem like a deliberate retreat, and Finn hated how it left him feeling oddly bereft.
“Perhaps I do,” Cedric murmured. “Or perhaps I simply know what it’s like to be trapped by expectations.” A trace of something—grief? Regret?—shadowed his features. “Be careful, Sir Knight. The path you’re on may lead you places you never intended to go.”
Finn’s hand instinctively dropped toward his hip, where Sunwrath should have been. He’d left it in his room above the tavern, but the motion was reflexive. “Is that a threat?” He wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it—or if he just needed something to fill the charged silence.
Cedric stood, and there was no triumph in his expression, only a deep, aching sadness. “No,” he said, voice soft as velvet. “It’s a warning. For your sake, as much as anyone else’s.” His gaze flicked across the crowd, then back to Finn. “I should be going. It’s late, and I have a good distance to travel.”
Then, just like that, he turned on his heel and slipped away, weaving through the villagers like mist dissolving in the morning sun. Finn sat there, stunned, the taste of roasted meat still lingering on his tongue, his pulse refusing to settle.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter Seven
Of all the people who could have walked up to me tonight, it had to be him. Cedric’s breath formed faint clouds in the cool night air as he made his way from Duskridge, a small lantern clutched in one hand and a sack of supplies balanced on his shoulder.
The moon hung low and bright in the sky, painting the world in silver and shadow. He didn’t really need the lantern—his night vision was sharper than most thanks to his draconic curse—but it gave him an excuse to pretend he needed light. It was comforting, too, in its own way. A tether to humanity when the beast within him was never far from the surface.
As soon as the knight had spoken, Cedric recognized the voice. He’d never seen his face—Finn had worn a helmet during the attack—but the voice was unmistakable. The same one that had assured Gwenna he had come to her rescue, who had insisted Cedric was the real threat.
And even as he’d hidden his fear at being discovered behind a mask of amusement and indifference, he’d found the knight far too interesting.
The town receded behind him, market lights flickering until they became little more than a speck against the darkness. He tried to focus on the road. Cedric gritted his teeth, shifting the weight of the sack on his shoulder. Finn. The name lodged in his mind like a thorn. Their conversation in the market still played over and over—his attempt to project calm, Finn’s intense stare, the heat in the knight’s eyes that Cedric couldn’t quite dismiss as simple anger.
The flirting. The knight had most definitely been flirting…hadn’t he? Cedric huffed out a frustrated breath. Truth be told, he was out of practice when it came to basic social interactions.
And I found him handsome. Rather enjoyed the conversation. Aurenis grant me common sense! He’s a knight.
More than once tonight, he’d replayed their argument—faces inches apart, heat sparking in a way he had no right to feel for a man who wanted him dead.
He forced a slow exhale, trying to calm his pulse. But the memory persisted, surfacing like a wave he couldn’t quell. He’s just another knight, a fanatic for duty—someone who’d see me dead if he knew the truth. The cold air smelled faintly of pine and damp bark, laced with the earthy musk of the undergrowth. His draconic senses picked out every subtle shift in the breeze. He almost wished a predator would skulk out of the shadows, just to give him a concrete enemy.
Because the real threat, the one that tweaked his nerves, was intangible. The knight’s determination. He won’t be dissuaded. Not easily. Even Gwenna’s furious rejection hadn’t changed his mind, apparently. If only he’d just turn around and leave before things escalate.
Moonlight caught on the narrow deer trail beneath his boots. The forest pressed in on either side—gnarled trunks looming like silent sentinels. It was a place that once might’ve frightened him, but after ten years, Cedric felt safer here than he ever had in the corridors of Solavere Palace. Here, at least, the shadows didn’t judge him.
Cedric squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, letting the night wind brush against his cheeks. What would he do if Finn came back? If he came at night, Cedric could speak with him…but what were the odds of that?
He rounded a bend in the path, and the silhouette of the old outpost came into view, half-hidden by twisting vines and encroaching trees. Home. And yet, tonight, it felt less like a refuge and more like a tenuous fortress against the tides of the past.
He paused at the edge of the clearing, letting his gaze flick to the sky. The moon’s silver glow revealed roosting birds on skeletal branches, their eyes reflecting tiny pinpricks of light. Is the knight out there now, planning a return? A shiver of unease slid down Cedric’s spine.
Finn wasn’t dangerous because of his skill or stubbornness. It was the way he looked at Cedric—not like a monster, not like an enemy. But something infinitely more dangerous. Like he wanted to understand him.
Gods help him, but a traitorous part of Cedric desperately hoped the knight came back.
Enough. He shoved the thought aside and kept walking. Gwenna was likely waiting for him, and he had a thousand questions to parse before dawn demanded the inevitable shift.
I might have to leave this place, he realized bitterly. All because of him. The forest had become a haven, a quiet pocket of wilderness where he and Gwenna could exist without constant fear.
